"VIVE LA COMPAGNIE"
_Four Correspondents Dine the General, the Governor, and
Rudyard Kipling, and Produce_ THE FRIEND _as well_.
"Alles zal recht komen" were the words of the late President Brand,
true friend of the English, which were graven on the pedestal of his
statue before the doors of the Residency. We repeated them in new
"tabs" beside the heading of our paper on March 28th, with an amended
English translation facing them: "All has come right."
"All shall come right," we said, in our editorial, "was the motto of
the late Orange Free State. What a prophet was he who conceived it,
and how quickly has come the fruition of his prophecy! All has come
right."
We published an appreciative editorial upon Sir Alfred Milner, who had
come on the previous day upon a visit to Lord Roberts. It was written
by Mr. Landon. Mr. Kipling contributed more "Kopje-Book Maxims," and
bore a heavy hand in the production of an amusing column, entitled,
"The Military Letter Writer."
This was the way that column came into being. Mr. Landon, Mr. Kipling,
and I were in the poet's bedroom when Mr. Landon produced a model
letter-writer which he had found somewhere. I take great credit for
the phrase "found somewhere"; it might, with any other man than Mr.
Landon, be so full and rich in meaning. The book professed to be a
sober guide to the young and the ignorant in the paths of epistolary
literature; therefore it was bound to be supremely funny. We screamed
over what Landon read to us out of it.
Said Mr. Kipling: "Let's write some model military letters," and, as
was his wont, he seized a pencil and paper and began to write No. 1,
reading as he wrote. He urged us both to contribute, and Mr. Landon
tried with much good intent, while I wished to do so, but could not
begin to keep pace with the poet. Instant collaboration is almost
always impossible, especially where the inspiration comes to one man
who is seized by it, and begins to give it expression before his
companions can match their minds with his. Therefore Mr. Kipling went
on and on, and Mr. Landon took the block and pencil and wrote as Mr.
Kipling talked. Thus were produced letter No. 1 and the italicised
introduction to No. 2; the rest Mr. Landon arranged and edited out of
his book.
The column was pieced out at the end with No. 3 of Mr. Kipling's
"Fables for the Staff," which was, therefore, hidden in a bottom
corner of the page--a stroke of genius on the part of those whom we
anathematised collectively in the singular number as "The Dutch
Compositor."
Mr. Buxton had been called away to Capetown just after Mr. Kipling's
arrival, and my associates, hag-ridden by the confusion and annoyances
consequent upon the lack of a practised head to the little
institution, had thrust upon me the honour and hard work of what may
be called the managing editor's place. Thenceforth it was my duty to
deal with the gnomes in the dust hall, the retiring and reticent
cashier in another building, and the inmates of the Home for Boer
Compositors, otherwise known as the office of the late unlamented
_Express_. When I saw the genius of the Master thrust to the bottom
corner of the paper, or made grotesque by mis-spelling and exhibitions
of "pi," I felt that I alone was to blame, and hid myself and vowed to
produce better results if I had to set up the type myself.
From an able major of Engineers we received for this number a
confident and well-studied reply to Mr. Gwynne's articles on the
effects of the war upon military science.
* * * * *
[Illustration: The Dinner of the 28th of March 1900 At Bloemfontein.
_1st page of Menu._]
[Illustration: _2nd page of Menu._]
[Illustration: MENU.
Tomato Soup.
Boiled Salmon.
Parsley Sauce.
Fricassee of Chicken.
Braized Ox Tail.
Roast Sirloin of Beef.
Roast Turkey.
Salad.
Potatoes.
French Beans.
Cabinet Pudding.
Blanc Mange.
Jellies.
Anges a Cheral.
Cheese. Coffee.
_3rd page of Menu._]
[Illustration: Alles zal recht komen.
_4th page of Menu._]
* * * * *
This was the day upon which Mr. Landon, Mr. Gwynne, Mr. James Barnes,
and myself were to entertain at dinner Sir Alfred Milner, Lord
Roberts, and Rudyard Kipling. The _menus_ had been printed under the
eye of Mr. Landon, and were very distinguished examples of plain
typography. As twenty-four were to be used, we gave twelve each to Mr.
