After Colenso, No. 4 Stationary Field Hospital returned to the same
quarters at Frere, and at Frere we remained until January 13th, 1900,
nearly a month. The wounded who fell on the unhappy 15th of December had
been satisfactorily disposed of, thanks to the admirable arrangements
made by the Principal Medical Officer, Colonel Gallwey, C.B. Not a
single wounded man was left out on the field on the night of the battle.
On that particular Friday every man had been attended to before
midnight, and on the following Sunday all the wounded who had fallen on
the 15th were comfortably housed in one or other of the hospitals at the
base.
Our tents, although emptied of the wounded, soon began to be filled up
with cases of sickness, and especially with cases of dysentery. Those
who presented the slightest form of the disease could be sent down to
the base, but when the type was severe the patient did better with as
little movement as possible. Those, therefore, who remained in our
lines presented a large proportion of examples of serious illness.
Provisions were ample, medical necessities abundant, and the ladies of
the Colony were infinitely kind in forwarding to Frere comforts of all
sorts. Our tents were by no means filled, and yet, in spite of what may
be considered favourable circumstances, there were a good many deaths.
Deaths mean the need for burial, and a little burying ground was marked
off in the rear of the hospital, close to the railway line. As weeks
went by the little enclosure needed enlargement, and so the engineers
came and fenced it round afresh with a wire paling, and gave it a fit
aspect of formality. The names of the dead were indicated on tablets of
wood, and now and then the comrades of a man, or the survivors of the
tent he died in, would erect over the mound a wooden cross.
These crosses were made usually out of provision boxes, or perhaps from
a whisky case, and many were very admirably finished and very cleverly
carved, and many were curious of design. They represented long hours
spent in tedious hacking at a tough slab of wood with a pocket-knife,
and, after that, infinite patience in the cutting out of the letters of
the dead chum's name. Finish would be given to the lettering by means
of a tin-opener.
These crosses will be found all over the land of the war. Few of them
will long survive the wind and the rain and the blistering sun, and the
hand of the Kaffir who is lacking of fuel. So long, however, as they
dot the solitary veldt they will be symbols of the tenderest spirit of
good comradeship, of the kindly heart of men who are supposed to be
little imbued with sentiment, and of that loyal affection for his friend
which is not among the least of the qualities of the British soldier.
Here and there some elaborate monuments with some promise of permanency
have been erected. There is one, for example, in which the inscription
is fashioned out of empty cartridge cases stuck into cement. There is
another carved with some art out of stone.
I think, however, that those sleep best who lie beneath the wooden cross
fashioned with labour and some occasional dimness of eye by the
pocket-knife of an old "pal."