"Any fool can get into a hole."--_Old Chinese proverb._
"If left to you, for defence make spades."--_Bridge Maxim._
I felt lonely, and not a little sad, as I stood on the bank of the
river near Duffer's Drift and watched the red dust haze, raised by the
southward departing column in the distance, turn slowly into gold as
it hung in the afternoon sunlight. It was just three o'clock, and here
I was on the banks of the Silliaasvogel river, left behind by my
column with a party of fifty N.C.O.'s and men to hold the drift. It
was an important ford, because it was the only one across which
wheeled traffic could pass for some miles up or down the river.
[Illustration: MAP OF DUFFER'S DRIFT.]
The river was a sluggish stream, not now in flood, crawling along at
the very bottom of its bed between steep banks which were almost
vertical, or at any rate too steep for wagons everywhere except at the
drift itself. The banks from the river edge to their tops and some
distance outwards were covered with dense thorn and other bushes,
which formed a screen impenetrable to the sight. They were also broken
by small ravines and holes, where the earth had been eaten away by the
river when in flood, and were consequently very rough.
Some two thousand odd yards north of the drift was a flat-topped,
rocky mountain, and about a mile to the northeast appeared the usual
sugar-loaf kopje, covered with bushes and boulders--steep on the
south, but gently falling to the north; this had a farm on the near
side of it. About a thousand yards south of the drift was a convex and
smooth hill, somewhat like an inverted basin, sparsely sown with small
boulders, and with a Kaffir kraal, consisting of a few grass and mud
huts on top. Between the river and the hills on the north the ground
consisted of open and almost level veldt; on the south bank the veldt
was more undulating, and equally open. The whole place was covered
with ant-hills.
My orders were--to hold Duffer's Drift at all costs. That I should
probably be visited by some column within three or four days' time.
That I might possibly be attacked before that time, but that this was
very unlikely, as no enemy were known to be within a hundred miles.
That the enemy had guns.
It all seemed plain enough except that the true inwardness of the last
piece of information did not strike me at the time. Though in company
with fifty "good men and true," it certainly made me feel somewhat
lonely and marooned to be left out there comparatively alone on the
boundless veldt; but the chance of an attack filled me, and, I am
quite sure, my men with martial ardor; and at last here was the chance
I had so often longed for. This was my first "show," my first
independent command, and I was determined to carry out my orders to
the bitter end. I was young and inexperienced, it is true, but I had
passed all my examinations with fair success; my men were a good
willing lot, with the traditions of a glorious regiment to uphold, and
would, I knew, do all I should require of them. We were also well
supplied with ammunition and rations; and had a number of picks,
shovels and sandbags, etc., which I confess had been rather forced on
me.
As I turned towards my gallant little detachment, visions of a bloody
and desperate fight crossed my mind--a fight to the last cartridge,
and then an appeal to cold steel, with ultimate victory--and---- But
a discreet cough at my elbow brought me back to realities, and warned
me that my color-sergeant was waiting for orders.
After a moment's consideration, I decided to pitch my small camp on a
spot just south of the drift, because it was slightly rising ground,
which I knew should be chosen for a camp whenever possible. It was,
moreover, quite close to the drift, which was also in its favor, for,
as everyone knows, if you are told off to guard anything, you mount a
guard quite close to it, and place a sentry, if possible, standing on
top of it. The place picked out by me also had the river circling
round three sides of it in a regular horseshoe bend, which formed a
kind of ditch, or, as the book says, "a natural obstacle." I was
indeed lucky to have such an ideal place close at hand; nothing could
have been more suitable.
I came to the conclusion that, as the enemy were not within a hundred
miles, there would be no need to place the camp in a state of defence
till the following day. Besides, the men were tired after their long
trek, and it would be quite as much as they could do comfortably to
arrange nice and shipshape all the stores and tools, which had been
dumped down anyhow in a heap, pitch the camp, and get their teas
before dark.
Between you and me, I was really relieved to be able to put off my
defensive measures till the morrow, because I was a wee bit puzzled as
to what to do. In fact, the more I thought, the more puzzled I grew.
The only "measures of defence" I could recall for the moment were, how
to tie "a thumb or overhand knot," and how long it takes to cut down
an apple tree of six inches' diameter. Unluckily neither of these
useful facts seemed quite to apply. Now, if they had given me a job
like fighting the battle of Waterloo, or Sedan, or Bull Run, I knew
all about that, as I had crammed it up and been examined in it, too. I
also knew how to take up a position for a division, or even an army
corps, but the stupid little subaltern's game of the defence of a
drift with a small detachment was, curiously enough, most perplexing.
