KRUGERSDORP,
_Saturday, Nov. 17th, 1900._
We are still camped within about three miles of this town, and expect to
remain here till Hart's Column returns. It went out yesterday after
having had a five weeks' rest. Amongst the mounted men were the Wilts,
Bucks, Yorks, and Suffolk Squadrons of Yeomanry. I think I told you in
my last we arrived here on Monday after a lively time as rearguard, the
Boers opening fire on us as soon as we had started to leave the place we
had camped at. That is the worst of pitching upon picturesque spots for
camps. We lost two men, who, however, eventually turned up safe and
sound, although some of their captors had shown a strong inclination to
shoot them, but, thanks to Delarey's brother, the bloody-minded minority
were disappointed. The snipers hung persistently on to our tail,
occupying each ridge and kopje as we retired from them. As soon as I had
picketed and fed my horse, I obtained leave and went into Krugersdorp,
passing on the way mines all the worse for want of wear, and the "Dubs"
and others under canvas. In the town I dined at what I should imagine
was a Bier Halle in the piping days of peace, but which in the sniping
days of war is an underground eating room run by Germans, who charge a
great deal for a very little, and find it far more profitable than
gold-mining.
I procured some tins of condensed milk, golden syrup, and jam for our
larder, and volumes by Ruskin, Meredith, Thackeray, and Kipling, for my
own somewhat small library. With these I proudly staggered back to camp,
aware of the royal and well-merited reception which awaited me, and
which I got. Whiteing was quite overcome at the sight of Ruskin and
Thackeray, while another friend implored permission to have a dip in
"The Seven Seas" (which seems a big request, I doubt not, to the
uninitiated).
I forgot to mention that on my return to camp I found mails awaiting me.
Thus passed a pleasant day. Tuesday I spent in camp, writing replies to
my kind correspondents, reading and re-reading my letters and papers. We
hear the C.I.V.'s are home, good luck to 'em, and though I have not read
the papers I can imagine to a slight extent the enthusiastic welcome
they were accorded. The knowledge that we have done our duty will be
enough for us; never mind the brazen bands, the free drinks, the
dyspeptical dinners, the cheers and jingo songs. Suffice it for us if
you will let us quietly alight from the train and get us home, to our
ain firesides. I fear I am rather bitter to-day; but, Christmas is
coming, and the date of our return no man knoweth! On Thursday we all
had to turn out to be inspected by "Bobs." If the turn out was to give
him an idea of our strength as a fighting force the whole thing was
"tommy-rot" for we paraded as strong as possible in numbers. The halt,
sick and the blind, so to speak, were in the ranks, every available
horse being used to mount them. Thus we turned out, our officers
anxiously making the centre guides prove, and issuing special orders to
us not to crowd when marching past in column of squadrons and all that
sort of thing. Then we marched to the parade ground, cow gun, field
guns, pom-poms, Infantry, Yeomanry, and Colonial mounted troops. After a
short wait a group of mounted beings appeared in the distance and
approached the force. We carried arms, and the infantry presented them.
The great little man and his staff passed along the front of the force,
and then cantered away, and the show was over, after having in all
occupied about five minutes. In the way of guards and pickets we are not
over-worked, the regiment having to supply a picket of one officer and
twenty men every night, which means each squadron comes on every fourth
night. The job is, also, what Tommy would call a distinctly "cushey"
one.
On Friday I went into the town and succeeded in securing a fine stock of
things for our larder, including a slab of Genoa cake, which I purchased
at the Field Force canteen, which has just been opened. In the evening
we entertained Sergeant Pullar, of the Fifes, at tea. This, though I
should be modest over it, was really a grand, indeed sumptuous repast.
