Wednesday, August 15th (in the vicinity of Eland's River). Another day
without tea or coffee, and in a district lacking in wood and water. At
about mid-day we came upon Kitchener, Methuen, and others with their
respective forces. Colonel Hore's gallant Australians and Rhodesians had
just been relieved. The various columns halted and camped here. That
afternoon a couple of commandeered sheep were served out to our troop; I
dressed one, and obtained the butcher's perquisites, viz.: the heart,
liver and kidneys. On these, with the addition of a chop from a pig, at
whose dying moments I was present, and a portion of an unfortunate duck,
I made an excellent meal. That night was rather an uneasy one for me,
for I had Eugene-Aram-like dreams in which relentless sheep chased me
round farmhouses and barns into the arms of fierce ducks and avenging
porkers. But _reveille_, and then daylight came at last, and peace for
my burdened mind and chest.
Thursday, August 16th. Off in the direction of Olifant's Nek. At noon we
came in contact with the scouts of the enemy who were holding the Nek.
After being under a heavy rifle fire, we retired to camp and waited for
the morrow. Ian Hamilton arrived in the evening with his infantry and
cow-guns.
Friday, August 17th. We moved out early in anticipation of a big day,
for amongst the various rumours was one to the effect that De Wet's
laager was on the other side of the Nek, and Baden-Powell and Methuen
were going to attack him from that quarter. Oh, the rumours about this
slim individual, they are legion! Here are some of the hardy perennial
order:
1. De Wet is captured at last.
2. De Wet is surrounded and cannot escape. (The modification brand.)
3. De Wet has escaped with eleven men.
4. De Wet has 4,000 men with him.
5. De Wet has only 300 men with him.
6. De Wet has heaps of stores and ammunition.
7. De Wet has no stores, etc.
This is supposed to be the dry season, but it appears to me to be De
Wet, and our "Little British Army which goes such a very long way"
(quite true especially here) seems like the British Police, who always
have a clue, and expect shortly to make an important arrest, but don't.
We took up a position on a kopje opposite to the right of the Nek, and
for a few hours had a rare easy time. Divesting ourselves of our tunics,
belts, bandoliers and other top hamper, we lounged about in our
shirt-sleeves, smoking and dozing, only rousing ourselves a bit later
when the double-rapping reports of the Mausers over the way told us that
our scouts were being fired on. Soon the R.H.A. came into action, and
were quickly followed by the banging of the cow-guns. It was most
interesting to see where the shells struck, and how soon the kopjes and
Nek opposite became blackened, smoking rock and earth, and the spiteful
Mausers ceased from troubling. Meanwhile, the infantry, Berks and A. and
S. Highlanders, advanced and the Nek was ours, and the Boers, De Wet's
rearguard--vamoosed. Then we all marched through the Nek, which was a
wonderful position, and possible of being held after the manner of
Thermopolae. Our Sussex farrier-sergeant was shot in the arm. Going
through the Nek we passed three graves by the roadside--graves of Royal
Fusiliers who had died of wounds and enteric during B.-P.'s occupation
of the place a short time previous. A soldier's grave out here is a
simple matter, a rude cross of wood made from a biscuit case, with a
roughly-carved name, or perhaps merely a little pile of stones, and
that is all, save that far away one heart at least is aching dully and
finds but empty solace in the _pro patria_ sentiment. When one passes
these silent reminders of the possibilities of war, it is impossible to
suppress the thought "It might have been me!" But more often than not
any such morbid reflections are effaced by the sight of a house and the
chances of loot. Which reminds me that we ravaged with fire and sword a
good deal in the vicinity of Rustenburg, numerous houses being set
a-fire by authority--in most cases the reason being because the owner of
the domicile had broken his oath of allegiance and was out again
fighting us. We reached Rustenburg at about six o'clock, and had to go
on outlying picket on a terribly-high kopje, known as Flag Staff Hill,
at once. So just as it became dark--tired and tea-less, with overcoats
and bundles of blankets--a little band of wearied, cussing Empire
builders set out on their solitary vigil, with none of your
"Won't-come-home-till-morning" jollity about them. Oh, that thrice, nay
seventy-times-seven, execrated hill! Up it we stumbled with a compulsory
Excelsior motto, staggering, perspiring profusely, with wrenched ankles,
cut and sore feet, cussing when breath permitted, dropping exhausted,
and resting now and again. Thus we ascended Flag Staff Hill. On the top
we found strong sangars with shell-proof shelters, which had been built
by the indefatigable Baden-Powell during his occupation of Rustenburg.
That night passed at last.