At the Fireside--Volume 1 (5 page)

Scotty Smith

Scotty Smith

If ever there was a character in our history who, along with Dick Turpin, Ned Kelly and Jesse James, deserves a place in the rogue's gallery of the world's ‘Gentlemen of the Road', it is our very own Scotty Smith. He is notorious as a cattle rustler, horse thief, highwayman and outlaw, secret service agent, IDB trafficker, confidence trickster, soldier of fortune and half a dozen other things besides. He was loved, feared and hated throughout the northern borders of South Africa for almost three decades and, as a young boy, I knew of the Welcome Beer Hall in Potchefstroom, where the bullet holes in the counter were a reminder of one of his escapades.

Born George St Leger Gordon Lennox in 1845, the eldest son of a Perthshire landowner, he received a good education, which included subjects such as land surveying and veterinary science. He landed in Cape Town in 1877 and for the next forty years this country was his home and was where he earned his dubious fame.

At the end of 1877 Scotty was in Kokstad, working as a military farrier, when he received a message that his bank in Glasgow required his presence. He calmly deserted his regiment, went to Scotland, sorted things out and returned, only to be punished for dereliction of duty. He was sent to King William's Town, where he decided that army life was not for him, and so began his long career in brigandage. His desertion set the pattern for the future. He commandeered two of the best police horses, and scarpered!

It is totally impossible to recount the events of this man's doings in any coherent order, so I am going to set down some of the better known escapades of this fascinating man.

This story is probably the first of his escapades as it took place shortly after his desertion from the army. In his old age, he was extremely proud of this particular event and understandably so, because in subsequent exploits he never quite reached the same heights of ingenuity.

He rode from King William's Town to Fort Beaufort, where he sold the two stolen horses and, with his real identity undetected, he took on a job as an assistant foreman with a road construction gang. He and the foreman soon became good friends and, as the road under construction passed through many farms, they were entertained hospitably by many farmers, including one particular elderly couple, at whose home there was always a bed and a hot meal awaiting them.

Unfortunately, the old man died and, at the reading of the will, an amazing disclosure was made. Practically all he possessed had been bequeathed to the lawyer, while his wife was left penniless. Hurriedly, the lawyer wound up the estate and placed the assets up for auction. Almost £10 000 was realised and deposited in the lawyer's bank account. The widow, meanwhile, was too frail and heartbroken to challenge the will.

Scotty was not prepared to let this matter rest and, on obtaining a copy of the will, concluded that it was a forgery. He sent it with a covering letter to the bank manager, suggesting that the signature be verified by a handwriting expert. He also decided to take independent action to assist the widow, just in case nothing came of his letter.

On the night on which the money was deposited in the Bank, Scotty was in town and the following morning Fort Beaufort awoke to the electrifying news that the Bank had been robbed of £10 000, with no clues left as to the identity of the thief. A reward of £1 000 was offered for the capture of the thief

Some time later, Scotty and his foreman were sitting in their camp. The latter looked very worried. ‘What's the matter?' asked Scotty.

‘It's my wife, she is seriously ill and requires specialist treatment and I haven't the money. But if only I could capture that Bank robber...'

‘I think we can rectify that situation', said Scotty. ‘First let's get the reward money straightened out.' They set off to the bank.

‘I have certain information that could lead to the successful capture of the thief and the return of the money', said Scotty, ‘but first we want a written undertaking that the £1 000 reward money will be paid.'

The delighted bank manager drew up the document and signed it. Back at camp, Scotty gave his friend the copy of agreement saying that the money was as good as in his pocket, and informed his friend that he had robbed the bank, and that he should call the police and have him arrested.

‘Rubbish', said his friend, ‘and even if you had, I would never turn you in.'

Scotty, assured him that no gaol could hold him and promised him that he would remain behind bars only until the reward was paid out. In this way he persuaded his friend to turn him in. Scotty was sent to prison for robbery. The manager, however, would not hand over the reward because after searching Scotty's lodgings, no money could be found. He visited Scotty in gaol and broached the subject of the missing money.

‘What have you done about the will?' asked Scotty.

