BLOK KLOOF,
(About half-way between Hekpoort
and Commando Nek).
_Sunday, October 21st, 1900._
Can it be the Sabbath? Last night I was in charge of one of the pickets
on top of the already referred to kopje. The ascent of that kopje, oh
dear! This morning I was sent on to another kopje directly in front of
the one we had occupied during the night, to find out if an infantry
picket was holding it. The going was too awful. As usual, the distance
was greater than it looked, and only having had half-a-messtinful of
coffee and a biscuit for breakfast on the preceding day, and a mouthful
of half-boiled trek ox, which had to be gulped down before ascending the
iniquitous hill in the evening, minus tea and water, I did not half
appreciate the lovely sunrise and view which were to be seen gratis from
the various summits. It was a long time before I got back to our little
encampment (I slipped down on the rocks several times from sheer
exhaustion), and found to my delight that coffee had been kept for me. I
wolfed it all, the grounds not excepted, and, bar stiffness and,
paradoxical to remark, a general feeling of slackness, was soon myself
again. Our Sussex ex-Police, about fifty in number, are at another nek
about a mile off, under Messrs. McLean and Wynne. Of course, they have
not brought our mails; they managed to call for them when the office was
closed. I was sorry to hear that a friend in the Devons (Trooper
Middleton), who went into hospital the last time we were at Pretoria,
has since died of enteric.
Monday, October 22nd. It really seems absurd giving days names out here!
To-day, we Sussex men, who number about half-a-dozen, are being exempted
from duty, as we expect to join our fellows who are at the other little
pass. Once the various companies are re-formed, we shall be under a sort
of new old _regime_. We are wondering anxiously what our fresh cooks
will be like. The ones we have at present are not bad fellows; indeed, I
call them Sid and 'Arry, which means an extra half-pannikin of tea or
coffee. Yesterday afternoon we had a gorgeous thunderstorm, the
lightning being incessant. I laid under some trees with a blanket and
overcoat covering me, smoking, and with one hand slightly protruding,
holding a _Tit-Bits_ paper, which I read till it became too pulpy. A
couple of our Sussex fellows have just ridden in; their lot strike camp
and return as far as Rietfontein this evening, and so this letter goes
with them.
Tuesday, October 23rd. Still at the same place. Yesterday, at about the
identical hour as on the preceding day, a big thunderstorm came on us,
but the comparison was as that of a curtain-raiser to a five-act drama,
for yesterday's storm lasted well into the night, and drenched most of
us thoroughly. When a few days ago we were ordered here, we were told to
take only one blanket, and I, like most other fellows, stupidly obeyed
and took a thin one, through which the rain comes as through a sieve. We
were under the impression that our kit waggon would be sent after us,
but oh dear no, that is eight miles back in Mr. Clements' camp. For
kopje work Thomas A. gets extra rations and a daily rum allowance; we
have been drawing less rations, and as for rum, ne'er a sniff o't. My
overcoat is simply invaluable, and keeps me drier than some of the
fellows. When you get wet out here, there is no one to come and worry
you to be sure and change all your clothes, especially your socks. It
would not do if there were, because, like the London cabbies, we never
have any change!
* * * * *
Now the sun is shining, and our blankets and various raiment are drying,
but it's 10 to 1 that about four we shall have a repetition of
yesterday. Our present home is a veritable insect kingdom. Over, under
and around us and our meagre belongings, crawl ants small, medium and
big; bugs and beetles of all sects and denominations; all sorts and
conditions of flies from the small pest to the tsezee view us with
interest; as do also caterpillars and other centipedian and millipedian
crawlers; wood lice and the domestic shirt ones, which, like the poor,
we have always with us; spiders of all sizes, including tarantulas; and,
in addition, lizards and rats, while on the kopje, baboons walk about
chattering all sorts of unintelligible witticisms about us.
Wednesday, October 24th. As predicted, we got our thunderstorm all right
yesterday evening. For about half-an-hour the lightning never seemed to
cease flickering about and jagging through the clouds, but the rain was
not so bad. This morning the Fifes are sending into Rietfontein for
mails. I hope we shall get some. I am handing this in for the post. As
we only came here for twenty-four hours, we are not well off for
literature or writing paper, though I brought some of the latter in my
haversack: hence these lines. We shall soon have been here a week. The
last time we went out for three days we remained out six weeks. I am a
wonderful scavenger now. You should see me pitch like a hawk upon a
dirty and torn ancient paper or book. As a result of a morning's work in
that line, I am luxuriously reclining on my overcoat and reading a
_Spectator_, after which I shall regale myself on the lighter and less
solid contents of _Tit-Bits;_ later, I shall go round and swap them for
other papers or magazines. A lot of us are dreadfully afraid of doing
strange things when we get back to civilised life, such as asking for
the "---- ---- salt" at dinner, diving our hands or knives into the
dishes _immediately_ on their appearance and securing the best pieces
after the manner of the Israelite priests with the hooks in the
flesh-pots, commandeering fruit, fowls, eggs, or vegetables from our
neighbours' gardens, wiping our knives and hands on our breeches or
putties after a course, or a hundred other habits which have become so
natural to us now. My greatest fear is that in a moment of
absent-mindedness I shall, if tired, throw myself down on some cab rank
where the horses are standing still and with my head pillowed on my arm
and a foot twisted in a rein take a forty winks, so accustomed have I
become to the close proximity of 'osses, waking and sleeping.
