The story of my captivity during the Transvaal War 189901900
By Adrian Hofmeyr
London, Edward Arnold, 1900
Dedication
WITH SINCERE AFFECTION
AND HEARTFELT GRATITUDE TO THE
BRITISH OFFICERS
MY FELLOW-PRISONERS OF WAR
Preface
Just a word to the reader. The greater part of I my “ Story ” was written in prison. One feels then more keenly and poignantly, and suffers more acutely. I have given vent to such feelings, and this will account for many seemingly hard words. Will the kind reader please remember this ? Now that I am free I cherish no hard thoughts; I have forgotten all indignity heaped upon me. To pacify, to conciliate the genuine Boer, whom I love and respect, I would do anything. My ardent desire is that he, too, soon may experience the inestimable advantages of a beneficent British rule, as we all do in the Cape Colony. What a grand, happy country South Africa then will be—the brightest jewel in our gracious sovereign's crown.
May I live to see my dream realised!
ADRIAN HOFMEYR.
Contents
I. MY POSITION WITH REGARD TO THE WAR
II. THE FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR
III. THE FATEFUL SUNDAY, OCTOBER 1899
IV. MORE ABOUT THAT SUNDAY
V. ANOTHER EVENTFUL DAY
VI. MAGNA EST VERITAS ET PREVALEBIT
VII. IN A PRISON
VIII. THE FIRST WEEK
IX. HARRY’S EXPERIENCES
X. THE MAN AND THE WOMAN
XI. DAILY ROUTINE IN PRISON
XII. TRAITORS
XIII. SOME EPISODES—LUDICROUS AND DISGRACEFUL
XIV. SOME MORE OF THE SAME KIND
XV. ALL PRIVILEGES CURTAILED
XVI. IN HOSPITAL
XVII. THE JOURNEY TO PRETORIA
THE STAATS MODEL SCHOOL
SUNDAY
AN ESCAPE
OUR TIME OF TRIBULATION—AND AFTER!
THE ZARP
DEAD
WAS IT A MISTAKE?
NO DOUBT ABOUT THE FOLLOWING MISTAKES, HOWEVER!
THE BIGGEST MISTAKE OF ALL
ANOTHER FALSE STEP!
MAJUBA DAY— 1900
AND AFTER
A LAST CHANCE
ANOTHER ESCAPE
OUR GREAT TREK
A LOST CHANCE
IN THE CATACOMBS
OUR INFORMATION BUREAU
THE BRITISH OFFICER AND HIS PASTIME
FREE
AFTERWARDS
CONCLUSION
Illustrations
PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR
THE AUTHOR IN PRISON IN PRETORIA
Introductory
When the Transvaal War broke out, October 11, 1899, I happened to be at Lobatsi, in British Bechuanaland, a small railway station on the Buluwayo line, fifty miles north of Mafeking. I was on my way to Lake 'N Garni to visit the trekkers who had settled there since 1894. I was travelling by bullock wagon, accompanied by my young friend Harry Neethling and four Kaffir servants. We were well provisioned, and had sixteen bullocks and two riding horses. I delayed at Lobatsi a couple of weeks waiting for the drought to break up before crossing the dreaded Kalihari. All of a sudden, to our intense surprise, we heard of the Transvaal Ultimatum, and a few hours later of the declaration of war. We had seen and heard of commandos gathering and preparations going on apace, yet no one expected war—at all events not so soon. A couple of white families were living at the station, and round about some hundreds of Kaffirs. When rumours of war became rife, most of the women and children left. Thus it happened that on the fateful 11th only a hospital nurse and the manageress of the hotel were at the station. Lieutenant Cole with twenty-five men and two B. S. A. police constituted the strength of the garrison. This was the position on Thursday morning, the 12th, when news of the declaration of war reached us. Let me take up the tale from there.
My little corner in the Staats Model School—8 feet by 6 feet—in a room occupied by eight officers. Kaffir blankets make a good tablecloth and carpet, and an umbrella-stand upside down a bookcase. The table I bought, and the flowers my sister sent me.
