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  That night, tucked up snugly on a bed of hay in a barn, with men on sentry duty outside, I said to Kenny Macdonald that this must be one of the most tranquil and beautiful places on earth. I declared I would return with my family some day, but until then this place would be my secret. Oblivious to the war that night, I had a contented feeling as I drifted off. I remember a cat coming in beside me and curling up against my back.

  Early the next morning, the Sussex Regiment arrived and the peace was brutally shattered. They’d been commanded to torch the place. I remonstrated fiercely with the colonel but to no avail. The women were given ten minutes to gather their belongings, and then we could only watch, dumbstruck, as the houses were torched and their dog shot. The looks the women gave me conveyed their sense of betrayal and disgust.

  I harnessed a horse to a trap, so that the women could load it up for their trek to the camp. I felt ashamed at having broken my promise. Just then, one of the infantrymen who had been searching an outbuilding gave a shout and the commanding officer rushed to join him. They emerged shortly afterwards carrying boxes of ammunition. I turned towards the women, astonished. They could no longer look me in the eye. I must have looked a gullible fool in everyone’s eyes, I must say.

  My men and I rode off in silence, to return to our camp. Accompanying us throughout this period was a correspondent from the Morning Post called H. W. Blundell, so we knew that all our actions would be reported and that my mother and everyone who knew us would read about it.

  In my mother’s letters to me she would mention articles that referenced in detail our occasional predicaments – events that I had, of course, played down in my correspondence. For example, once I wrote that we had ridden to join General MacDonald at Heilbron and left it at that. But she promptly sent me a cutting from a new newspaper that had just been launched called The Daily Express. It described in vivid detail how the Lovat Scouts were harried and shot at all week as they fought their way through with vital supplies and how the men had their horses shot from beneath them as they raced for the town through the middle of an eight thousand-strong Boer army to a heroes’ welcome from General MacDonald and the Highland Brigade. Suffice it to say, Mother demanded a bit more candour in my future letters home.

  She wrote only one line about the whisky business: ‘Jack says things are very difficult at the distillery right now, and has written asking for you to come home to help.’ I did not rise to the bait. Jack knew my rationale for staying here.

  Blundell built our trust with his dispassionate reporting. He was unusual in this respect. Many others were exaggerating acts of bravery and glorifying the war in the most jingoistic terms, while downplaying the reality of our daily conditions out here. Wild and irresponsible rumours in the press only upset those dearest to us at home.

  The night after we broke through, Blundell and I had dinner at Heilbron with Fighting Mac. The general told me what a commendable job we had done, that we were an integral part of the Highland Brigade and we were to take orders from no one but him. It was the first time I’d met the man and I found him quite charming. Of course, I knew a lot about him already. He was a crofter’s son from Dingwall who had joined the army as a private soldier and gradually worked up the ranks to become the hero he was now. He was also a Gaelic speaker, which endeared him to the men.

  That same day, he had received a parcel of knitted socks, sweets and our favourite tobacco, Golden Bar, from the Glen Etive School, for distribution solely amongst MacDonalds. I had eleven of the clan out of the hundred or so men under my command and they were all delighted to receive the gifts.

  The general warned us that the Boer were changing their tactics. The formal war had already been won by the British, but now the Boer Commando were travelling without cumbersome wagons. They took only food, a blanket and weapons. They would attack strung-out convoys, or hold the high ground in a pass with their Maxim machine guns, but then as soon as things got too hot for them, they would vanish, only to reappear somewhere else. He foresaw that this new strategy would make things very difficult for us. A mere hundred Boer would be able to harry a brigade of several thousand and potentially inflict tremendous casualties. The general also observed that the Lovat Scouts were the only regiment he knew of that was suited to this new type of warfare.

  In the preceding few weeks, there had been a spate of night attacks. The Boer had crept into British army camps at night, stolen weapons and cut the horses free. There was even an attack in broad daylight when twenty Boer, dressed in khaki and wearing British helmets, came riding up to a small convoy. With almost all our men now heavily bearded, it was impossible to tell they weren’t British until they were right amongst our troops. Without a shot being fired, they captured two wagons of ammunition, one of food supplies and took all the horses.

