KRUGERSDORP (again),
_Wednesday, November 28th, 1900._
We returned here on Monday, after having been out for about a week's
cruise on the troubled veldt, and, in spite of the rumour that we were
to be treking again this morning, we are still here. I will endeavour to
give you the usual veracious account of our doings. I say "veracious"
advisedly, as oftentimes, after having seen something extra strong in
the Ananias-Sapphira-Munchausen-Gulliver-de-Rougemont epistolary line
from some gentleman in khaki to the old folks at home, in a London or
provincial paper, I feel that I must give up letter writing altogether,
as by now those at home must have discovered that such effusions are
often seven-eighths lies, and the remaining one-eighth truth, simply
because the scribe's powers of invention have failed him, owing to the
great strain. Only yesterday I saw in a certain local paper such an
epistle from one of our fellows, who, owing to various circumstances,
only joined us in September last, and has now joined the estimable
waggon crowd. From it I gathered that we had fought incessantly for
several days, on one occasion being without food or water for
thirty-nine hours, etc., and afterwards for our magnificent behaviour
had been called up to the general's tent, warmly congratulated by him,
and _presented with a pot of jam each_. So my diffidence about writing
will be easily understood, I am sure. And now for the celestial truth.
On Wednesday last (November 21st) we had an unexpected _reveille_ at
1.30 a.m., and set out with four days' supplies for Somewherefontein
(where, we did not know). A "revally" at such an hour is, as you may
imagine, by no means devoid of interest; I don't know whether you have
ever experienced one; if you have you know all about it; if not you have
a great experience lacking. There was I, collecting and packing our
larder in an oat sack, my miniature Bodleian and other various
possessions in another, dismantling our blanket shelter, and a hundred
other things, including feeding and saddling up my Rosinante, and
then--"Stan' to your 'osses!" We paraded smartly, and after a short
wait, moved off as right flank. A few hours after dawn there was
fighting in front of the column, but not our way, Legge's crowd working
on a parallel road and some way ahead of us. At about mid-day we reached
a wonderfully fertile village (Sterkfontein), and, imagining it to be
unoccupied, our Provost-Marshal and his satellites rode forward to
select a site for our camp, and got well sniped from some of the houses.
Thereupon Number Eight came up, and at comparatively speaking short
range, opened fire and 15-poundered them. To us, who were watching the
show, the sight was a most interesting one. Crash through a house would
go one shell, another would account for something else, and flames and
smoke soon announced burning thatches and oat-hay stacks. The Mausers
soon ceased from troubling, and eventually we entered the fontein. To
our surprise no snipers were captured, and it was asserted that the
firing had been done by the ladies, who, with children, were the only
persons found there. However, as no firearms or signs of their having
done so, were found, the matter, like most things where the wily Boer is
concerned, remains a mystery. It is a fact that lady snipers do exist.
For some time the Borders had in their guard-room, during our last trip,
amongst the various prisoners, a lady sniper they had bagged while doing
the Magaliesberg. There was not much of the Jeanne d'Arc about her. I
saw her once or twice. She was a regular barge, and of great beam; her
face was concealed by the usual kindly sun-bonnet.
(_Note._--Our Regimental Sergeant-Major has just gone by, with
white canvas shoes and slacks on. This is most reassuring as
regards not moving off to-day).
Well, we camped near the village, which lay in a sort of saucer, being
surrounded by kopjes. On one of these our cow gun, yclept "Wearie
Willie," was hauled; it took fifty-six oxen to get him up there. The
Boers, whom we had surprised, were very sick at our unexpected visit,
and, had they only known, would undoubtedly have attempted to hold the
place a bit. As it was, they hung about far off. It rained a perfect
deluge that night, and my blanket roof collapsing I went to sleep with
it over me as it fell, lullabyed by the soft cursings of my neighbours
of 1 and 2 Mealie Villas, who were in like plight. The next morning we
were to have had _reveille_ at 5.30 and proceed to Rietfontein 12. (They
have to number these places out here. You probably have noticed the
innumerable Blandsfonteins, Hartebeestefonteins, Rietfonteins,
Bethanies, etc., in the Transvaal and Orange River Colony.) But Brother
Boer willed it otherwise, and about an hour before the fixed time I was
"revallyed" by the banging of guns distant and near. I arose to my feet
and the fact that Mr. Delarey was trying to shell us, as a not far
distant crack of an exploding shell testified. Near me, from under a
rain-soaked blanket a sun-bronzed face appeared and a sleepy voice
inquired "are the _burchers_ (burghers) shelling us?" The seeker after
knowledge was informed they were. We soon got the order to turn out,
saddle up and escort the guns. This we quickly did. As we moved out a
few shells skimmed over the kopjes and lobbed themselves where our lines
had been. By this time our field guns and cow gun were well at it, and
the Boers were shifting a bit. We dismounted, lined the kopje we had
ridden up to, and watched the work of our gunners. Presently from half
up the hill in front of us, I saw a flickering white flash and
pom-pom-pom-pom-pom-pom went Delarey's gun of that name, followed by a
whistling over our heads and half-a-dozen cracks behind, where, looking
round, I saw the same number of puffs of smoke and earth arise from the
ground. This went on for a while, they were trying to get on our led
horses, I believe. I afterwards heard some went fairly close, also that
the general had one very near. _Apropos_ of this pom-poming, our
colonel, who had had their missiles all round him and had quite ignored
them, as is his invariable custom, strolled up to one of our officers
and the conversation turning on to pom-poms, languidly remarked: "Ye-es,
I don't think they do much weel destwuction--er-er--it is pwincipally
their demowalising effect." The demoralising effect on himself having
been so very non-evident, this remark struck me as being distinctly
good. Our "Wearie Willie" snapped out a remark now and again, and
apparently always to the point. Later, Legge's men occupied the ridge
opposite and chivvied the enemy for several miles; we, returning to
camp, watered our horses and, twenty minutes later, set out on a
reconnaissance with the guns in hopes of finding some snipers in the
vicinity of Hekpoort. We returned bagless. That night it rained, as
usual, and as we had not had time to rig up any shelters, or even dry
our blankets, we came in for another good wetting. At two o'clock the
next (Saturday) morning we had to turn out and stand to our horses.
