The first Boer War of 1881 reflected little credit on the British arms, with its disastrous reverses at Laing’s Nek and Majuba; but it added some names to the roll of V.C. heroes which call for special mention.

I do not propose to enter into the history of the war here or discuss its justness. Briefly, it arose from the refusal of the Boers to surrender the Transvaal as a part of the projected South African Federation. Far from being reconciled to British rule, the Boers were united in wishing to maintain their independence, and at the end of 1880 they resorted to arms, proclaiming a Republic.

The command of the British force which was sent into the field was given to General Sir George Pomeroy Colley, a veteran of many wars. On January 28th, 1881, a large force of Boers invaded Natal, and were encountered at Laing’s Nek, a frontier mountain pass some twenty-four miles from Newcastle, with the result that General Colley was repulsed with heavy loss.

Laing’s Nek, which takes its name from a deserted farm on the heights above the upper stream of the Buffalo, forms a most important position, a large tableland at the summit giving the command of the plains below. It was to this particular point that the British general advanced. But the Boers had taken advantage of the mountain spurs and the low hills which flanked the steep winding road leading to the summit, and were able to concentrate a murderous fire upon our troops. Every effort was made to continue the advance, Major Brownlow leading a splendid charge of the Mounted Squadron, in which he had his horse shot under him, but it was in vain. Very slowly, for the Boers pressed hard upon them, the troops fell back.

Then it was that Lieutenant Alan Hill won his V.C. for a gallant action. Out in the open ground, knocked over by a Boer bullet, lay Lieutenant Baillie of his own regiment (the 58th). Running to the wounded man, Hill tried to lift him into his saddle, but finding this too difficult a feat he carried him in his arms along the narrow road, until another bullet put Baillie out of his misery. A little later the lieutenant turned to face the heavy fire of the Boers again, and this time succeeded in bringing back two wounded privates to safety, himself escaping as if by a miracle.

Very cool and brave, too, was Private John Doogan of the 1st Dragoon Guards. Servant to Major Brownlow, he rode close to that officer in the charge of the Mounted Squadron. When the major was dismounted and almost surrounded by Boers, Doogan rode up and jumped off his horse.

“Take my horse, sir,” he said, “and ride off while there’s time.”

The major refused, and with still more determination when Doogan was wounded as he stood urging his master to mount; but although the enemy were close on them both men escaped capture. For that act of devotion Private Doogan was decorated in due course.

Just a month later occurred the fight on Majuba Hill. Colley’s object in occupying this position was to render the Boers’ occupation of Laing’s Nek untenable, but he was again unsuccessful, losing his own life in the attempt. The story of his night march up the hill and the death-trap into which he fell need not be retold. It is a disaster one does not care to dwell upon.

Against the gloom, however, one or two isolated acts of bravery shine out prominently. That gallant soldier Hector Macdonald, then a sergeant in the 92nd Highlanders, won a commission through his prowess there, and Lance-Corporal Farmer, of the Hospital Corps, a V.C.

When Surgeon Arthur Landon stopped behind the retreating soldiers to dress the wounds of the fallen men around him, Corporal Farmer and another man stood by his side to assist. To their shame, be it said, the Boers fired upon the little group, hitting the surgeon, the wounded man, and Farmer’s comrade.

Thinking to stop the cowards, the corporal waved a bandage in the air to show that he was engaged in an act of mercy. But it had no effect. Their rifles cracked again, and the bandage fell as Farmer’s right wrist was struck.

“I’ve got another arm!” he shouted, stooping to pick up the bandage with his left hand and raising it on high. But the Boers shot at him yet once more and with deadly effect, shattering the elbow joint of his arm. After which the brave fellow gave up trying to teach humanity to such savages.