W. B. Wollen, R.I., and to Mr. Lester Ralph, war artists with the
army, requesting these able friends to do their best to produce on
each guest's _menu_ a picture illustrative of some exploit or leading
characteristic of the recipient. A very notable series of drawings
resulted--so notable that the Field-Marshal, whose own card showed him
in the act of receiving the Keys of Bloemfontein, asked to see them
all. When, toward the end of the repast, each man wrote his name
on every _menu_, you may be certain those bits of pasteboard bearing
the simple words, "The Dinner of the 28th of March, Bloemfontein,
1900," leaped high in value, and in the jealous pride of every man who
had one.
That was a dinner! An affair as unique and as singular an episode of
war as--as, let us say, THE FRIEND itself. Beside the great General,
the High Commissioner, and the Poet of the Empire, we had with us
General Pretyman, Military Governor of the town; General
Forestier-Walker, the courtly commander of the Lines of Communication;
the gallant, debonair Pole-Carew; the redoubtable flashing-eyed Hector
Macdonald; the polished Sir Henry Colvile; Colonel Otter, the leader
of the men with the maple-leaf; Lord Stanley, diplomat and censor;
Lord Kerry; Colonel Girourd, binder of new Empire-fractions with
threads of steel; Colonel Hanbury Williams, the High Commissioner's
right hand; Colonel Neville Chamberlain, veteran at Empire
building--and then our comrade-historians of the pen and pencil, W. B.
Wollen, R.I., Lester Ralph, H. F. P. Battersby, A. B. Paterson, H. C.
Shelley, and W. Blelock. We had invited Lord Kitchener, but he was
away at Prieska. On his return he expressed his regret that he had not
participated in this historic gathering. Excepting Lord Kitchener,
whose field of endeavour was so ably represented, only Mr.
Chamberlain, of all the great empire builders of the day, was missing.
We dined at the railway station, because it had the largest room and
best cook in the new colony.
I hear the band outside. I see a carriage roll up, and Sir Alfred
Milner springs out, spare-framed and visaged like an eagle. The
Field-Marshal follows him, precise in movement, gentle of mien but
erect and firm as steel, with long usage of command resting as light
and firm upon him as if he was born with it. I see the two leaders
halt and urge one another to take the lead, but Lord Roberts is the
firmer and will not go first. Again at the door of the dining-hall the
two great men halt and dispute with pantomimic gestures, each anxious
to honour the other. When the toasts came, and Mr. Landon told Sir
Alfred Milner that he was to be toasted first, the High Commissioner
exclaimed, "It's absolutely wrong." Mr. Landon replied, "I am under
orders. I must obey Lord Roberts," for the Field-Marshal had already
been consulted. All the others are in the room, under the flaming flag
and the huge paper roses. We dine--better than at the Residency--upon
several courses and with good wine a-plenty.
I see my handsome and gifted colleague, Mr. Landon, rise to toast the
High Commissioner. What's this we hear? He is welcoming the Viceroy as a
brother in journalism, a newspaper man like ourselves. Up rises the man
who lives in the heart of care and the furnace of dissension--pale,
grave, concentrated, like one who thinks of but one thing and has but
one thing to do--and that a thing gigantic. He replies that it is true
that he was once a writer like ourselves; that he enjoyed those days;
that he made delightful friends and spent glad hours in them; that he
has had much to do with the gentlemen of the Press in Capetown, and that
his relations with all have been without a flaw. After that he speaks
but little of the heart of care where his official bed is laid, or of
the furnace blasts of treason and of discord round his chair at the
Cape, but, with unassumed modesty, calls our attention to the military
magician across the table and to what he has done.
It is Mr. Gwynne who rises next--one of the very best-equipped war
correspondents with the British forces, both as a campaigner and a
critic of war, and high among the best as a writer. It is fitting that
he should introduce the Field-Marshal, for he is liked and trusted by
his distinguished guest, who has discovered, I fancy, that under the
correspondent's khaki beats the heart of the soldier.
Lord Roberts replied that he was very proud to be the guest of the war
correspondents. He liked to have them with him, and he was glad when
they criticised whatever was amiss, for he profited by reading what
they said. Turning to us, the Field-Marshal remarked, "You share all
our hardships and exposure. All the troops do not engage in every
battle, but you go to all, so that you experience even more danger
than most of us. May I call you 'comrades'?"
