A glimpse of a picturesque and detailed reportage of war correspondent Churchill on his tumultous escape from the Boer war and the predicament of his fellow-soldiers trapped in the clutches of gunfire
In a letter to the Morning Post dated Pretoria, November 19, Mr Winston Spencer Churchill tells the story of his capture. After describing the run of the armoured train to Chieveley and the order telegraphed there for it to return, he says: We proceeded to obey and were about a mile and three-quarters from Frere when on rounding a corner we saw that a hill which cornmanded the line at a distance of 600 yards was occupied by the enemy. So after all there would be a fight, for we could not pass this point otherwise. The four sailors loaded their gun, the soldiers charged their magazines, and the train which was now in the reverse of the order in which it had started, moved slowly towards the hill.
The Boers held their fire until the train reached that part of the track nearest to their position. Standing on a box in the rear armoured truck, I had an excellent view through my glasses. Suddenly three-wheeled things appeared on the crest and within a second a bright flash on light — like a heliograph, but much yellower — opened and shut ten or twelve times.
Two much larger flashes followed and immediately over the rear truck of the train, a huge white ball of smoke sprang into being and tore out into a cone like a comet. Then came the explosions of the near guns and the nearer shell. The iron sides of the truck tanged with a patter of bullets.
There was a crash from the front of the train and half a dozen sharp reports. The Boers had opened fire at us at 600 yards with two large field guns, a Maxim firing small shells in a stream and from riflemen laying oh the ridge. I got down from my box into the cover of the armoured sides of the car without forming any clear thought.
The train leapt forward, ran the gauntlet of the guns, which now filled the air with explosions, swung round the curve of the hill, ran down a steep gradient, and dashed into a huge stone which awaited it on the line at a convenient spot. To those who were on the rear truck there was only a great shock, a tremendous crash and a full stop. What happened to the trucks in front of the engine is more interesting.
The first, which contained the materials and tools of the break-down gang, and the guard who was watching the line, was flung into the air and fell bottom upwards on the embankment. The next, an armoured car crowded with the Durban light Infantry was carried on twenty yards and thrown over on its side, scattering its occupants in a shower on the ground. The third wedged itself across the track, half on and half off the rails. The rest of the train kept to the metals. The Boer guns, swiftly changing their position, reopened from a distance of 1300 yards before anyone had got out of the state of exclamations. The tapping rifle fire spread along the hill sides until It encircled the wreckage on three sides, and a third field gun came into action from some high ground on the opposite side of the line.
I clambered over the iron shield, and dropping to the ground, ran along the line to the front of the train. As I passed the engine, another shrapnel shell burst immediately, as it seemed, overhead, hurling its contents with a rasping rush through the air. The driver at once sprang out of the cab and ran to the shelter of the overturned trucks. His face was cut open by a splinter, and he complained in bitter futile indignation. He was a civilian.
Yet when this man, who certainly exhibited lively symptoms of terror, was told that if he continued to stay at his post he would be mentioned for distinguished gallantry in action he pulled himself together, wiped the blood off his face, climbed back into the cab of his engine, and thereafter daring the one-sided combat did his duty bravely and faithfully — so strong is the desire for honour and repute in the human breast.
Efforts were now made to clear the line completely of the wrecked trucks so that the engines and the two cars which still remained on the rails might escape. Meanwhile, Captain Haldane endeavoured to keep down the enemy’s artillery fire by the musketry of the Infantry in the rear armoured truck.
The breakdown gang and their tools were scattered to the winds and several had fled along the track of across the fields. Moreover, the enemy’s artillery fire was pitiless, continuous, and distracted. The affair had, however, to be carried through.
The first thing to be done was to detach the truck half off the rails from the one completely so. To do this, the engine had to be moved to slacken the strain on the twisted couplings. The next step was to drag the partly derailed truck backwards along the line until it was clear of the other wreckage and then to throw bodily off the line. This may seem very simple, but the dead weight of the iron truck half on the sleepers was enormous and the engine wheels skidded vainly several times before any hauling power was obtained. At last the truck was drawn sufficiently far back and volunteers were called for to overturn it from the side. It was very evident that these men would be exposed to considerable anger. Twenty were called for and there was an immediate response. But only nine including the major of volunteers, and four or five of the Dublin Fusiliers actually stepped out into the open.
The attempt was nevertheless successful. Safety and success appeared in sight together but disappointment overtook them. The engine was about six inches wider than the tender and the corner of which footplate would not pass the corner of the newly overturned truck. It did not seem safe to push very hard lest the engine should be derailed. So time after time the engine moved back a yard or two and shoved further at the obstruction, and each time it moved a little.
But soon it was evident that complications had set in. The newly derailed truck jammed and the more the engine pushed, the greater became the block. Volunteers were again called on to assist; two of them I think were wounded but did their best. The attempt was a failure. Perseverance however is a virtue. If the trucks only jammed the tighter for the forward pushing, they might be loosened by puffing backwards. But now a new difficulty arose. The coupling chains of the engine would not reach by five or six inches those of the overturned truck. Search was now made for a spare link. By a solitary gleam of good luck one was found. The engine hauled at the wreckage, and before the chains parted, pulled it about a yard backwards.
After this, the despatch tells us that the engine was not without risk and obstruction remained. It was seen that the hind trucks were disconnected and the risk of repassing that obstinate list of wreckage was too great. They must be left, and the engine moved away carrying the wounded and affording moving cover for the others.