  The general had heard about the skills of Chief Scout Burnham and he was sceptical, until, with Blundell present, I told him of our experiences. Once, on a week-long patrol, our horses were growing weaker and thirstier as waterhole after waterhole we came across was dried up or polluted by the Boer dumping rotting animal carcasses into them. Burnham had taught us how to use sticks as water diviners so we were able to find a spring only a couple of feet under the ground in a nearby hollow. And in another instance, due to Burnham’s instruction, we followed the tracks of a Boer Commando unit which had swept around in a circle and would have ambushed us if we hadn’t spotted their spoor. Blundell wrote down my every word on the man, and his subsequent article about Burnham resulted in many follow-up pieces in the press.

  General Kitchener’s controversial instigation of the clearing of Boer families from their land – what was known as the scorched-earth policy – was also discussed. After agreeing with Blundell that the conversation be off the record, we expressed our doubts that this policy would actually bring the Boer men to heel. Blundell was of the opinion that the more the public got to hear of the appalling death rates in the camps, the greater would be the backlash against the war. It could only be damaging to the army’s reputation. I agreed; this was a distasteful aspect and my men were keen to avoid it.

  The general confided in us that he, too, thought the clearance policy was ill advised and that he was ashamed of it. ‘Kitchener will live to regret it,’ I recall him saying, before he showed us a letter he had received from a Boer corporal.

  (Cprl) C. R. Van Niekerk,

  Burgersdorp Commando,

  O.F.S. Army

  30th June 1900

  General ‘Fighting Mac’!

  Sir, I beg to state that having been on commando for less than a year now, fighting a clean war and being civilised to your injured, I now have cause to be upset.

  I understand that we are at war, but is it right that you now fight women and children? My wife and her six children were put out of their home and had to watch your ‘gallant women-fighters’ burn it to the ground. They were taken to the concentration camp at Bloemfontein. There, four of our children have died in two weeks.

  Have my fellow Boer done anything similar to your side? They have not.

  My men now want to go to the Cape Colony and burn down houses, and there is a lot of bitterness. Lots of our men will want to do this in the future. Is this what Kitchener and you call war?

  The Boer people ask you to fight like gentlemen.

  I have the honour to be, Sir, your obedient servant,

  C. R. Van Niekerk

  We knew the Boer were running out of ammunition. Their Long Tom field guns had been out of use for a while and their other artillery, too. Increasingly, they were coming after our .303s and ammunition. I told the general of one unfortunate young English officer and his men, who were caught by the Boer. After surrendering, their rifles, ammunition, horses and even their boots were taken, and he and his fifty cavalrymen had an ignominious day’s walk into Aliwal North camp where they were greeted with much laughter by the garrison.

  Blundell wanted information from MacDonald about the National Scouts, and th
e general was happy to tell him what he knew. He explained that Boer soldiers were offered inducements to come over to the British side, to work both as spies and in an active fighting unit called the National Scouts. To date, over five thousand men had switched. There was a deep antagonism between the Boer fighting against each other, with many instances of brother fighting brother. Those in the pay of the British were known as Judas-Boer or hendsuppers, and when captured by their brethren, they were paraded down the street and spat at by the women before being executed. MacDonald had heard that Kruger had a man whose job was to compile a list of those in the pay of the British. Kruger planned to have branding irons made in the shape of a cross so that after the war these men would be identified by the brands between the eyes.

  There were dozens of men fighting for the Boer Commando with Scottish names like Maclean, Grant and MacDonald. When captured, they were treated exactly the same as the Boer prisoners, with no retribution. That said, we had heard of some atrocities from our side, too. After one night attack in Natal half a dozen Boer had been captured, lined up and shot by a firing squad.

