WE BEGIN TO FEEL AT HOME
_A Strange Editorial Adventure--Lord Roberts's New
Government under Way--The Sin of Horse Theft._
Once, far along the Grand Canal in China, where the people were all
afraid or hostile at the first sight of me, a beautiful girl of
sixteen or seventeen ran along the bank of the canal after my boat,
beckoning to me and to Mr. Weldon, the artist, who was with me, to
disembark and visit her home. She was out walking with her mother.
There was no doubt when one considered how far from any big town she
was, and the fact that she was large-footed and willing to be seen of
men, that she was a poor peasant girl, a farmer's daughter, either
curious to see us strange men, or anxious to prove herself a Christian
convert and to repay the hospitality and kindness she had received at
the hands of Christian missionaries.
That was what I thought, at any rate, and in that view I told of the
happening in _Harper's Magazine_. At once a cry arose, in the
companies of men I met and even in some newspapers as well, against my
introducing so _risque_ a subject in my account of my adventures.
Until then I had no idea how prone to evil-thinking is the world, how
anxious to twist impurity out of innocence even though it required
violence to do it.
Once again, and here, I am going to tell of an incident equally sweet
to memory and the reflection of wholesome minds; equally delicate in
the perfume of innocence which it exhales. After the second issue of
THE FRIEND, Sunday gave us a day of rest. We had known and seen no
women for months. They were to us as our homes were, as civilisation
itself was--mere memories, vague and shadowy, beside the substantial
realities of fighting, marching, thirsting, and going hungry in the
company of men--of men by the tens of thousands, but of no women.
There was in Bloemfontein a very blond young woman of sixteen who
served behind the counter of a shop in the main street--a slight,
sunny-haired, blue-eyed miss, sparkling with fun and excited by the
novelty of waiting upon British soldiers and living in the middle of
what had changed from a dead-and-alive Boer village to a great armed
British camp. The soldiers had noticed her as well. Generals and
colonels compared notes of what gossip she and they had exchanged, and
sent their friends to the shop to see her. The appearance of a few
unattractive women among the soldiers in the village streets had made
a mild sensation; but the discovery of a fair-haired, rosy-cheeked
girl of English blood was the talk of the camp.
[Illustration: _Julian Ralph._]
Among the first men in Bloemfontein and the first to make the
acquaintance of this maiden was Mr. Gwynne, of THE FRIEND. Foreseeing
Sunday, and scenting a chance to revive the best memories of
civilised life, he proposed to gather two army friends if she would
invite two of her feminine friends for a drive and a luncheon on the
veldt on Sunday. He invited James Barnes, the talented American
correspondent, and myself. In two Cape carts we called for the young
ladies at their homes. They proved to be the very blond young woman, a
fourteen-year-old friend, and a little girl of ten or eleven years of
age.
I confess that I never would have asked mere children upon such an
outing; but it is equally true that I could not have experienced
either the same or as great and peculiar pleasure with others of older
growth. They were frank and free, and merry as grigs. They came as
near to having us killed or captured by the Boers as I wanted to be,
and from them we learned most interesting and valuable information
about the enemy and about the town as it was before we captured it. We
proposed to visit the home of one of the girls, a farm which the girls
said was "quite close." It proved to be miles beyond the British
outposts in a country that seemed to us to be uncomfortably peopled
with Boers and which proved afterwards to have been alive with them.
Of the danger to us which lay in such a situation the girls took no
account. They had been born there. They had seen nothing of war, and
did not understand it. The Boers were their lifelong neighbours. And,
in a word, they were going to visit friends and to have fun, and
nothing else entered their minds.
When we were miles away and among some very suggestive little kopjes
we discovered that our friends had lost their way and that we were
adrift on the veldt. Boers dashed up to the crests of the hills, saw
us and disappeared. Boers were on every hand. Why we were not gobbled
up and sent to Pretoria none of us can explain. Eventually, with only
one mishap--the overturning of one of the carts--which seemed for a
moment more terrible than capture by the enemy--we reached the
farm-house, and aided by several tiny boys and the farmer and his
wife, spent a happy hour and a half. We made our way back to
Bloemfontein in the evening, and within a day or two Colonels Crabbe
and Codrington and Captain Trotter were wounded and the Honourable
Edward Lygon was killed, at the Glen--a rifle shot from where we had
picnicked!