Seeing the engine escaping the Boers increased their fire and the troops, hitherto somewhat protected by the iron trucks, began to suffer. The major of volunteers fell shot through the thigh. Here and there, men dropped on the ground, several screamed- and cried for help. About a quarter of the force was very soon killed or wounded. The shells which pursued the retreating scattered them all along the track, order and control vanished.
A private soldier, who was wounded in direct disobedience of the positive orders that no surrender was to be made, took it on himself to wave a pocket handkerchief. The Boers immediately ceased firing, and with equal daring and humanity a dozen horsemen galloped from the hills into the scattered fugitives, and called loudly on them to surrender. Most of the soldiers then halted, gave up their arms, and became prisoners of war. Those further away from horsemen continued to run and were shot or hunted down in twos and threes and some made good their escape.
For my part I found myself on the engine when the obstruction was at last passed and remained there jammed in the cab next to the man with the shattered arm. In this way, I travelled some 500 yards, and passed through the fugitives, noticing particularly a young officer, lieutenant Frankland, who with a happy, confident smile on his face was endeavouring to rally his men.
My mind retains a momentary impression of the tall figures, full of animated, clad in dark, flapping clothes with slouch, storm-driven hats poising on their rifles hardly a hundred yards away. I turned and ran between the rails of the truck and the only thought I achieved was this, “Boer marksmanship.” Two bullets passed, both within a foot. One on either side.
The earth sprang up beside me, and something touched my hand, but outside the cutting was a tiny depression. I crouched in this, struggling to get my wind. On the other side of the railway, a horseman galloped, shouting to me and waving his hand. He was scarcely forty yards off. With a rifle I could have killed him easily. I knew nothing of white flags and the bullets had made me savage. But I was a Press Correspondent without arms of any kind. There was a wire fence between me and the horseman. Should I continue to flyIJ I held up my hand and Mr Jorrocks’ foxes, cried “Capivi”. Then I was herded with the other prisoners in a miserable group, an about the same time I noticed that my hand was bleeding, and it began to pour with the rain. Two days before I had written to an officer in high command at home, whose friendship I had the honour to enjoy; “There has been a great deal too much surrendering in this war and I hope people who do so will not be encouraged.” Fate had intervened yet, though her tone was full of irony she seemed to say as I think. Ruskin once said “It matters very little whether your judgments of your people are true or untrue and very much whether they are kind or unkind” and repeating that I will make an end.
In Brief
lincoln Killed
The Pioneer began its publication on January 1, 1865. Its first world news-story “broke” on April 15, when President lincoln of the United States of America was assassinated. It announced the news on May 10, in a three-line message which appeared on the front page without headings: “lincoln has been assassinated and died today. Assassination of Seward was also attempted and he is not expected to live”
Editorial comment on lincoln’s assassination appeared in the same issue under the heading: The American coup d’état: “The telegraphic wire was never charged with a more astounding or less explicable message than when, on Sunday, it brought the assurance that Mr lincoln’s life had been taken — Mr Seward’s attempted. For who is the criminalIJ People answer with confidence, “Some Southern fanatic”. As a would-be assassin does not wait for the vote of a senate, or ask the sanction of the Government, we must fear the answer true. But atrocious as the crime is, it is also what is politically much worse — an atrocious blunder.”
Gandhi assassinated
It was a black-bordered page, black banner and the blackest of news. “The Nation is Fatherless”, announced The Pioneer of January 31, 1948. “The Pioneer”, the report said: “is deeply grieved to announce that the Father of the Nation, Mahatma Gandhi, is no more. He died at the hands of an assassin on Friday evening at 5.40 at Birla House… Mahatma Gandhi had just climbed the platform and was returning the greetings of the people who had assembled to listen to his prayer address when the assassin, a young Maharashtrian named Nathuram Godse, fired three shots at point-blank range at him. He was immediately removed to Birla House where he died five minutes after...”
Editorially, The Pioneer, wrote: “The weaponless warrior has died at the hands of an assassin... Barely 10 days ago when an unsuccessful attempt was made on his life by some votaries of the cult of bomb, the Mahatma declared firmly that nothing could deflect him from his ideals. Violent death held no terror for him... He faced it unflinchingly with a smile on his lips. Thus had fallen Jesus, thus fell Gandhi.”
The Kipling Aroma
Rudyard Kipling called The Pioneer “India’s greatest and most important paper”. He was so attached to the paper that when he had to finally leave it, Kipling felt deserted and sad. “I felt curiously alone and unsponsored”, wrote he in a booklet titled Something of Myself.
Kipling was introduced to The Pioneer by one of its proprietors Sir George Allen. As a journalist, he was not much of a success. He had little taste for mere routine work and was apt in neglecting tedious assignments that inevitably fell on the shoulders of the junior members.
After the farewell accorded to Kipling by the staff, the manager of the paper told him, “Well, the best of luck, Kipling. But take my tip, try some other carrier. You will never make much of a success with your pen.” Yet the irony is that it is by pen alone that Kipling earned both name and fame and the coveted Nobel Prize for literature.
Kipling’s approach to journalism was rather unorthodox. He would spend much of his time in the bazaar talking to all and sundry or seek entertainment by talking to the native sepoys. Though The Pioneer got a ‘careless’ journalist, it gave to the world one of the finest men of letters of the century.