The covenant - James A. Michener [452]
Now came that most popular of all war songs, and in many ways the best, 'We're Marching to Pretoria.' Thousands of men chanted this as they closed in upon the Boer capital, and their triumphant voices could be heard as a last railway train left Pretoria on its solemn way down the line that led to Lourenco Marques in Mozambique. This was the only line the Boers still controlled, and in Car 17 that gloomy day rode Oom Paul Kruger in desperate flight.
It took the English only five days to capture Pretoria; it fell on 5 June 1900, and the great Anglo-Boer War was almost over. There was such joy in England that the police feared rioting, and families which still had sons in Africaand there were many of themwept openly to know that their boys would now be coming home.
There was a little mopping up to be done. General Roberts did not want to leave for London until the last railway line was in his hands, for that would mean that any further resistance, even from guerilla units like Paulus de Groot's dwindling commando, would be impossible. Like the good soldier he was, the little one-eyed genius refrained from announcing victory until President Kruger was driven completely out of South Africa, and to achieve this, he proposed that he and Kitchener march east along the railway while General Buller came up from the south to close the final pincers.
There are in existence some fifty telegrams in which Roberts from the north begged Buller in the south to speed up his approach, and to each the Ferryman of the Tugela replied with faultless logic, explaining why he could not move a whit faster. When Roberts sent an English colonel to find out what in the world was restraining this warrior, it fell to Major Saltwood to escort him, and as the two officers inspected General Buller's operations, Frank became even more aware of the considerable change that had taken place in his estimate of Buller.
For example, the visitor exploded at the number of wagons in the train, saying, 'My God! We're in the closing stages of a war. He ought to abandon four-fifths of these and gallop north to help us.'
'Now wait!' Saltwood replied defensively. 'Buller moves slowly, but I've observed that he accomplishes his missions with minimal losses of men. No general protects his troops the way this old man does.'
'But at what cost? He refuses to take chances.'
'I used to think so, too. But watching him in action'
'What action? Know what they're calling him at headquarters? Sitting Bull.' The colonel laughed heartily at the mess-room joke.
Saltwood stiffened. 'Sir, we have a dozen funny names for the old fellow. But do you know what his men call him? John Bull.'
The colonel was not impressed, but when he challenged Buller about his excessive wagons, all he got was a harrumph: 'Damn me, man, troops can't march forward with empty bellies.'
'General Roberts says you think too much about your men.'
'No general ever lost a battle because he defended his men.'
'When you began this campaign,' the colonel pointed out ungraciously, 'you promised it would be over by Christmas. That was last Christmas, sir.'
Buller showed no resentment. Squinting his tight little eyes beneath the brooding visor, he said simply, 'Damn-fool statement. Made it before I'd met the Boers in battle. They're formidable, sir, and if Roberts thinks . . .' The rest of his rebuttal was lost in his monstrous mustache.
The formal meeting accomplished nothing, but when Buller withdrew, mumbling to himself, Saltwood remained with the colonel. 'In our march north I've