I remember that he spoke earnestly of the work Sir Alfred Milner was
doing, and credited that statesman with the most difficult task of any
man who served the Empire. One other bit of his address I recall--a
mere phrase, but a remarkable one: "The gentlemen I command--my
gentlemanly army."
It was my good fortune to introduce Rudyard Kipling--a delicate as
well as a proud task, because I knew that fulsome praise, or even the
most honest appreciation, would make him uncomfortable. I remember
that I spoke of the narrow compass of Shakspere's renown in his day,
and the world-wide fame of a man like Kipling in these days of
multitudinous newspapers and telegraphs and cables.
"Gentlemen," said the poet, "you remember the story of the artist
Whistler in Paris. An admirer came to him and said: 'Master, you and
Velasquez are the greatest exponents of the art of painting.' 'True,
true,' said Mr. Whistler, 'but why drag in Velasquez?' (A pause.) In
all sincerity I ask you why need you drag in Shakspere? There is not a
name in all literature more disheartening to those who try to do a bit
of earnest work at writing. There is not a thought, an emotion, a
picture, a bit of description that has not been written before--and
written much better than we can write it--by William. We found a
volume of his works in the office of THE FRIEND. Take war. In 'Henry
V.' you will find all that can be written--all the glory and all the
shame, all the valour and the sordidness, the excitement and the
pomp--you will find it all in 'Henry V.' better than any one can write
it now. In all sincerity, then, I ask you, why drag in Shakspere?
"I propose to you to-night, gentlemen, the health of the man who has
taught the British Empire its responsibilities, and the rest of the
world its power, who has filled the seas with transports, and the
earth with the tramp of armed men, who has made Cape Town see in Table
Bay such a sight as she never saw before and, please God, will never
see again; who has turned the loafer of the London streets into a man,
and called out him who led our fathers to Kandahar, and who knew not
what he did; who has made the Uitlander of South Africa stand shoulder
to shoulder with the boundary rider of New Zealand, and taught the
men of New South Wales to pick up the wounded men who wear the maple
leaf--and all in support of the mother-country. Gentlemen, I give you
the name of the Empire-builder--Stephanus Johannes Paulus Kruger."
After the great guests went home a dozen or fifteen of us remained and
enjoyed an impromptu little sing-song, when this to me touching and
singular incident occurred. General Pole-Carew came to me and said,
"Your son Lester should go home and to bed. He is in a high fever. I
know what it means, for I have had it six times. Look after him well."
My son was then in the thirteenth day of an attack of enteric, about
which he had said not a word to any one. In that condition he had
drawn the pictures on the _menus_ of Lord Roberts, General Pole-Carew,
General French (who could not come), Lord Stanley, General Colvile,
Colonel Otter, Mr. Kipling, and others. Lester, on hearing what the
General had said, declared it was no news to him and, after thanking
the General, went home and to bed. There, until we could get him to a
hospital, Mr. Kipling nursed him with consummate skill and the
gentleness of a woman; interesting and, to me, precious memories of a
world in which some of us find too few of such suggestions of the
better world to come.
In this "Free State Hospital," with the ministrations of the matron,
Miss Young, and her devoted lady nurses, the same strong essence of
unselfishness made the siege of sickness a period of pleasure.
Generals, colonels, correspondents and all of the salt of the army
went there often to cheer the patients--one of whom was Mr. Oppenheim
of the _Daily News_.
We four private men, who gave this dinner in our own name to our own
friends, have been a great deal criticised, but it is a noticeable
fact that the only critics are the men who were not invited to the
feast.
* * * * *
THE FRIEND.
(_Edited by the War Correspondents with Lord Roberts' Force._)
No. 10] BLOEMFONTEIN, WEDNESDAY, MARCH 28, 1900. [Price One Penny.
GOVERNMENT NOTICE.
Notice is hereby given that, communication with the Cape Colony having
been restored, the Laws and Regulations of the Customs Convention have
been put into force by virture of the proclamation of Field-Marshal
Lord Roberts, dated the 20th instant, and that from and after this
date Government Notice, No. 106, published in the "Gouvernements
Courant" of the 27th October, 1899, by which the Customs dues on
provisions and merchandise were temporarily suspended will be
considered null and void, in so far as those portions of the State now
occupied by Her Majesty's troops are concerned.
By order
J. H. MEIRING, Collector of Customs.
Customs' House, Bloemfontein, 24th March, 1900.
