The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 15 December 1910, Page 2043

The Storyteller

SEVEN HUNDRED MILES FOR A PRIEST It was the 25th of February, 1900, the eighth day since the grim Boer commandment, General Cronje, had been surrounded by the British forces in the Modder River. He had some 4000 troops ail told, whilst Lord Roberts had 50,000 men. Some of these were composed of crack Canadian and English regiments. Lord Roberts's artillery consisted of 150 pieces. After the third day of the grand defence of General Cronje and his heroic band, the British General determined to crush him at all hazards. On the south bank of the river he placed in position, at a range of 2000 yards, the Eighteenth, Sixty-second, and Seventyfifth field batteries and two naval twelve-pounders. On the north bank, and enfilading the whole river, were placed the Sixty-fifth Howitzer battery, the Seventy-sixth, Eightysecond field batteries, and three naval 4.7-inch guns. A terrible scene followed.

The British guns simultaneously poured shot and shell on the Boer position, which was about a mile square. The lyddite shells raised great clouds of green, nauseous smoke which filled the bed of the river, while shrapnel burst on the edge and down the sides of the river banks, into which the Burghers had burrowed, and from tunnels they had dug often poured a return fire, which laid many a British soldier low. On that day alone the British lost 800 men in killed and wounded.

Thus the long line of British batteries belched forth death the whole day long, and on each side of them lay two battalions of infantry whose maxims sounded petty beside the roaring big guns. There were many dumb animals, oxen, and horses in that whirlpool of shot and shell, and many Boer women with suckling babes and many tiny tots and many grey-haired men, but that did not stop the faring; not even during the night. The earth shook under the detonation of the fearful cannonading and the soaring grape-shot and the bursting shells crossing each other and bursting in the midst of the Boer laager made a pyrotechnical display never to be forgotten by those who witnessed the fearful battle of. the Modder River. The stubborn resistance of Cronje at first angered, ' then awed, Lord Roberts.

One of the Shropshire regiments contained some Irish sharp-shooters. That night the Shropshires were ordered to relieve the Gordons. They crawled on their stomachs to toe trenches. But somehow one of the rifle bullets of one of the Boers found its mark. Shot through the abdomen, a young Irish Shropshire sergeant ceased his crawling and lay helpless. His comrades dragged him bv his feet slowly and painfully to the rear, where the white tents of the Red Cross, each decorated with the symbol of mercv, shimmered in the flickering light of the assault. 'lt's a blamed treacherous wound,' said the cool surgeon as he examined the man; 'he may live three days and a little longer, but there is no curing him.' Gently the nurses placed him on a cot. The poor man had heard the blunt surgeon's remarks. He knew his time had come; and amidst the terrors or war and the black veldt there arose in his mind the green holds of Ireland and the stillness of his little parish church and the benign face of the Soggarth Aroon, the dear priest. The head nurse had been admitted to Lord Roberts's field tent. He was about to retire. Standing upright at the small table,, he listened attentively to what the nurse had to say. ' Sergeant Mc will not admit that it cannot be done, my lord. He knows that the next Catholic priest is seven hundred miles away. But he says that he cannot believe that you would refuse the request of a dying man. We have fought with him on every possible ground. He will not listen.' The British General looked to the ground 111 silence. 'What shall I say, my lord, to the man?' insisted the nurse. Lord Roberts went to the opening of the tent 'Call Engineer Headly,' the General said to the orderly, who was waiting outside. A trim, wiry, stocky little man appeared, bronzed like a Florentine statue, with eager eyes, restless and keen and stood at attention. 'Headly, is the train in readiness?' ' It is, my lord.' , , 'How long will it take you to ride to Kimberley and back r ' Four days, my lord.' ' Call Captain MacDonald.' The orderly saluted. Tall and with quick steps the captain entered. r 'What of the last report of the condition of the road'' asked General Roberts. , 'The last telegrams indicate, my lord, that the road is wed guarded, and up to this hour no break is reported ' •Engineer Headly, you will proceed to Kimberley at once. 1 iThen Lord Roberts < sat at a small writing table and dashed off a few lines. ' Give this to Major Dudley ' And then the man saluting, the nurse bowing, left the tent of tie commanding officer. Soon the light of Lord Roberts's tent was extinguished.