The adventures and hairbreadth escapes in war are apt to take only
three or four well-ordered forms. This adventure was in no way like
those of the stereotyped kinds.
Monday came, and, with it, the third number of THE FRIEND. It was now
of the enlarged size, which it retained to the end--a sheet 19 inches
wide by 32 inches in length. We continued to do the editorial work in
the old dustbin, as at first, but we had discovered that the _Express_
works were more modern and capable of turning out a paper of the size
we preferred. The _Express_ works were two blocks away from our little
den, in a side street behind the main thoroughfare of the town. They
belonged to Frau Borckenhagen, but had been seized by order of Lord
Roberts and sealed up. The printing office and engine and press rooms
were afterward made over to us, the bindery was used by the military,
and only the office of the departed editor, whence had proceeded the
most mischievous reflections of Krugerism and the policy of the
insidious Afrikander Bond, remained sealed. Frau Borckenhagen sent
her agents to the military to ask leave to recover some of her
husband's private papers. By this means she showed us that, like all
other Boers, she put the very lowest valuation upon our intelligence.
But in this case she only succeeded in turning the attention of the
military to her husband's papers without getting the shading of a
degree nearer to the possession of what must have been--and I think I
have heard, really proved--of the utmost interest to us.
However, we were able by using the commandeered property of the Boer
frau, to produce a newspaper of pretentious size and considerable
importance.
THE FRIEND now began to bristle with proclamations, and their number
appeared to be doubled because each one was repeated in the Taal
language under the heading "Proclamatie." In one "I, Frederick Sleigh
Baron Roberts of Kandahar, K.P., G.C.B., G.C.S.I., G.C.I.E., V.C.,
Field Marshal and Commanding-in-Chief the British forces in South
Africa, appoint George Anosi Falck Administrator of the Civil Posts
and Telegraphs in such portions of the Orange Free State as have been
or may hereafter be occupied by British troops."
Another proclamation related to bills of exchange and promissory
notes; and a third, by General Pretyman, appointed James Allison
Collins as "Landdrost of Bloemfontein to administer the ordinary civil
and criminal laws." In this proclamation the landdrost's court was
ordered to resume its work on Monday, March 19th. A district surgeon,
clerk, receiver, and second clerk to the landdrost's court were also
appointed.
General Pretyman extended his original market proclamation so that it
established the ruling prices of cattle, meat, breadstuffs, and
groceries. In the Field Marshal's proclamation as translated into the
Taal, Lord Roberts was declared to be "Ik (I), Frederick Sleigh Baron
Roberts van Kandahar, K.P., G.C.B., G.C.S.I., G.C.I.E., V.C.,
Veld-maarschalk, Opperbevelhebber van de Britsche Krijgsmachten in
Zuid-Afrika."
In a notice to the Army we said that our chief aim was to make the
paper welcome to and supported by all ranks, and we invited all in the
Army to write for us. It is true that when, in the previous day's
issue we published a poetic contribution by a kind friend, who was the
first to come to our assistance; we did not precisely encourage others
to follow his example. On the contrary, we accompanied the verses with
the remark to the writer, "Your verses are execrable. See for yourself
in print." But this was merely one of the many interesting
peculiarities of the paper. We published the fact that Miss Elliott,
daughter of the General Manager of the Cape Government Railways,
arrived with her father by special train on the previous night, and
was the first lady to cross the Free State border and to visit
Bloemfontein. The editorial of the day was by Mr. Buxton, and was
entitled "Uitlander or Rebel, Subject or Burgher."
The most notable article was called "The Confession of a
Horse-stealer," and was written by one of the editors. In the same
number another member of the editorial quartette wrote a strong little
article calling attention to the prevalence and brazenness of horse
thieves, and deploring the facts in earnest and indignant language. I
was now at work at a desk in the editorial room, and was forced to
act as judge between the outraged virtue of my colleague who detested
horse-stealing and the pained surprise of my other colleague who
(shall I say pretended or) confessed in writing that he was an expert
at the crime.
