NO. 2 HOSPITAL TRAIN,
_Monday, February 18th._
On Friday I had my sheet marked with those magic words "For base,"
paraded on Saturday morning before the P.M.O., and a few hours later was
told to go to the pack store, draw my kit, and be ready to entrain at
five. So I had to rush about.
It was soon time to parade for the station, and I had to rush through as
many leave-takings as possible. Good-bye to Sister Douglas, Sister
Mavius, Sister O'Connor; to an Australian Bushman friend with injured
toes, who hobbles about on his heels; to poor old Scotty, the New
Zealander, as game as they make them, who is to have his right arm off
on Monday (to-day); to a big, good-natured gunner of No. 10 Mountain
Battery, whose acquaintance I had only just made; to a Piccadilly
Yeoman; to our day orderly, and dozens of other good fellows, and I had
said farewell, or perhaps only _au revoir_, to the I.Y. Hospital
Arcadia, with the doctor of our ward, Dr. Douglas, one of the cleverest
and best, the Sisters with their albums, and all its tragedies and
comedies. Perjuring my soul beyond redemption by cordial promises to
write to all and sundry, so I left them.
* * * * *
Once aboard the lugger, I should say train, our berths were allotted to
us, and we soon settled down. The whole thing is very much like being on
shipboard, save that there the authorities are all for turning you out
of your hammocks ("turn out o' them 'ammicks!"), and here they are all
for keeping you in your bunk, the space being so limited. On each man's
bed was a well-filled white canvas bag, being a present from the Good
Hope and British Red Cross Societies. These were opened with no little
curiosity. Strange to say one of the first things an old toothless
Yorkshireman drew out was--a toothbrush. This caused general amusement.
There was nothing shoddy about the contents of these bags; they
contained a suit of pyjamas, shoes, a shirt, socks, towel, sponge bag
with sponge, soap, and toothbrush in it, a hairbrush, and handkerchief.
So could you but see me now, as I write, you would behold a being clad
in a swagger suit of Cambridge blue pyjamas.
Before daybreak a terrific bang aroused us to the fact that the engine
which was to bear us southward had come into action, and soon we were
under way. At Elandsfontein we beheld the mail train _with our mails_
going up. Farewell to mails! Kroonstad was reached at half-past two, and
we were shunted into a siding till this morning, when we resumed our
journey, passing _through_ Bloemfontein, to our joy, and arriving at
Springfontein soon after dark.
What a gigantic affair this war has been, and is. To travel through
these countries, the Transvaal, Orange River Colony, and the Cape Colony
(Tuesday morning, we are now in the latter) by rail alone is to feel all
criticism silenced.
Already we have passed hundreds of miles of flat veldt, with now and
again big kopjes in the background. At every station, bridge, and small
culvert are bodies of regulars, militia, and volunteers, or colonial and
other mounted troops. And when one considers that the bigger towns are
being strongly held, also various posts all over these countries, and
columns are operating in various districts, the whole affair fills one
with wonder and admiration. We expect to reach Deelfontein this evening.
An R.A.M.C. man has just been discussing that ghastly failure,
inoculation, with another man. Said he: "Inoculation is bally
tommy-rot!" Quoth the other, "That be hanged for a yarn. Tommy rot,
indeed, it nearly killed me!" It's a fact, the unnecessary suffering
which was endured by the poor beggars who allowed this experiment to be
performed upon them, with the hope of spoofing the fever fiend, has been
great. And strange to say, in many cases they (the inoculated) have been
the first victims.
Once again we are amongst our old enemies, the kopjes, which, south of
the Orange River Colony, begin to assert themselves again. There has
been any amount of rain down this way, and muddy water is flowing like
the milk and honey of the promised land. From wet tents and saturated
blanket kennels bronzed ragamuffins appear at every halting spot, and
simultaneously they and we ask each other the old, old question, "Any
news?"
Sometimes they break the monotony of the negative by telling us that "De
Wet is mortally wounded," or "has got away again," and we tell them that
"Botha is surrounded." Some of the sanguine spirits aboard this train
are buoying themselves up with the idea of getting home. Alas! there's
many a slip 'twixt the land and the ship, as I fear they will find to
their bitter disappointment.
It is now Tuesday evening. We have just reached Naauwpoort, where we are
spending the night. The Cape mail train has been detained here all day,
the line ahead having been blown up, or some such thing, a train
derailed and fired on, a Yeoman and several niggers killed, and other
fellows injured. Brother Boer seems more in evidence down here than in
any other place we have passed between Pretoria and this place.
IMPERIAL YEOMANRY HOSPITAL,
DEELFONTEIN.
We arrived here on Thursday, February 21st. Between Naauwpoort and De
Aar we passed the derailed train. Mr. Boer had done his work well--from
his point of view. The engine (575) was lying on its side quite smashed,
as were also several broken and splintered trucks, while a few graves
completed the picture. But the line was intact once again. An officer of
Engineers and some men were standing by their completed task as we
slowly came up and passed the spot.
Line Clear: o'er blood and sweat, and pain, and sorrow's road I ran,
And every sleeper was a wound, and every rail a man.
The first person I beheld from the carriage window on arriving here was
one of our Sussex fellows. He seemed very pleased to see me, and I
certainly was to see him. He has been here a week or more, and in that
time had acquainted himself with the ropes. Having been given
accommodation in the emergency tent for the night, he took me by divers
ways to a bell tent in which I found two or three men of Paget's Horse,
acquaintances of the "Delphic" days, another Sussex man, and a large
washing basin containing beer--obtained no matter how. Into the basin a
broken cup and a tin mug were being constantly dipped. With this,
cigarettes, and chatter, the evening passed very agreeably. Of course
this is early to criticise the Hospital and its working, but the general
impression of we ex-Arcadians is that the Pretoria shop is far superior.
As regards reaching Cape Town, one cannot say much. A good many of our
fellows have been sent back to Elandsfontein, which has been styled as
"the home for lost Yeomanry." In the station, a few hundred yards off,
is a fine khaki armoured train, with a pom-pom named "Edward VII."
mounted on the centre truck.