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WITH THE AUSTRALIANS.
AUSTRALIA ON THE MARCH 1
WITH THE AUSTRALIANS 6
A PRISONER OF WAR 15
"STOPPING A FEW" 29
AUSTRALIA AT THE WAR 38
AUSTRALIA ON THE MOVE 48
SLINGERSFONTEIN 60
THE WEST AUSTRALIANS 69
AMONG THE BOERS.
IN A BOER TOWN 75
BEHIND THE SCENES 83
A BOER FIGHTING LAAGER 90
THROUGH BOER GLASSES 104
LIFE IN THE BOER CAMPS 116
WITH GENERAL RUNDLE.
BATTLE OF CONSTANTIA FARM 127
WITH RUNDLE IN THE FREE STATE 149
RED WAR WITH RUNDLE 159
THE FREE STATERS' LAST STAND 174
CHARACTER SKETCHES IN CAMP.
THE CAMP LIAR 194
THE NIGGER SERVANT 199
THE SOLDIER PREACHER 207
* * * * *
PRESIDENT STEYN 212
LOUIS BOTHA, COMMANDANT-GENERAL OF THE BOER ARMY 218
WHITE FLAG TREACHERY 224
THE BATTLE OF MAGERSFONTEIN 229
SCOUTS AND SCOUTING: DRISCOLL, KING OF SCOUTS 242
HUNTING AND HUNTED 253
WITH THE BASUTOS 264
MAGERSFONTEIN AVENGED 280
THE CONDUCT OF THE WAR 289
HOME AGAIN 299
Australia's Appeal to England.
We grow weary waiting, England,
For the summons that never comes--
For the blast of the British bugles
And the throb of the British drums.
Our hearts grow sore and sullen
As year by year rolls by,
And your cold, contemptuous actions
Give your fervent words the lie.
Are we only an English market,
Held dear for the sake of trade?
Or are we a part of the Empire,
Close welded as hilt and blade?
If we are to cleave together
As mother and son through life,
Give us our share of the burden,
Let us stand with you in the strife.
If we are to share your glory,
Let the sons whom the South has bred
Lie side by side on your battlefields
With England's heroes dead.
A nation is never a nation
Worthy of pride or place
Till the mothers have sent their firstborn
To look death on the field in the face.
Are we only an English market,
Held dear for the sake of trade?
Or are we a part of the Empire
Close welded as hilt and blade?
If so, let us share your dangers,
Let the glory we boast be real,
Let the boys of the South fight with you,
Let our children taste cold steel.
Do you think we are chicken-hearted?
Do you count us devoid of pride?
Just try us in deadly earnest,
And see how our boys can ride.
We are sick of your empty praises!
If the mother is proud of her son,
Let him do some deed on a hard-fought field,
Then boast what he has done.
A nation is never a nation
Worthy of pride or place
Till the mothers have sent their firstborn
To look death on the field in the face.
Australia is calling to England,
Let England answer the call;
There are smiles for those who come back to us,
And tears for those who may fall.
Bridle to bridle our sons will ride
With the best that Britain has bred,
And all we ask is an open field
And a soldier's grave for our dead.
I have decided to enclose these verses in my book because some critics
have pronounced me anti-English in my sentiments. Heaven alone
knows why; yet the above poem was written and published by me in
Australia just before war was declared between England and the
Republics, at a time when all Australia considered it very
probable that we should have to fight one of the big European
Powers as well as the Boers.