I had never really considered such a thing. However, in the light of
my habitual dealings with army corps, it would, no doubt, be
child's-play after a little thought.
Having issued my immediate orders accordingly, I decided to explore
the neighborhood, but was for a moment puzzled as to which direction I
should take; for, having no horse, I could not possibly get all round
before dark. After a little thought, it flashed across my mind that
obviously I should go to the north. The bulk of the enemy being away
to the north, that, of course, must be the _front_. I knew naturally
that there must be a front, because in all the schemes I had had to
prepare, or the exams I had undergone, there was always a front,
or--"the place where the enemies come from." How often, also, had I
not had trouble in getting out of a dull sentry which his "front" and
what his "beat" was. The north, then, being my front, the east and
west were my flanks, where there might possibly be enemies, and the
south was my _rear_, where naturally there were none.
I settled these knotty points to my satisfaction, and off I trudged,
with my field-glasses and, of course, my kodak, directing my steps
towards the Dutch farm, with gleaming white walls, nestling under the
kopje to the northeast. It was quite a snug little farm for South
Africa, surrounded by blue gums and fruit trees. About a quarter of a
mile from the farm I was met by the owner, Mr. Andreas Brink, a tame
or surrendered Boer farmer, and his two sons, Piet and Gert. Such a
nice man, too, with a pleasant face and long beard. He would insist on
calling me "captain," and as any correction might have confused him, I
did not think it worth while to make any, and after all I wasn't so
very far from my "company." The three of them positively bristled with
dog's-eared and dirty passes from every provost marshal in South
Africa, which they insisted on showing me. I had not thought of
asking for them, and was much impressed; to have so many they must be
special men. They escorted me to the farm, where the guid wife and
several daughters met us, and gave me a drink of milk, which was most
acceptable after my long and dusty trek. The whole family appeared
either to speak or to understand English, and we had a very friendly
chat, during the course of which I gathered that there were no Boer
commandoes anywhere within miles; that the whole family cordially
hoped that there never would be again, and that Brink was really a
most loyal Briton, and had been much against the war, but had been
forced to go on commando with his two sons. Their loyalty was evident,
because there was an oleograph of the Queen on the wall, and one of
the numerous flappers was playing our National anthem on the harmonium
as I entered.
The farmer and the boys took a great interest in all my personal gear,
especially a brand-new pair of latest-pattern field-glasses, which
they tried with much delight, and many exclamations of "Allermachtig."
They evidently appreciated them extremely, but could not imagine any
use for my kodak in war-time, even after I had taken a family group.
Funny, simple fellows! They asked and got permission from me to sell
milk, eggs, and butter in the camp, and I strolled on my way
congratulating myself on the good turn I was thus able to do myself
and detachment, none of whom had even smelt such luxuries for weeks.
After an uneventful round, I directed my steps back towards the thin
blue threads of smoke, rising vertically in the still air, which alone
showed the position of my little post, and as I walked the
peacefulness of the whole scene impressed me. The landscape lay bathed
in the warm light of the setting sun, whose parting rays tinged most
strongly the various heights within view, and the hush of approaching
evening was only broken by the distant lowing of oxen, and by the
indistinct and cheerful hum of the camp, which gradually grew louder
as I approached. I strolled along in quite a pleasant frame of mind,
meditating over the rather curious names which Mr. Brink had given me
for the surrounding features of the landscape. The kopje above his
farm was called Incidentamba, the flat-topped mountain some two miles
to the north was called Regret Table Mountain, and the gently rising
hill close to the drift on the south of the river was called Waschout
Hill. Everything was going on well, and the men were at their teas
when I got back. The nice Dutchman, with his apostolic face, and the
lanky Piet and Gert, were already there, surrounded by a swarm of men,
to whom they were selling their wares at exorbitant rates. The three
of them strolled about the camp, showing great interest in everything,
asking most intelligent questions about the British forces and the
general position of affairs, and seemed really relieved to have a
strong British post near. They did not even take offence when some of
the rougher men called them "blarsted Dutchmen," and refused to
converse with them, or buy their "skoff." About dusk they left, with
many promises to return with a fresh supply on the morrow.