Many a time has this gentleman given us biscuits on the veldt in our
hours of need, papers also to read, and so we meant to do the thing
well, and we did. In the morning a special invitation was sent from the
corporals of the Sussex Squadron residing at Nos. 1, 2 and 3, Mealie
Villas, requesting the pleasure of Sergeant Pullar's company to
afternoon tea, parade order optional. We formed a table of biscuit
boxes, which we covered with two recently-washed towels, and then I
managed to obtain a fine effect in the way of table decoration by taking
the spotted red handkerchief from my neck and laying it starwise as a
centre-piece. Then, having begged, borrowed and otherwise obtained all
the available tin plates, we covered the table with sardines, tinned
tongues, pickles, condensed milk, jams, butter, and cake. Sergeant
Pullar having arrived with his plate, knife, fork and spoon in a
haversack, we sat down on S.A.A. Cordite Mark IV. boxes, to a rattling
good feed, which guest and hosts did full justice to. Then it rained,
and we had to rig up our blanket hutches in record time, while our guest
sped to his tent. Thus ended an auspicious evening. The next morning we
had the deluge, for it poured in torrents, our wretched blanket shelters
proving far from rain-tight. But the real trouble was when we found we
were being swamped, the water flowing in and sopping us and our
belongings, the latter being by far the most important. Upon this I
turned out and found the whole camp was a swamp, and all the shovels
being used for digging trenches. Not to be done, I collared a meat
chopper from the Dorset cook-house, and started constructing trenches
for all I was worth, specially draining my part of the villa where the
library was in great danger. The rain ceasing after a while, the other
fellows emerged like so many slugs, and soon under my supervision (was I
not articled to an architect once?) an elaborate system of drainage,
consisting of trenches and dams, was constructed around the villas. We
had a bit of a row with our neighbours, who complained that we had
drained all our water on to them. A lot of unnecessary damming was
indulged in. However, from our point of view the thing was a great
success. Later the sun came out, and we dried all our possessions. Great
institution the sun! The next day being the Sabbath, of course, we had
to have a scrap, or at least try to have one. So we had a _reveille_ at
2 a.m., in order to surround a house where about forty Boers had been
reported by some wretched being. On turning out, several of us found our
horses had disappeared during the night, mine being among the number. So
as not to be out of the fun, I took the first wandering brute I found,
and fell in. All this took place in the dark, and later, when it became
lighter, it was most amusing to see what some of us had secured. Mine
proved to be an officer's charger, but no goer. When I got back to the
lines, I found an infuriated officer's servant marking time in front of
me till we were dismissed, when he approached and wrathfully spoke to
me, stating that the horse had a sore back and was lame in three legs.
As he gave me no chance to offer an apology or explanation, we slanged
and abused one another for about ten minutes, to the delight of the
squadron, and then parted so as not to miss other similar rows. The
result of the morning's work was, I hear, two Boers captured. For this
we all laid on the wet ground behind anthills and other cover for about
two hours, waiting for them to come our way; while Legge's crowd
pom-pommed and field-gunned them for about an hour. The Boers also used
a good deal of ammunition, doing us no damage, but getting away through
the usual missing link in the chain. This afternoon (Monday, 19th) we
received mails, my share being three letters, and some papers.
[Illustration: A Peep at our Domestic Life.
Tomkyns de Vere B.A. 'bucking up' the fire, Boleno Soles triumphantly
approaching with more fuel, the district being a woodless one. White
with a soul above cooking, his not eating, reading Marcus Aurelius in
No. 1 Mealie Villas.]
Tuesday, Nov. 20th. I have just heard that we are off for a ten weeks'
trek to-morrow, so I must bring this to a conclusion, and get into town
to post it, and also to procure some more stores. It may or may not
interest you to know that of all the jams we have had out here (and we
have been served out with at least a score of different brands) the very
best, made from the most genuine fruit, were the conserves of two
Australian firms. These two firms are head and shoulders above all other
makers bar none. "Advance, Australia" is right.
Well, here we are, and here we are going to remain, for how long the
Fates only know. Sometimes in my most optimistic moments I cheerfully
look forward to spending the golden autumn of my life in the land of my
birth. As I write this evening by candlelight, in our rude substitute
for a tent, I can hear the chorus of "The miner's (why not a yeoman's?)
dream of home," which comes wafted to us from the Fife lines. As you
will, I hope, receive this by Christmas, I take the opportunity to wish
you and all kind friends a right merrie Christmas and a prosperous new
year. For us no holly will prick nor mistletoe hang. If Santa Claus
comes it will probably be with a Mauser, and for some, alas! obituary
cards will take the place of the coloured productions of Bavarian firms.
But come weal, come woe, where'er we be on that day, I can guarantee you
our sentiments will be easily summed up by the following:
"Our heart's where they rocked our cradle,
Our love where we spent our toil;
And our faith and our hope and our honour,
We pledge to our native soil!"