"Surely you agree with me that this thing has got to stop?" said the
one editor.
"Surely you will not allow such canting nonsense to go into the
paper?" said the other, "especially where the entire army has become
adept at the practice of looting Boer horses or exchanging worn-out
steeds for the fresher ones of friends."
Being a born diplomat I agreed with both my colleagues, praised both
their articles, and voted that both should ornament the columns of THE
FRIEND.
I was in a position to behave with this impartiality. My character and
reputation at home forced me to the side of the indignant moralist,
and yet, on the other hand, certain episodes in my recent experience
inclined me to view the confessions of the horse-stealer with
leniency. More than once I had been forced to choose between walking
for days in the enemy's country or utilising horses that had been
abandoned by the Boers. If I were again placed in such a position I
would surrender myself a prisoner to the Boers rather than touch even
a little thing like a horse that did not belong to me. I have had time
to reflect, and I see how weak I was; but at that time I was in the
Boer country where stealing is called "commandeering," and seems a
trifling thing, rather creditable if practised successfully and with a
high hand. In justification of my course in commending the high, moral
view of my other colleague, I could say with pride that the horses I
had taken were both dead, and with them also disappeared the former
stain upon my character.
The happy combination of these points in common with both my
colleagues, enabled me to publish both their articles and bring them
back to the friendliest terms. So successful was I that we allowed our
feelings to carry us beyond the bounds of reason--that is to say, we
agreed to go to the Club and take a drink. It was a thing which no
intelligent man would lightly agree to do. The only liquid
refreshments then obtainable at the Club were enteric germs in water,
gin, vermouth, and port wine. It required an occasion of the first
importance to induce any of us to go to the Club, which was always as
crowded as an egg is with meat. All day, and until late in the
evening, the principal apartment barely afforded standing room. The
porch was equally well filled, and horses in dozens were tethered
before the house. It was the social exchange and rendezvous of the
officers of something like 80,000 men, and I can hardly believe that
anywhere in the world was there a club-house so constantly crowded.
THE FRIEND.
_(Edited by the War Correspondents with Lord Roberts' Force.)_
BLOEMFONTEIN, MONDAY, MARCH 19, 1900.
PROCLAMATION.
Whereas it is deemed expedient and necessary for the welfare of the
Orange Free State that Postal and Telegraph Services shall be resumed
in the aforesaid Republic, as far as circumstances permit,
NOW THEREFORE
I, FREDERICK SLEIGH BARON ROBERTS OF KHANDAHAR, K.P., G.C.B.,
G.C.S.I., G.C.I.E., V.C., Field Marshal and Commanding-in-Chief of the
British Forces in South Africa, do hereby nominate and appoint David
George Anosi Falck Administrator of the Civil Posts and Telegraphs in
such portions of the Orange Free State as have been, or may hereafter
be occupied by British troops. And I do hereby order that the Postal
and Telegraph services shall be resumed in the portions of the
aforesaid Republic already referred to, from the nineteenth day of
March, 1900, under the existing Laws and Conventions of the Orange
Free State, subject to such alterations as may from time to time be
notified.
Given under my hand at Bloemfontein this Seventeenth Day of March,
1900.
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.
ROBERTS,
Field-Marshal,
Commanding-in-Chief British Forces, South Africa.
* * * * *
ARMY ORDERS--SOUTH AFRICA.
ARMY HEADQUARTERS, GOVERNMENT HOUSE,
BLOEMFONTEIN, _March_ 15, 1900.
I. _Civil Population to be unmolested._
It being desirable and in the interest of both the British Government
and the inhabitants of this country that all residents should be
assured that, so long as they remain peaceably disposed, their civil
rights and property will be respected, it is strictly forbidden that
any private property should be compulsorily taken possession of by
other than the authorised Supply Officers.
All articles required by the troops must be obtained and paid for in
the ordinary way, and no trespassing or interference with the
inhabitants will be permitted.
These instructions apply to detached bodies of troops as well as to
the Force generally, and it is especially the duty of all officers to
put a stop to all attempts to infringe them.