There were other Crosses gained in that brief but inglorious campaign against the Transvaal Boers—at Elandsfontein and at Wesselstroom; but I must pass on to tell of some acts of valour performed in another South African war of rather later date. In 1896 a serious rebellion broke out among the Matabele, who had been living peaceably under the rule of the Chartered Company for three years, and but for the prompt action of the Colonials in Rhodesia the consequences might have been far more terrible than they were.

The causes of that rebellion are not hard to seek. Generally speaking, it is said to have originated in the stringent measures enforced against the cattle plague, the rinderpest, which was sweeping through the country; but there were other and deeper reasons why the Matabele rose. Since their subjection in 1893, after Lo Bengula was defeated, the natives had been compelled to perform a certain amount of labour—paid labour—annually, and had had to pay a very large fine in cattle. All this bore heavily upon them. They chafed under the disgrace of being a conquered people, they who had been a great warlike nation; and only awaited a favourable opportunity to throw off the yoke.

The opportunity came in 1896, after Dr. Jameson, starting on his famous Raid, had withdrawn the police force of Rhodesia, with most of the big guns and munitions of war. Believing the white settlers to be at their mercy now, the Matabele chiefs, who had been maturing their plans, gave the signal to rise, and immediately the civilised world was horrified by a series of terrible massacres, far exceeding any that had taken place in the 1893 rebellion. Within the short space of a week not a white person was left alive in the outlying districts of Matabeleland. Men, women, and children, whole families in some instances, were wiped out.

Prompt action was necessary to deal with the rising. As quickly as possible a strong laager was formed at Bulawayo, the chief town, and a corps of mounted men enlisted. The nucleus of this force was a little company of twenty-three Rhodesians, got together by Captain Grey and known throughout the war as Grey’s Scouts. The rest of the body comprised troopers from the Africander Corps and various Rhodesia Horse Volunteers.

Fine fellows were these; hard as nails, and the best riders and best shots in the colony. For three months, until the arrival of imperial troops, they harried the Matabele without mercy, holding their own against tremendous odds. In this campaign the fighting was very different from that experienced in the former war. The natives had learned the futility of attacking fortified places, and the engagements were fought out in the bush.

Many a tale is told of gallant rescues of isolated settlers who were in danger of being annihilated at this time, and many an instance is recorded of splendid devotion shown to each other by the Colonials. “Never desert your comrade,” was the motto of the troopers, and faithfully did they live up to it. Witness the story of Trooper Henderson.

Hearing that a party of whites at Inyati, about forty miles from Bulawayo, were in peril, Captain Pittendrigh rode out with a few men to the rescue, but on their way they learned that their errand was vain; the party had been massacred. A body of Matabele having been encountered during the journey, and news coming of a large impi being in front, the little force halted at a store by the Impembisi River near the Shiloh hills. Here they fortified themselves against attack while two daring despatch riders hastened back to Bulawayo for reinforcements.

The much-needed help came. Early the next morning thirty men of the Bulawayo Field Force galloped up. They had to report passing through a number of Matabele at Queen’s Reef, in the vicinity, and further that two members of their party were missing, Troopers Celliers and Henderson. The mystery of their disappearance was not cleared up until three days later, when both men came into Bulawayo, Celliers wounded, on horseback, and Henderson, much travel-stained, on foot.

Celliers told the story of their adventures. In the affray with the Matabele at Queen’s Reef his horse had been shot in five places and he himself badly wounded in the knee. Becoming separated from their comrades in the darkness, the two men had hidden in the bush. Then, Celliers’ horse having dropped dead and his wound making it impossible for them to think of following the others, Henderson placed his comrade on his horse and set off with him for Bulawayo.

Their way led through a difficult piece of country which was known to be overrun with Matabele, and Henderson had to exercise the greatest caution in proceeding. Long detours had to be made; now and then, as natives were sighted, they had to conceal themselves among the hills. But though some parties of Matabele warriors passed unpleasantly close, the two men escaped discovery. For three whole days they wandered thus, without food, save a few sour plums, Celliers’ wound all the time causing him great agony; and never was sight more welcome than when the white buildings of Bulawayo greeted their eyes.