After writing out my orders for next day--one of which was for digging
some trenches round the camp, an operation which I knew my men, as
becomes good British soldiers, disliked very much, and regarded as
fatigues--I saw the two guards mounted, one at the drift, and the
other some little way down the river, each furnishing one sentry on
the river bank.
When all had turned in, and the camp was quite silent, it was almost
comforting to hear the half-hourly cry of the sentries--"Number
one--all is well;" "Number two--all is well." By this sound I was able
to locate them, and knew they were at their proper posts. On going
round sentries about midnight, I was pleased to find that they were
both alert, and that, as it was a cold night, each guard had built a
bonfire, silhouetted in the cheerful blaze of which stood the
sentry--a clear-cut monument to all round that here was a British
sentry fully on the _qui-vive_. After impressing them with their
orders, the extent of their "beat," and the direction of their
"front," etc., I turned in. The fires they had built, besides being a
comfort to themselves, were also useful to me, because twice during
the night when I looked out I could, without leaving my tent, plainly
see them at their posts. I finally fell asleep, and dreamt of being
decorated with a crossbelt made of V.C.'s and D.S.O.'s and of wearing
red tabs all down my back.
* * * * *
I was suddenly awoken, about the grey of dawn, by a hoarse cry--"Halt!
who goes----" cut short by the unmistakable "plip-plop" of a Mauser
rifle. Before I was off my valise, the reports of Mausers rang around
the camp from every side; these, mingled with the smack of the bullets
as they hit the ground and stripped the "zipzip" of the leaden hail
through the tents, and the curses and groans of men who were hit as
they lay or stumbled about trying to get out, made a hellish din.
There was some wild shooting in return from my men, but it was all
over in a moment, and as I managed to wriggle out of my tent the whole
place was swarming with bearded men, shooting into the heaving canvas.
At that moment I must have been clubbed on the head, for I knew no
more until I found myself seated on an empty case having my head,
which was dripping with blood, tied up by one of my men.
* * * * *
Our losses were ten men killed, including both sentries, and
twenty-one wounded; the Boers, one killed and two wounded.
* * * * *
Later on, as, at the order of the not ill-natured but very frowzy Boer
commandant, I was gloomily taking off the saucy warm spotted waistcoat
knitted for me by my sister, I noticed our friends of the previous
evening in very animated and friendly conversation with the burghers,
and "Pappa" was, curiously enough, carrying a rifle and bandolier and
my new field-glasses. He was laughing and pointing towards something
lying on the ground, through which he finally put his foot. This, to
my horror, I recognized as my unhappy camera. Here, I suppose, my mind
must have slightly wandered, for I found myself repeating some Latin
lines, once my favorite imposition, but forgotten since my
school-days--
"Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes----"
when suddenly the voice of the field cornet broke into my musing with
"Your breeches, too, captain."
* * * * *
Trekking all that day on foot, sockless, and in the boots of another,
I had much to think of besides my throbbing head. The sight of the
long Boer convoy with guns, which had succeeded so easily in crossing
the drift _I_ was to have held, was a continual reminder of my
failure, and of my responsibility for the dreadful losses to my poor
detachment. I gradually gathered from the Boers what I had already
partially guessed, namely, that they had been fetched and guided all
round our camp by friend Brink, had surrounded it in the dark,
crawling about in the bush on the river bank, and had carefully marked
down our two poor sentries. These they had at once shot on the alarm
being given, and had then rushed the camp from the dense cover on
three sides. Towards evening my head got worse, and its rhythmic
throbbing seemed gradually to take a meaning, and hammered out the
following lessons, the result of much pondering on my failure:
1. Do not put off taking your measures of defence till the morrow, as
this is more important than the comfort of your men or the shipshape
arrangement of your camp. Choose the position of your camp mainly with
reference to your defence.
2. Do not in war-time show stray men of the enemy's breed all over
your camp, be they never so kind and full of butter, and do not be
hypnotized, by numerous "passes," at once to confide in them.
3. Do not let your sentries advertise their position to the whole
world, including the enemy, by standing in the full glare of a fire,
and making much noise every half hour.
4. Do not, if avoidable, be in tents when bullets are ripping through
them: at such times a hole in the ground is worth many tents.
After these lessons had been dinned into my soul millions and millions
of times, so that I could never forget them, a strange thing came to
pass--there was a kaleidoscopic change. I had another dream.