By order,
J. W. KELLY,
A.-G. for C. of Staff.
* * * * *
ARMY ORDERS--SOUTH AFRICA.
BLOEMFONTEIN, _March_ 14, 1900.
It affords the Field Marshal Commanding-in-Chief the greatest pleasure
in congratulating the Army in South Africa on the various events that
have occurred during the past few weeks, and he would specially offer
his sincere thanks to that portion of the Army which, under his
immediate command, has taken part in the operations resulting
yesterday in the capture of Bloemfontein.
On the 12th February this force crossed the boundary which divided the
Orange Free State from British territory. Three days later Kimberley
was relieved. On the 15th day the bulk of the Boer Army in this State,
under one of their most trusted generals, were made prisoners. On the
17th day the news of the relief of Ladysmith was received, and on the
13th March, 29 days from the commencement of the operations, the
capital of the Orange Free State was occupied.
This is a record of which any army may well be proud--a record which
could not have been achieved except by earnest, well-disciplined men,
determined to do their duty and to surmount whatever difficulties or
dangers might be encountered.
Exposed to extreme heat by day, bivouacking under heavy rain, marching
long distances (not infrequently with reduced rations), the endurance,
cheerfulness, and gallantry displayed by all ranks are beyond praise,
and Lord Roberts feels sure that neither Her Majesty the Queen nor the
British nation will be unmindful of the effort made by this force to
uphold the honour of their country.
The Field Marshal desires especially to refer to the fortitude and
heroic spirit with which the wounded have borne their sufferings.
Owing to the great extent of country over which modern battles have to
be fought, it is not always possible to afford immediate aid to those
who are struck down; many hours have, indeed, at times, elapsed before
the wounded could be attended to, but not a word of murmur or
complaint has been uttered; the anxiety of all, when succour came, was
that their comrades should be cared for first.
In assuring every officer and man how much he appreciates their
efforts in the past, Lord Roberts is confident that, in the future,
they will continue to show the same resolution and soldierly
qualities, and to lay down their lives, if need be (as so many brave
men have already done), in order to ensure that the war in South
Africa may be brought to a satisfactory conclusion.
By order,
(Sd.) W. F. KELLY,
Major-General,
Deputy-Adjutant-General, for Chief of Staff.
* * * * *
ARMY ORDERS--SOUTH AFRICA.
ARMY HEADQUARTERS, GOVERNMENT HOUSE,
BLOEMFONTEIN, _March_ 16, 1900.
1. _Telegrams._
The Field Marshal Commanding-in-Chief has great pleasure in publishing
the following telegrams which have been received:--
(_a_) From Her Majesty the Queen: "Accept my warmest congratulations
for yourself and those under you on your great success. Trust all
wounded doing well."--V. R.
(_b_) From His Excellency the High Commissioner: "In a spirit of deep
thankfulness I congratulate you and your gallant Army on the rapidity
and completeness of success which has attended the recent
operations--crowned by the occupation of the enemy's capital."--MILNER.
(_c_) From the Rear Admiral Commanding-in-Chief, Simonstown:
"My personal and Navy's heartiest congratulations on your
success."--ADMIRAL.
(_d_) From Chairman of the London County Council: "On behalf of
Metropolis, whence many of your brave soldiers have been drawn, I
congratulate your Lordship's having gloriously reached a point which
brings you one step nearer towards final success and peace."--DICKINSON,
Chairman of the London County Council.
(_e_) From the Lord Provost of Glasgow: "The Corporation of Glasgow in
Council assembled offer you and Her Majesty's troops under your
command their hearty congratulations on the success of your
operations, culminating in your occupation in the Capital of the Free
State, and their earnest hope for a speedy termination of the
War."--LORD PROVOST.
2. _Distinction._
Referring to Army Order (of March 11, 1900), it is notified for
information that Her Majesty orders that all Irishmen, whether serving
in Irish Regiments or not, shall be allowed to wear the Shamrock on
St. Patrick's Day.
By order,
W. KELLY,
Major-General,
Deputy-Adjutant-General.