Thursday, October 25th. This time two months hence it will be Christmas,
and it looks as if, after all, I shall be spending it out here "far from
home," cheerfully grumbling like a true British soldier, while the
waggon crowd and sergeants' mess are enjoying most of _our share_ of the
Christmas tucker and other luxuries which are sure to be sent out. And
you away in dear old Merrie England in be-hollyed and be-mistletoe'd
homes enjoying your turkeys, puddings, and all that goes to make
Christmas the festive season of goodwill, when families and friends
re-unite for a short while, and eat, drink, and gossip generally, will,
I am sure, amidst the festival, pause now and again to think of the
wanderers on the veldt, and more than likely toast them in champagne,
port, sherry, elder, or orange wine. That is if we are not home. If we
are, we shall show ourselves thoroughly capable of doing the above
ourselves; and as for gossip, heaven help ye, gentles! I suppose the
Christmas numbers are out already, with the usual richly-coloured
supplements of the cheerful order, such as a blood-stained khaki wreck
saying good-bye to his pard, or the troop Christmas pudding (I s'pose I
ought to say duff) dropped on the ground. But a truce to all such
thoughts, perhaps we shall get home after all, and again p'r'aps not.
Eleven thirty a.m. Have just had an awful shock to my nervous system. A
sergeant has been up and served us out with the first Yeomanry comforts
we have ever seen, much less had. Each of us has received a 1/4-lb. tin
of Sextant Navy Cut tobacco. For the present, I cannot write more, I am
too overcome.
(_Resumed._)
I feel more composed now. We have just been told that two cases of
"comforts" were sent out to us, but have been rifled of their best
contents; so farewell to condensed milk, sardines, jam, etc.
Last night I was on the kopje again. Paget or somebody else being
reported as driving the Boers towards this range of hills (Magaliesberg)
we were told to be specially vigilant. The night was as dark as Erebus,
and my turn to post the relief came on at eleven, the post being about
forty yards away from where we were sleeping, and the intervening ground
a perfect rockery, the task of getting there was no particular fun. As I
relieved the post every hour-and-a-half, I had four or five stumbling,
ankle-twisting, shin-barking journeys. At about two we had the usual
storm, and the accompanying lightning was most useful in illuminating me
on my weary way. The descent of the kopje this morning was, I think,
more fagging than the previous evening's ascent, though quicker as you
can imagine. Then came the cause of my wrath. The Fifes, who went after
mails, had returned, and there were none for us--of course. However,
"Hope springs eternal in the Yeoman's breast."
Some more fellows have gone into Rietfontein to-day, and there is just
the chance.
An hour ago I had a most necessary shave and wash. All the pieces of
looking-glass in the possession of the squadron having long since been
lost or reduced to the smallest of atoms, this operation has to be
performed without a mirror, though now and again Narcissus-like, I catch
a glimpse of my features in the soapy, dirty water.
Friday, October 26th. It rained all last night, and has hardly left off
yet. I have not a dry rag to my name. Even my martial cloak is sopping,
though the lining is what, considering all things, I might call dry. So
sitting on my upturned saddle beneath a weeping (not willow) tree, on
the branches of which my wet blanket is spread above my head, I am going
to amuse myself by writing letters. We have a few tents here, but as it
is fifteen to a tent, and asphyxiation is not a death we devoted band of
five Sussex men have an inclination for, we are continuing our out-door
life. Consequently, we are now sitting on our saturated haunches
awaiting sunshine above, smoking our pipes, and wondering when the war
will come to a genuine end. What a number of officers have gone home
sick--of it! Our friends the Fifes are awfully good fellows, and the
best managed Yeomanry Squadron I have seen out here. Yesterday evening
we were guests at a little sing-song round their fire, and partakers of
their hospitality in the way of hot cocoa. Alas, the rain speedily
brought what promised to be an enjoyable evening to an end, and it was
every man to his own tent, booby hutch, or cloak and blanket. I was
actually the recipient of two letters and a parcel yesterday evening,
thanks undoubtedly to a mistake somewhere or other. The making of a
correct declaration of the contents of a parcel and their approximate
value, as required by the postal authorities, and the sticking of the
same on the parcel which is to gladden the heart of the man in khaki far
away, is, I fear, a dangerous thing to do. Take, for example, a package,
the contents of which are veraciously announced on the affixed slip as
"Tobacco, cigarettes, chocolate, pipe, and shirt; value L1 10s."--your
friend's chances of getting it are about 50 to 1 against; but the same
parcel with the brief announcement "Shirt and socks; value 5s." would
probably reach him some day. A Fife friend tells me he now and again
gets a large medicine bottle of--well, what would it be for a Scotchman?
well-corked and marked "Developing Solution."
Saturday, October 27th. Still at the above address. Nothing of note to
record. Flies an awful nuisance on us and everything. Fellows would not
believe that the jam ration has been so reduced in bulk by flies. Some
people won't believe anything--fortunately I had my share first, and
perhaps I did take a _leetle_ too much. No news of possibility of
getting home by Christmas or the New Year. I feel vicious, and somebody
must suffer, so here goes.
N.B.--I hold the late Alfred Lord Tennyson partly responsible.