And half an hour after the man in the trenches heard between the lulls of firing the whistle of the train as it sped out of the camp into the night on its long way to Kimberly. 'There must be something doing,' said one to another. ' Never heard of such a thing before,' spoke a burly ambulance man, the red cross sewed to his left arm, as he bent over a still form with glassy eyes and lifted it upon the stretcher. 'What did you hear asked his companion, coolly examining his helmet through which , a bullet had just whizzed. ' Why His Bobs (meaning Lord Roberts) has just sent Headly with his train seven hundred miles to get a priest for Sergeant Mc -, who is expected to die within a few days; just the engine, the tender, and a coach, and Headly is ordered to make the run of his life.' The other ambulance man only gasped' and shook his head. They were nearing the hospital tents with their burden. 'How is Sergeant Me- ?' they asked of the assistant surgeon, who when he saw the ambulance-men coming, drew back the tent flap for them. '.Sleeping like a child,' he responded, ' and that ever since he heard the . good-bye whistle of Headly's train.' Among the intrepid Boer generals no name was more feared . by the English Army than that of the Commandant Christian I)e Wet. Young and fearless, wily and resourceful, gifted with that magnetism which made his men do his bidding with enthusiasm, he inflicted more harm by his daring night attacks to the British than the other Boer generals combined. He it was who would derail the trains at unexpected places and, taking from the cars what suited him, would burn the rest. He was to be found cutting into the flanks of the moving army and taking hundreds of prisoners at a time. He would conceal him" self in a road that crossed a deep nullah, and so well were his forces hidden that the leading 'scouts passed over the drift without discerning them, and not until the waggons and guns were entering the drift did the Boers show themselves. They then opened fire, and many of the drivers and artillery horses were at once shot down at short range guns were captured and the Queen's best cavalry regiments put to flight. Headly had reached Kimberley in safety. He was on his return to the Modeler River with a single passenger a Catholic priest, the chaplain of the Fusiliers at Kimberly, quite a young man, the idol of his soldier boys. The news of the train's singular trip had sped on before them along the line, and wherever the engine stopped either to take on. water or for the engineer to telegraph, the soldiers on guard looked, inquisitively through the windows of the coach to see the Catholic priest for whose coming Bobs had sent a special train. They saw him, a man of military and resolute bearing, . calmly eyeing them, silent and composed. For he had with him, nestling closely to his beating heart, the Blessed Sacrament. It was past midnight, and within a few hours they should reach the outposts of General Roberts' army. The squad of men guarding both entrances of the' coach fell to the floor like so many logs as the train came to a sudden standstill. A fusillade of shots rang out into the night air and a confusion of voices, rough and shrill, was heard. Before the men could gather themselves from the floor, strong men had pinioned their arms and the coach was filled with bearded Burghers. Then a voice was heard, clear as the metal ring of a bell, but in badly accented English, saying: 'You show me the priest and I let you pass. But by —ifit is not so, I shoot you on the spot.' Headly was dragged through tho throng, and back of him, towering like a giant, a revolver in his hand, came De Wet, the Boer General. 'Here sir, is Father George, the chaplain of the Fusiliers, let him answer for me,' exclaimed the engineer. 'Stand back, men, do you hear, stand back!' cried De Wet, as he held a lantern on high and let the light fall full on the face of the priest, who seemed neither startled nor dismayed. 1 I seo you are a priest,' said De Wet. " Did Lord Roberts send for you to attend a dying man at the Modder River 'He did, sir,' was the answer of Father George. .'He may be a spy; he may have valuable papers on his person, remarked one of De Wet's men in Dutch ■/ De Wet turned on him like a tiger: 'Get thee out o' here • ? and all of you. This train shall pass, and woe to him who will molest this man or not obev my orders And the Burghers knew Christian De Wet's temper. Pell mell they scrambled out of the coach. 'The Lord, our good God, be with you, Father, and bring you safe to the end of your journey,' spoke De Wet as he uncovered and held the priest's -hands a moment in his iron grip and then ' vanished into the darkness, as the train, puffing and hisi sing, moved again over the rails towards its destination. J A wild shout went up among General Roberts' men as the train, the .whistle screeching incessantly, reached the camp. General Cronje had surrendered two days before _ and he and his men were witnesses of the pandemonium that reigned when it became known that Headly had arrived. Sergeant Mc—— received the Sacraments of the dying with his senses unimpaired and with a devotion and gratitude toward God that was truly edifying. A ~ few hours afterwards he died, and in the dead of nicht he was ; buried .—Mount Angel Magazine.