Chapter 24

THE SIEGE OF MAFEKING

This small place, which sprang in the course of a few weeks from
obscurity to fame, is situated upon the long line of railway which
connects Kimberley in the south with Rhodesia in the north. In
character it resembles one of those western American townlets which
possess small present assets but immense aspirations. In its litter
of corrugated-iron roofs, and in the church and the racecourse, which
are the first-fruits everywhere of Anglo-Celtic civilisation, one sees
the seeds of the great city of the future. It is the obvious depôt
for the western Transvaal upon one side, and the starting-point for
all attempts upon the Kalahari Desert upon the other. The Transvaal
border runs within a few miles.

It is not clear why the imperial authorities should desire to hold
this place, since it has no natural advantages to help the defence,
but lies exposed in a widespread plain. A glance at the map must show
that the railway line would surely be cut both to the north and south
of the town, and the garrison isolated at a point some two hundred and
fifty miles from any reinforcements. Considering that the Boers could
throw any strength of men or guns against the place, it seemed certain
that if they seriously desired to take possession of it they could do
so. Under ordinary circumstances any force shut up there was doomed
to capture. But what may have seemed short-sighted policy became the
highest wisdom, owing to the extraordinary tenacity and resource of
Baden-Powell, the officer in command. Through his exertions the town
acted as a bait to the Boers, and occupied a considerable force in a
useless siege at a time when their presence at other seats of war
might have proved disastrous to the British cause.

Colonel Baden-Powell is a soldier of a type which is exceedingly
popular with the British public. A skilled hunter and an expert at many
games, there was always something of the sportsman in his keen
appreciation of war. In the Matabele campaign he had out-scouted the
savage scouts and found his pleasure in tracking them among their
native mountains, often alone and at night, trusting to his skill in
springing from rock to rock in his rubber-soled shoes to save him from
their pursuit. There was a brain quality in his bravery which is rare
among our officers. Full of veldt craft and resource, it was as
difficult to outwit as it was to outfight him. But there was another
curious side to his complex nature. The French have said of one of
their heroes, 'Il avait cette graine de folie dans sa bravoure que les
Francais aiment,' and the words might have been written of Powell. An
impish humour broke out in him, and the mischievous schoolboy
alternated with the warrior and the