January 26th 1885, near Vryburg, United States of Stellaland, Disputed Territory.
“Geen sneeu hierdie Kersfees nie” No Snow this Christmas.
“Wanneer het dit al ooit hier gesneeu?” When has it ever snowed here?
“Was jy nog nooit uit na Moshoeshoe land nie?” Have you ever been out to Moshoeshoe's land?
“Nee broeder, kan nie se ek was al ooit nie” No brother, I haven't.
“Wel, daar is altyd sneeu op daardie pieke” There's snow on the peaks all year round there.
“Dit sal ek moet sien om te kan glo” I believe it.
The sound of the approaching ponies distracted them from their conversation, the column of Transvaal Boers riding tightly together. A good twenty men on horseback, each with a Mauser slung over his back. Those were new. Their bearded leader swung himself off his horse and approached the two Boers with slow steps, squinting slightly as he looked to the pair, the rising sun in his eyes.
“Dag sê, dag sê broeders, kan een van julle my vertel of hierdie pragtige stuk aarde Stellaland is?” This is Stellaland, Yes?
“Dag sê broeder, dit is interdaad. Kan ons U help?” Yes, and what are you doing? Can we help you?
“Oom Paul stuur sy groete” Uncle Paul sends his regards.
“Natuurlik. Ons het U verwag” Naturally. We have been expecting you.
“Goed so!, Hoe is Van Niekerk?” Good. How is Van Niekerk?
“Hy is gereed, ons almal is...” He is ready. We all are.
“Goed, dan ry ons saam die Here Vader” Good! We will ride with God.
“Wat is jou naam broeder?” What is your name brother?
"Koos."
The Boers nodded to one another and then to him. The younger of the pair then indicated he mount his horse.
"Daar is 'n Britse garnisoen, in die skaduwee van die koppie uitsig oor Vryburg."There's a British garrison in the shadow over the hill over Vryburg.
"Perfek." Perfect.
The column rode up the side of the Kop, taking pains to be avoided from Vryburg. Finally they reached the summit at what Koos guessed to be seven in the morning. The sun was to their right as it rose like a great red eye. The Boers settled into position and sighted their guns on the tents of the British garrison below. The camp was already starting to awaken as a mutter ran around the group at the size of the tableau below.
“Hoeveel van hulle skat julle?” How many are there?
“Ons skat so 4000 rooinekke” We guess about 4,000 Imperial troops
A mutter arose from a few of the men from Transvaal before one spoke.
“Vier duisend van hulle teen twintig van ons?” 4,000 against 20 of us?
Koos was on him like a lightning bolt.
“Dit is net die beamptes wat saak maak” We just fight the officers.
"En die res?" And the rest?
"Vryburg sal wen." Vryburg shall rise.
“Hoekom het oom Paul gewag tot nou om hulle by die Modder vas te trek?” How come Uncle Paul waited until, why didn't he have them by the Modder?
“Oom Paul se weë is buite my verstandhouding” The ways of Uncle Paul are beyond my knowing.
…
Koos had read his bible aloud, speaking softly and quietly as he and his men waited out the day. They had prayed and planned and then ate a cold meal so as to avoid giving away their position through the smoke or light of a fire. Below them the camp swarmed and moved like a living thing, sending out patrols but none ascending the slopes of the kop over Vryburg. Now the sun was setting and as darkness fell Koos lead his men in one last prayer and then each of them smeared mud and bootblack on the skin of the others, until they could only be seen by the whites of their eyes and their teeth.
The Boers descended the kop as darkness fell, grease masking the reflective surfaces of their Mausers and combat knives on their belts. As they approached the camp, they split up into ever smaller groups, until Koos and one man were stood just beyond the edge of the camp. The protection was lax, an outer perimeter being patrolled by paired soldiers on foot. Koos watched as the nearest were ambushed by four of his men. Two leapt in front of them, guns raised as two more slipped behind them and put knocked the British out with the butts of their rifles.
Initial objective achieved, the Boers slipped into the camp, exploiting the shadows and their fieldcraft skills to move between the tents. The British troops, relieved after their confrontation with the forces of the Transvaal just four days earlier on the Modder and the bloodless resolution meant that their guard was lowered. Of the Commando, Koos and four others made it to the tents of the Officers. The rest dispersed to create chaos, having studied the garrison from above for a day they now started fires and sowed distraction amongst the British.
“Bechuana! Bechuana raiders in the camp!”
The pop of Mauser fire and the crackle of flame in the distance was enough for Koos and his companions to slip into the tent of the expedition leader, knives drawn. Their leader, a Major General kept his wits about him enough to pull out his revolver as one of the Commando put his knife to his adjutants neck. Koos spoke softly.
“Drop the gun, General Warren.”
There was no hint of fear in the man's voice, as he kept his gun level, swinging it to Koos before lowering it as the man behind him shoulders his Mauser.
“You're no Bechuana. In fact looking at your guns, I'd say you were either Boers or Germans.”
“Very perceptive of you. I will not however be telling you any time soon. Uys skiet hom.” Uys, shoot him.
The Mauser barked so close as Uys squeezed the trigger and Warren fell backward, cross eyed as a third eye blossomed above the bridge of his nose, red blood spurting from the wound and dribbling down his face. The adjutant followed him to the ground, a bloody second smile spraying the fabric of the tent floor.
“Dit is tyd dat ons die plek te verlaat” Time to leave.
...
They slipped out into the swirling chaos of the camp, darting from shadow to shadow and taking opportunities to further the chaos. Koos didn't look behind him once they broke out of the perimeter, running up the dark hillside until he was at the hide. Of the group, two were missing on their return. Given the hornet's nest that was unfolding in the valley, Koos didn't want to risk it. Below them the burghers of Vryburg had risen as one and struck whilst their would-be oppressor was distracted and confused. The men of Goshen to the north had ridden through the day and their column thundered into the valley as the British tents burned. Matched at three to one but facing a disoriented and confused enemy, the burghers of Stellaland slaughtered the British expedition in the shadow of Vryburg.
The British had crossed the Modder. They would not return.
~