  The general was full of news that we junior officers normally didn’t get to hear about, and Blundell obtained excellent copy for his newspaper. He told us that shortly after Christiaan de Wet, the Boer commander in chief, had captured a huge amount of ammunition and supplies at Rooiwal, his brother Piet, also a Boer general, had surrendered and was now fighting for the British. Christiaan had apparently remarked that he would shoot his brother if he ever laid eyes on him again.

  A few weeks later, I found myself describing that dinner with Fighting Mac to Major Murray. We discussed the concentration camps and Kitchener’s policy of herding Boer families together under British Army command. Initially the Boer had been in favour of the camps. It had only been twenty years since the Anglo-Zulu war, and there was a real concern that the black population would take the opportunity of the men being away on commando duties to seize the farms and capture, or even kill, the families. So, the women and children being corralled together, fed and kept safe was certainly preferable. However, as time went on, with farms being razed and the terrible conditions in the camps becoming widely known, an outcry went up about the inhumane treatment.

  Donald John is my eyes and ears within the regiment. He has told me of ignorant men drinking water without boiling it, and of a man who received a distressing letter from home who needed my help. It was Donald John who told me how much unease there was amongst the men about the farm clearances and how some were saying they would refuse to be involved. I found it hard to believe the wild rumours of massive deaths in the camps: surely our side was better than this?

  Chapter 13

  Captain Willie MacDonald, South Africa, 1900

  It was not long after Heilbron that Number Two Squadron caught up with us and Simon Lovat became well enough to rejoin as Number One squadron commander. I reverted to adjutant. I suspect they were rather envious when they learned the full facts about our relieving Heilbron and the high esteem in which we were now held.

  After a relatively peaceful period, a move to seize control of the land to the south of Bethlehem and catch a key Boer force before they escaped into the mountains of Basutoland was afoot. The Afrikaners held a hilly area called the Vaal Krantz ridge, with a pass through it called Retiefs Nek. It was bitterly cold, with a strong wind and snow on the uplands. The Boer must have believed there was no chance of a night attack in such foul weather so they had moved down to the shelter and campfires of the veld below. But they had underestimated how well our Highland men thrive in these conditions. Once the Scouts and Highland Light Infantry had possession of the ridge, then the battle was won and our men controlled the pass.

  It remained a constant battle though. We were sniped at incessantly. Private Barron was shot through the heart and Lieutenant Brodie was hit in his left leg; it took four hours for our men to carry Brodie out after dark. We had heard what excellent marksmen the Boer farmers were, yet I cannot testify to that. About two hundred and fifty of them were concealed in the rocks a good four hundred yards from us, and all day they shot at us, and we at them. We sustained only one casualty but knew for certain that over thirty of them were killed by the Scouts. By now, Donald John had learned a lot of Dutch and his fluency had come in very useful. He overheard the Boer commandant shout to his men on the left to drop back and then come around behind our right flank. As a result, I sent half a dozen men back with the Maxim machine gun and they shot them all. We had one hundred and fifty bullets each and had completely run out by the time the enemy had cleared off.

  I had never heard such a din. We had six or eight of our siege guns along with a naval gun and pom-poms, all mixed with the rat-a-tat-tat of machine guns and rifles. The Boer were incredibly brave to hold their position despite the rocks exploding around them. When the artillery was called off, the Camerons and Seaforths charged the Boer position, with the burghers running and tumbling down the hill in their rush to get away.

  On 30 July 1900, I wrote to my mother.

  Bethlehem, O.F.S.

  Dearest Mother,

  I am writing this while sitting on top of a kopje, waiting for fighting to begin. We left Bethlehem in a great hurry nine days ago and have been fighting every day since then. We had a two-day fight at Retiefs Nek, a narrow pass into the hills held by six thousand Boer. Our first night there was dismal – heavy rain, followed by snow showers and sleet. This was our preparation for battle. I woke up with two inches of water under my bed which was a real joy! In the morning, our big guns shelled while the Black Watch, Highland Light Infantry and Sussex attacked the ridge.