"Steady, boys, steady, we always are ready"--_afterwards_; you know our
good old British style. But Frater Boer had had a belly full the
preceding day, his losses in killed and wounded being considerable, I
hear. Legge's men swear to have buried eight, and Clements said one of
our shells hit a gun of their's. That night we had the fashionable and
seasonable rain again. (Please, in future, remember we have this every
night, and so I will refrain from too many references to it). On Sunday
we moved off for Rietfontein, No. 1001. We formed the rearguard and
expected a bit of harassing, the country being most favourable for such
operations on the part of the enemy. But they left us alone, though they
were undoubtedly about unseen. As several waggons broke down, and had to
be mended or burned, we had to grill on the kopjes for hour upon hour,
cursing the convoy with all our might. Presently the inevitable question
"What's the date?" elicited the fact that it was the 25th. (You can
imagine the chorus "A month to Christmas!" and Sunday.) Sunday, and you
probably in your frock coat and patent boots, luxuriously reclining in
an upholstered pew, listening to promises of peace and rest, or standing
up half thinking of the good meal to follow, and singing
"I came to Jesus as I was,
Weary, and worn, and sad;
I found in Him a resting place,
And He hath made me glad."
And I, there on those hard rocks, with a perpendicular sun above me,
mechanically watching the distant hills, but seeing with strong mental
eyes a church porch with roses and creeper over it and noting the
Sabbath silence which presently would be broken softly by the voices of
the worshippers within:
"Come unto Me, ye weary,
And I will give you rest."
I think to stand outside a church and hear the worshippers within is to
get one of the most pleasant impressions possible; somehow it always
strikes me that one imagines the people within to be so much holier,
indeed more spiritual, than they really are. But all this looks either
like preaching or scoffing, and it is neither. It is really the result
of a desire to push myself into the home life you good people are still
leading, somehow or other. An excusable offence after all, my Masters!
Having re-cursed the tail of the convoy, it at last moved forward, and
we, having allowed it so much grace, did the same. At the outskirts of
the village, which the column had moved through, the last waggon--an
overloaded one--collapsed, and once again we manned the heights. I was
sent out with a couple of men to a post a little in advance of the rest
of our troop, and, after an hour, about a mile off saw four Boers
nonchalantly riding toward the other side of the dorp. These were
followed by two more. I sent in and reported this, and shortly after we
moved off, unsniped. Undoubtedly these beggars had been waiting for the
column to pass, so that they could return and have a Sunday dinner and a
quiet evening, having had rather a rough week, and it was only owing to
the above-mentioned waggon breaking down that we had a glimpse into the
ways of our enemy. Our camp was not far off, and we go there at about
six; some of the column were in by eleven in the morning. The amount of
burning done _en route_ was almost appalling. The next day we marched
into Krugersdorp once again, passing several marshy spots where arum
lilies were blooming in rich profusion. We reached here at noon; the
Dorsets and Devons who formed the rearguard had a bit of scrapping, and,
thanks to a straggling convoy, did not get into camp till close on
midnight, and so, of course, got a rare soaking from the usual rain.
Here I have received a few belated mails, and live in hopes of getting
the latest. I have also read in some of the papers of the welcome home
of the C.I.V.'s.
"You've welcomed back the C.I.V.'s,
Back from their toil to home and ease;
The war is going pretty strong,
_We've_ bade adieu to 'sha'n't be long';
And you at home across the seas,
Don't quite forget _us_, if you please."
The following poetic outburst requires a little explanation. We have had
the khaki this and the khaki that, and it has just occurred to me a
khaki Omar Khayyam would not be out of place, for of a truth one needs a
_soupcon_ of philosophy out here occasionally. With this idea in my
head, and having a little leisured ease, I have set out to minister a
long-felt want. Not, however, having my Persian "Fitzgerald" by me, I
must ask your indulgence for any grave discrepancies in the text.