* * * * *
NOTICE.
The first hundred copies of our last issue--Saturday, March 17, were,
by accident, wrongly dated under the title on the front page.
The Editors are willing to pay Five Shillings each for a few clean
copies of this portion of the issue.
* * * * *
THE CONFESSIONS OF A HORSE-STEALER.
(_N.B.--This article is privileged. The Provost Marshal cannot,
therefore, take proceedings against the author._)
When somewhere about the beginning of December I arrived at Modder
River, I think I may say I was as honest as the generality of
mankind. I do not remember any incident in my early childhood and
youth which could in any way have been cited as a proof that I had
predatory instincts. At home I never stole, at schools I never stole,
at Colleges I never stole, and during several years of wandering about
the face of the globe I never stole. But since I accompanied Lord
Roberts' force from Enslin to Bloemfontein I have stolen freely, and I
as freely admit it. Why? Ah, the answer to that question involves deep
ethical considerations, and cannot be answered right off. Let me tell
my tale, and I fancy that I shall receive the sympathy of most members
of the force, and even the Provost Marshal will no longer pine to hang
me.
When I left Enslin I was the proud possessor of three fine
saddle-horses and two decrepit-looking but sturdy cart-horses. Now I
have to hire a man to repeat daily to me the number of my
riding-horses, and I drive about Bloemfontein with a spanking team. I
am aware that this confession will make the Provost Marshal's hair
stand straight on his head; but let him have a little patience. Let
him think what a glorious thing it is to find the one horse-thief in
the army. I calculate that about 5,000 horses have illicitly changed
hands during the advance from Modder River, and yet I have never found
a man who has not most indignantly denied the merest, slenderest
imputation of being concerned in a horse "transaction." Therefore--the
army is honest, and there is only one horse-thief in it. The honour of
the force is saved, and I am the only culprit. This is centralisation
with a vengeance, and no longer need the Provost Marshal send his
myrmidons galloping far and wide in search of horse-thieves. When next
he hears of the loss of a horse, let him come to me--the only thief. I
will let him know my address when Martial Law is replaced by the
ordinary procedure of justice.
But let me recount, to what, I hope, will be a sympathetic public, how
I fell from honesty into the blackest depths of dishonesty. At
Jakobsdal, Messieurs les Boers shot my finest horse. I was grieved
naturally, and hurt too, that a poor non-combatant should have been
treated so cavalierly. But "a la guerre comme a la guerre," I
whispered to myself, and hoped for better luck next time. I followed
the force from Jacobsdal to Klipkraal and Paardeberg, and at the
last-named camp I awoke one morning to find my sturdy black pony had
been taken quietly from under my very nose. I raved and stamped and
swore at the loss. My sympathetic black boy tried to console me. "If
master like," he said, "I go catch another horse." But so high and
pure was my morality at that time that I almost thrashed him on the
spot for daring to make such a suggestion. I walked away disconsolate,
and sought a friend whose ribboned breast showed that he had seen
service in every quarter of the globe. His answer to my request was
short and simple. "Go and see whether he is picketed with ---- Horse"
(wild rhinoceri will not drag from me the name of that gallant
regiment of M.I.). I went, and there conspicuously displayed in the
front rank of the tethered horses was my black pony. I did not
hesitate, but, blessing the members of ---- Horse for so kindly caring
for my poor wandering pony, I began to untie the ream of the halter.
But the watchful eye of one of the men was open, and I was startled
to hear a noise at my side say, "Well, upon my soul, this beats
cock-fighting. You come to the wrong shop if you think you can steal a
horse from _this_ regiment," and he roughly took the ream out of my
hand.
I protested. "The horse is mine," I said, "I'd know him anywhere."
"Get on," was the answer, "he belongs to my captain. Why, look at the
brand." And, sure enough, on my poor pony's quarters were three big
letters which represented, I suppose, his initials.