‘You were right', was the reply. ‘The will was forged and the matter is now in the hands of the police. You did a good thing there, Scotty, the money really does belong to her, which makes it more incomprehensible as to why you stole it.'

‘It should be obvious', said Scotty. ‘I have no faith in the law, and I was making sure that she received her just due, whatever happened.'

Thereupon, they came to an agreement. Scotty, handcuffed, would show the bank manager where the money was hidden and the widow in turn would receive the money. Scotty led the manager to a mound of earth some distance out of town, slipped his handcuffs, overpowered the manager and tied him up seated on top of the mound. Climbing on to the manager's horse, he said, ‘I have never broken my word, and I don't intend to start now. You are sitting on top of the money and I will tell the first person I see in town of your whereabouts and you will be rescued.'

He was true to his word, the bank manager was found and the money recovered. As Scotty had been arrested, the bank paid the reward money to the foreman whose wife could then have the treatment needed, and the widow received her inheritance.

There was a countrywide hue and cry about the audacious gaol breaker, but Scotty was already riding hard for the north-west.

In order to appreciate fully the antics of George St Leger Lennox, it is necessary to have a broad understanding of not only the territory but also the people, places, politics and events of the last quarter of the 19th century. The area we are talking about stretches from Kimberley, westward towards Klaarwater (now Griquatown), then north to Postmasburg and Kuruman, turning east to Mmabatho and Zeerust, south to Mamusa (the present-day Schweizer-Reneke), down to Bloemhof and then back to Kimberley. This is the area that later briefly would be known as the Republics of Goshen and Stellaland.

Various tribes, all engaged in internecine warfare – wonderful pickings for freebooters and filibusters – occupied this area. In the northern part were the two Baralong rivals for power, the pro-British Montsioa at Sehuba and the pro-Boer Moshette at Kunana. In the south were their counterparts, the Batlaping Chief Mankaroane at Taung and the Koranna Chief Massouw at Mamusa. It was a troublemaker's paradise. These various chiefs would hire the freebooters on the usual conditions – retention of half of the booty and half of the farmland taken from the chief's rivals.

But these mercenaries had drawn up a gentleman's agreement amongst themselves, that if they faced each other in battle, they would deliberately aim high. This was so strictly observed, apparently, that only two white men were actually killed in these skirmishes.

The Transvaal freebooters in the north were having a good time. The pro-Boer Chief Moshette had appointed Niklas Gey van Piftius as his agent and with his help, had inflicted a crushing defeat on Montsioa and burnt his capital, Sehuba. The land seized from Montsioa was used for setting up the Boer puppet-republic of Goshen.

In the south, things had gone badly for the pro-British section.

Massouw, the leader of the Koranna, was causing a great deal of trouble. The ancestors of these Koranna had originally lived near Table Bay, but European expansion had forced them ever further to the north-east. Their wanderings had resulted in an almost continuous battle for existence, with all the peoples of the interior viewing them as enemies. They eventually established themselves at Mamusa on the west bank of the Harts River, where they converted a natural hill into a stronghold with a stone fortification on the summit.

In October 1881, Mankaroane and his white mercenaries attacked Mamusa but were defeated by Massouw, who then offered a farm and half the loot captured to every white man who would fight for him. The generous teiins attracted a mercenary army of 400 desperadoes under one Sarel Petrus Celliers, who then kept up constant raids on Mankaroane's cattle herds. Poor Mankaroane had fallen out with the English and was also under threat from Gasibone, chief of another rival Batlaping tribe.

To recoup his losses, Mankaroane attacked Massouw at Fourie's Graf, but he suffered a crushing defeat and the very symbol of his power, a ship's cannon, was captured, causing many of his tribesmen to desert him.

This was how matters stood on the wild frontier when Scotty rode into the town of Taung. He was then about thirty-seven, sported a big red beard and had a striking personality. He summed up the situation pretty quickly and offered his assistance to Mankaroane. ‘We are too weak to drive the Boers out of our country', Mankaroane told Scotty, ‘so we must stop them from settling down, we must raid their camps, we must steal their horses, and keep them shut up in their laager. We must steal their cattle, so that they will be so busy protecting their herds that they won't attack us. When they find that they cannot remain peacefully on the farms, they will get tired and return to their own country.' This I find a very interesting strategy, one not dissimilar from that employed by the Xhosa in the Eastern Cape frontier wars.