  The Black Watch got up pretty well on the left but the Highland Light Infantry were held back by the steep rocks. The Sussex were beaten back on the right. This took all day. At night we offered to go along the ridge under cover of darkness and command the pass at daylight, but Hector would not allow it so instead we sent Sergeant Dewar, Dugald MacDonald and John McDonald the Boss up to reconnoitre the ground. They found two seemingly uninhabited Boer camps, with fires and camps two thousand feet below. Then they returned and woke the colonel at 3.30 a.m. to take his men, plus our two hundred Scouts along the ridge. Dugald and Dewar showed them the way. We got to the pass ten minutes before the Boer began to come up from their side, and after two hours we had secured the pass. We fought hard on the left and charged a kopje with the Seaforth and had some fine shooting at the Boer, who were streaming across the plain below. This finished the fight and we returned to camp. General Hunter sent for Lovat the next day and made four points:

  1) The Lovat Scouts had done considerably more than their share in the two days;

  2) It was thanks to the three Scouts that the ridge was won, and it was this that gained the day;

  3) The stalking glass was astoundingly useful with a good man behind it;

  4) A special message would be sent to Lord Roberts as to the conduct of the Scouts.

  Hunter parted company with our force that day but kept six of the Scouts with him. And our gallant three, two of whom were Lochaber men, were mentioned in dispatches.

  Your ever loving son,

  W. MacDonald

  I was afraid that I would not be able to settle down after the war as the excitement of the action had become so intoxicating. Days would pass without my thinking about Jack and his struggles with the whisky business; it seemed distant and unimportant when my immediate concern was keeping my men and myself alive.

  The next day, Sergeant Major MacNeil, Donald John, General MacDonald and I spied from a hilltop the Boer Commando below. We observed thousands of men, several hundred wagons and a valley full of livestock. We had them surrounded. Within two days, the general surrendered his six thousand men. We didn’t really know what was happening elsewhere, but I couldn’t help but think that this would finish the show and we would be sent home in six weeks.

  That night, there was a grand supper for the men, with an issue of rum, a visit by
our own general and congratulatory speeches by Murray and Simon. Hector told us that he was immensely proud of us and did not forget to say so to everybody. It was during the dinner that Sergeant Cameron – newly released – arrived. He just strolled in and took his measure of rum, to wild applause from everyone. He had been with the Boer for six weeks, and when they surrendered, he and half a dozen other prisoners had been released. The Scouts were just like a family, an extraordinarily tight group of men, and it made one fiercely proud.

  Immediately after the surrender, the Boer were stripped of their guns and horses. The encampment was surrounded by troops, then a couple of days later, a two-mile-long line of men was walked, over the course of two days, towards Bethlehem. There, they were put on trains to take them south. With such a major engagement won and the capture of so many badly needed, and excellent horses to boot, the Imperial forces had taken a significant step forwards.

  Chapter 14

  Captain Willie MacDonald, South Africa, 1900

  The days that followed passed slowly; the dejected Dutch shuffled along, in no hurry to be sent off to the colonies for the rest of the war. During this trek I rode alongside Sergeant Cameron and took the opportunity to ask him about his family – his father Ewan in particular. My father had described him as ‘a colourful and affectionate rogue’ and said there were more stories about this man than any other in Lochaber. His son, however, loyally insisted that he was now quite an old fellow, living quietly near Achnacarry. Yet, as we rode, the stories tumbled out.

  The family hailed originally from Glen Dessary at the top of Loch Arkaig. His father had been the biggest distiller of illegal whisky in the west, Cammy believed. Their still was located at the old Hanoverian barracks, from where they transported the whisky by pony to the west via Camusrory, over Bonnie Prince Charlie’s route to Glenfinnan or down the loch to Achnacarry Castle and out that way. The excise men, or ‘gaugers’ as he called them, couldn’t get near there without being seen by the locals, who knew well that they would be handsomely rewarded by Ewan for getting the news to him of a raid.