But I was in no way cast down. To go and explain to the officer that a
little mistake had occurred was, after all, quite an easy matter, and
I approached the gentleman who was sitting under a mimosa bush having
breakfast. I explained the matter to him, and asked permission to lead
my property home. But the captain roared with laughter. "Lead my horse
home?" he shouted in another burst of laughter. "I like that. Why, do
you know that the dam of that horse belonged to my Uncle Jim? He was
the first man in that part of the country. Why," and again he laughed,
"I remember when that black pony of mine was foaled. It was the 7th,
no--the 10th of October. I remember quite well, for three weeks after
we had a big garden party and all the ladies fell in love with the
little beggar because he ate bread and butter from their hands and was
the greediest beggar you ever saw after chocolate creams. Why, damme,
if I didn't take that pony home again, I believe my old governor would
cut me off with a shilling."
I stood aghast. What a fool, what a sanguinary fool I was to go and
make such a mistake. My apologies were ample, humble and profuse. But
as I passed the horse-lines again I could not help thinking how
singularly like my lost pony was the animal which, as a foal, so
amused the ladies at the garden party.
And then I did the foolishest thing I ever did in all my life. I
bought a new horse. Twenty-four hours afterwards it was claimed by
four different officers, and I narrowly escaped hanging at the hands
of the Provost Marshal, who at once ordered me to return the animal to
its rightful owner. I gave it up to the four claimants, and let them
decide among themselves the question of ownership.
And now I had but one pony left--and I guarded it as the apple of my
eye. But again the Fates were against me, and it went off--I do not
for a moment suggest that it was taken off. Again I tried ----'s Horse
and all the Regular and Irregular Corps in the force, and was
indignantly rebuked for daring to look for a stray horse in their
lines. And so I was reduced to walking to and fro at Paardeberg Camp.
But one fine afternoon, returning across the huge endless plain, I was
nearly ridden down by a subaltern, and as I glanced at the reckless
rider I saw that he was riding _my_ pony. I shouted and yelled to him
to stop, which he did.
"You are riding my pony," said I.
"I'm not," was the laconic answer.
"But I'm sure of it."
"So am I."
"Well, you're wrong this time. That pony is mine. I've had him for
three months and I know him as well as I know my own boots."
But there was never a blush on the face of the subaltern. The pony he
rode was, he admitted, of a very common type as regards colour and
height. And he discussed at great length the difficulty of recognising
horses. He told us that one of the greatest horse-dealers in London
failed to recognise a horse that he had himself ridden a whole year.
And then he drowned me in dates. The pony he was riding was bought for
the remount of December 13th, kept at Stellenbosch till January 4th,
arrived at De Aar on January 6th, was used there by a staff officer
who did not like him and sent him up to Orange River on February 1st.
On February 5th he became the property of the subaltern, who appeared
to have tethered the beast at night to his waist, so positive was he
that "he had never lost sight of the pony since."
What could I say? I couldn't call him a liar, for he was a tall,
well-made subaltern, and he might have knocked me down, so I let him
ride my pony away, and I trudged home to my camp beside the river.
Early next morning I collected all the servants and I addressed them
as follows: "I have not got a single riding-horse left, and I want
some; go and get some."
It was a laconic speech, but wonderfully effective. By five o'clock
that afternoon three grand beasts were standing under the shelter of
the river bank close to my camp, undergoing the different processes of
hogging, tail-cutting, dyeing and other forms of transformation used
by horse-stealers. In ten days I could have mounted a whole troop of
cavalry. I will confess that I was a bit frightened, when, at five
o'clock one morning, they brought me two magnificent chargers, for I
recognised them as the property of the Commander-in-Chief. But
although I delayed His Excellency's departure to Kimberley for an
hour, I succeeded in sending them back to his lines unperceived.
I now possess a splendid stud of saddle-horses. I find it so difficult
to feed them all, however, that it is my intention to offer them for
sale next Wednesday. The conditions of sale are the usual ones, but it
is to be distinctly understood that if any person dares to claim one
of the animals as his own he will be turned out of the enclosure with
ignominy.
* * * * *
TO THE SOLDIERS' POET.
BY B. CHARLES TUCKER.
So you've come, Mynheer Kiplin', so you've come:
Wot a chap you are to foller up the drum!
S'pose yer's gwine to make some verse?
Well, there's lots wot does it worse,
You'd 'ave made a better Laurrytte than some.