That plucky rescue brought a well-deserved Victoria Cross to Trooper Herbert J. Henderson, making him the eighth Colonial to receive the decoration. Celliers, it is sad to record, died from the effects of the amputation of his injured leg.

This affair of the Shiloh patrol occurred in March. In April there was a brisk action fought on the Umguza River by Bisset’s Patrol, among whom were twenty of Grey’s Scouts. Mr. F. C. Selous, who accompanied this force and had a narrow escape of being killed by the Matabele, tells the story of how Trooper Frank Baxter, of the Scouts, here won the V.C., though he lost his life in doing so.

The enemy had been driven from their position with considerable loss, and the troops were retiring from the Umguza, when a party of Matabele warriors who had been lying in ambush to the left of the line of retreat suddenly opened a brisk fire upon them. The foremost of the Scouts galloped past, while Captain Grey and a few of those in the rear halted to return the fire. Trooper Wise was the first to be hit, a bullet striking him in the back as he was in the act of mounting. His horse then stumbled, and breaking away galloped back to town, leaving Wise on the ground.

Seeing the other’s peril, Baxter immediately reined in his horse, sprang down and lifted the wounded man into the saddle. Captain Grey and Lieutenant Hook now went to his assistance, and got Baxter along as fast as they could; but the Matabele came leaping through the bush and closed in upon them.

Firing at close range, they wounded the lieutenant and almost did for Grey, the captain being half stunned by a bullet. As Baxter, left unprotected for the moment, ran on, another Scout, with the picturesque name of “Texas” Long, went to his assistance, bidding him hold on to the stirrup leather. In this fashion Baxter was making good progress towards safety when a bullet struck him in the side, and as he fell to the ground the savages pounced out upon him with their assegais. He was killed before Long or any other could have saved him.

If to lay down one’s life for a friend is the test of true heroism, then Trooper Frank Baxter has surely won a high place in the roll of our honoured dead.

At this same fight on the Umguza other deeds of valour were performed of which no official recognition was taken, but they are enshrined in the memory of the colonists. John Grootboom, a loyal Xosa Kafir and a very famous character, did wonders; and Lieutenant Fred Crewe saved the life of Lieutenant Hook in a gallant manner.

Hook’s horse was shot and its rider thrown to the ground, causing him to lose his rifle.

“Why don’t you pick it up?” asked Crewe, as the other came hobbling towards him.

“I can’t; I’m badly wounded,” was the answer.

“Are you wounded, old chap?” said Crewe. “Then take my horse, and I’ll try and get out of it on foot.”

And, having got the lieutenant up into the saddle, Crewe slowly won his way back through the Matabele, keeping them off with his revolver, and being hit only by a knobkerry which caught him in the back.

The third V.C. of the campaign was won by Captain R. C. Nesbitt, during the fighting in Mashonaland. A party of miners in the Mazoe Valley having been attacked by the natives, a patrol rode to their relief from Salisbury, but was unable to bring them away. On the 19th of June Captain Nesbitt was out with a patrol of thirteen men when he met a runner from the leader of the refugees, with a note which stated that they were in laager and urgently in need of help. A relief force of a hundred men and a Maxim gun was asked for. The captain read the message out to his men and proposed that they should try and rescue the party, to which the troopers readily agreed. Sending the runner on to Salisbury, the patrol at once turned their horses in the direction of the Mazoe Valley, and fought their way through the cordon of Mashonas to the laager. Then, with the three women of the party in an armoured waggon, they started on the return journey, and after some desperate fighting brought them all safely in to Salisbury, with a loss of only three men.

Of such sons as these, Henderson, Baxter, Crewe, and Captain Nesbitt, Rhodesia is deservedly proud. And we “who sit at home at ease” while these outposts of Empire are being won for us, may well be proud too, remembering that they are of our own blood, Britons in that Greater Britain across the seas.