Before long Scotty had recruited, organised and armed his own private army consisting of about thirty tough whites and sixty local tribesmen. Scotty and his band threw themselves wholeheartedly into the fray and on more than one occasion, made a clean sweep of the cattle in Boer encampments. He acquired aims and ammunition, clothing and provisions for his men. He had no scruples in breaking into some convenient store. It is known, for example, that he broke into Charles Daly's store in Bloemhof. Daly, incidentally, was himself another interesting character. He had survived the wreck of the
Birkenhead
, was a good friend of Paul Kruger, and was the only man given a magazine licence by the Transvaal Government to supply its forces. However, he arrived one morning to find that the shop had been raided. Pinned to the door was a list of all the stores taken, with a note from Scotty saying that he would pay in due course. The strange thing about this man is that he always kept his word, and there are numerous incidents which proved this.

Scotty's lively band had their own war song, which went like this:

Come saddle up my horse

And strap my billy on

To hell with the Lime Juice Parliament [referring to the Cape]

We'll fight for Mankaroane

Now cheer boys cheer and never be afraid

We're marching in the ranks of the Stellaland Brigade

As we march along, we'll sing this little song

And fight for good old Mankaroane!

There were a few incidents that took place before Scotty formed his little army, and I feel that the following two, in particular, need retelling.

On one occasion, Scotty was in a very tight corner, so hard-pressed by the police in fact that he actually abandoned his horse. By means of some ruse, however, he managed to escape and trekked across the veld on foot. After some time he came across wagon tracks and overtook a few transport riders in charge of three wagons. Scotty asked whose outfit it was. They replied that it was Jan Coetzee's and that he had ridden on ahead as they were so near to home. ‘I am Piet Coetzee, Jan Coetzee's nephew', said Scotty. ‘You must give me a lift.' He climbed into the wagon, lay down under the tent and went to sleep, to be awoken later by the sound of horses approaching. Somebody asked the transport riders whether they had seen him. When they said they had not, the men turned their horses and rode away in a different direction. On reaching the farm, Scotty brazenly introduced himself to Jan Coetzee as his nephew. In those days most Boer families had so many nephews and nieces that Oom Jan did not doubt Scotty's story at all.

He was immediately invited in, given food and drink and generally made comfortable. All went well until, as was customary, Coetzee and his wife tried to establish to which branch of the family he belonged. Scotty became more and more embarrassed until, cornered, he decided to put his cards on the table. He told them who he was and what had happened and ended up by asking Oom Jan for a horse. ‘I haven't any money at the moment, but I promise you faithfully that I will pay you v-hen I can', he said. Oom Jan agreed without question. ‘I have heard a great deal about you, Scotty, and how you have helped many people.' True to his word Oom Jan saddled up a good riding chestnut, his wife gave Scotty a satchel of provisions and he rode away. Many months had passed and Oom Jan had forgotten the incident, when Scotty came up to him in Johannesburg Market Square one day and told him he wanted to pay for the horse. Jan Coetzee named a fair price and Scotty promptly paid him double!

Scotty was a master of disguise and this got him out of many tight corners, for example when he was declared the South African Republic's most wanted man, with a price of £500 on his head. Some of the leading Transvaal freebooters, such as Groot Adriaan de la Rey, Niklas Gey van Pittius and Gert van Niekerk were eager to claim the money and they all did their best, but to no avail. On one occasion Groot Adriaan, brother of the famous Boer War General, Koos de la Rey, in a determined effort to capture Scotty, assembled a commando of western Transvaal farmers and set out on his trail. Scotty soon heard about their plan and, instead of doing the sensible thing and going to ground until the danger was over, he decided to play a prank on the posse. After changing the colour of his hair and beard, he set out with a friend and came upon the posse near the village of Amalia. Riding up to the leader he enquired where they were going. ‘We are searching for Scotty Smith', came the reply. ‘Oh!' Scotty exclaimed, ‘my friend and I are also looking for the damned scoundrel! Do you mind if we join you?'