We 'ave read your latest rimin' in the "FRIEND,"
But it's finished up too soon toward the end;
But the paper's raither small,
Sure it's 'ardly none at all,
If 'twere larger now 'twould be the bigger friend.
Now I arsks yer, Mister Kiplin', ain't yer proud
Of the "absent-minded beggars," how they've ploughed
Through 'ard ground to "Bobsfontein,"
Dorp of late departed Steyn,
Ain't yer proud of this great ragged Kharki crowd?
Glad to see yer, Mister Kiplin' and the "boys."
Old Bloemfontein never knew such times--and noise,
There's paradin', drillin'--and
Every night we gets the band,
And there's nothin' now our 'appiness alloys.
* * * * *
A SERIOUS MATTER.
BY PERCEVAL LANDON.
Horse-stealing is becoming a grave scandal. It constitutes the one
blemish upon the otherwise excellent military regime that has been
firmly but unobtrusively imposed. From their grazing grounds, from the
rail in front of the Club, from the actual hands of Cape boys leading
them to or from their lines, horses have been stolen with as little
compunction as though they had been found grazing on the veldt.
In some cases marks have been obliterated and manes and tails cropped
by the thieves in the endeavour to conceal the identity of the animal,
and it is our duty to ask that an example shall be made of any person
found in the possession of a horse not his own, or from which such
marks or brands have been recently obliterated, or upon which others
have been recently imposed.
It must be apparent to any man of sense that a horse which is offered
to him by any person, white or coloured, for a nominal sum, is a horse
which that boy or person has no right whatever to possess or attempt
to sell, and any man purchasing under these circumstances must be held
to be an accomplice in the theft.
* * * * *
It is earnestly to be hoped that, in felling necessary timber for the
use of the troops, all particularly fine or ornamental trees will be
spared. This district is sufficiently well wooded to supply otherwise
all requirements, and depends largely upon its timber for its
attractiveness.
Mr. Kruger was being sped from the late Presidency when he recently
visited the front near Gallaiskop and Osfontein, and President Steyn's
parting remark was "Mind the British don't catch you, or you'll get a
better place in St. Helena than I." It is hardly necessary now to
remind the late President Steyn that many a true word is spoken in
jest.
It is not a little offensive to the ordinary British sense of the
fitness of things that a native should be parading the Market Square
in the red tunic of the Soldiers of the Queen. Yet this was to be seen
yesterday afternoon when the pipes were skirling their martial
strains, to the delight of all and sundry. The name of the
regiment--Shropshire--was plainly in evidence on the shoulder strap.
Lord Roberts's entry into Bloemfontein narrowly missed marking another
of those historical, dramatic episodes such as Cronje's Day afforded.
The British withdrawal from the Orange Sovereignty Territory actually
took place on March 11, 1846, the proclamation being dated February
23rd of the same year. The Queen's soldiers re-entered this town on
March 13th, only missing what would have been a wonderful coincidence
by less than forty-eight hours.
* * * * *
PROCLAMATION
TO THE BURGHERS OF THE ORANGE FREE STATE.
In continuation of the Proclamation which I issued when the British
troops under my command entered the Orange Free State, in which I
warned all burghers to desist from any further hostility, and
undertook that those of them who might so desist, and were staying in
their homes and quietly pursuing their ordinary occupations, would not
be made to suffer in their persons or property on account of their
having taken up arms in obedience to the order of their Government, I
now make known to all burghers that I have been authorised by the
Government of Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen to offer the
following terms to those of them who have been engaged in the present
war:--
All burghers who have not taken a prominent part in the policy which
has led to the war between Her Majesty and the Orange Free State, or
commanded any forces of the Republic, or commandeered or used violence
to any British subjects, and who are willing to lay down their arms at
once, and to bind themselves by an oath to abstain from further
participation in the war, will be given passes to allow them to return
to their homes, and will not be made prisoners of war, nor will their
property be taken from them.
ROBERTS,
Field Marshal,
Commanding-in-Chief Her Majesty's Forces in South Africa.
Government House, Bloemfontein,
15th March, 1900.