* * * * *
PROCLAMATION.
Whereas it is necessary that all State and private property in the
South African Republic and the Orange Free State shall be protected
from wanton destruction and damage,
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, Commanding-in-Chief the
British Forces in South Africa, do hereby give notice that all persons
who, within the territories of the South African Republic or the
Orange Free State shall authorise or be guilty of the wanton
destruction or damage or the counselling, aiding, or assisting in the
wanton destruction or damage of public or private property (such
destruction or damage not being justified by the usages and customs of
civilised warfare), will be held responsible in their persons and
property for all such wanton destruction and damage.
Given under my hand at Bloemfontein, this Twenty-sixth day of March,
1900.
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.
ROBERTS,
Field Marshal,
Commanding-in-Chief Her Majesty's Forces in South Africa.
* * * * *
SIR ALFRED MILNER.
BY PERCEVAL LANDON.
The High Commissioner of South Africa left Bloemfontein after the
mercifully abortive conference on June 6th of last year. Yesterday he
re-entered the town. The interval has been for some a time of hard
fighting, for all a time of anxiety, and amid the enthusiasm of his
welcome to the capital, his strong confidence during the darker days,
his unswerving fidelity to the high ideal of his Imperial work, must
be in the minds of all.
His entry into Bloemfontein, the capital of one of the two colonies
destined to fall into line with the progress of United South Africa,
is an occasion that will be recognised by the historian of this war as
closing one "swelling act of the Imperial theme."
Half--perhaps more than half--of Lord Roberts' work has been done; the
greater part of Sir Alfred Milner's task lies still before him. In
welcoming him within its walls Bloemfontein does not forget that long
after the transports have sailed with the last of the troops of the
expedition, the High Commissioner will still be confronted with a
gigantic work, requiring alike foresight, tact, and strength of will.
And Bloemfontein, like the rest of the Empire, is well content to
leave in the hands of Sir Alfred Milner the solution of the problem
upon the right interpretation of which the fortunes of this enormous
federation must depend.
* * * * *
"DRIVING THE OX."
Sing they who will of the Yeomen Imperial,
Gillies, Scouts, "Tigers," and bold C.I.V.;
Others may hold to more usual material,
Horse, Foot, and Rifles, and Artillerie.
But there's a corps with its name writ in History--
Bold they as lions and steadfast as rocks--
Gaily we'll troll our song,
Slow as we stroll along--
Trickle and roll along--
Driving the Ox!
But when the war-cloud frowns thicker and lowereth,
When the quick-moving battalions are met;
Not where the soft-hissing bullet most showereth,
Not in the forefront our places are set.
Still drive we on, though a day's march in rear we be,
O'er veldt and vlei, with the mud to our hocks--
Still will we push along,
Nor sadly hush our song,
Though we don't rush along,
Driving the Ox!
Fill, then, a cup to the Beeves of Her Majesty,
Long in the rear may their colours be seen!
Heavy their loads, but their hearts light as anything,
Doing strong work for their country and Queen.
What though they jeer who sweep by with the mounted troops?
Treat we as nought all their jibes and their mocks.
Though ne'er a fight we'll see,
Cheerful and bright we'll be,
We're a grand sight to see,
Driving the Ox!
"OLD MAN."
* * * * *
FABLES FOR THE STAFF.[7]
[Footnote 7: Copyrighted in England and America. Used here by
permission.]
THE PERSUASIVE POM-POM.
BY RUDYARD KIPLING.
III.
A Field-Artillerist passing a newly-imported Pom-pom overwhelmed it
with Contumely, saying, "What has a Gunner to do with an Unqualified
Sewing-machine?"
To this the virtuous Mechanism returned no answer, but communicated
these Atrocious Sentiments to a fellow Pom-pom in the Opposing Army
which, later, catching the Field-battery crossing a Donga, gave it
Ten-a-penny for two Minutes to the Confusion of all concerned.
"Alas!" said the Field-artillerist as he watched his Leg disassociate
itself from the Remainder of his Anatomy, "Who would have thought that
an Implement officially rejected by the War Office and what is more,
damned by Myself, could have done so neat a Trick?"
MORAL. Do not condemn the Unofficial. It hits hard.
* * * * *
THE MILITARY LETTER WRITER.
FORMS AND MODELS.
BY TWO OF THE EDITORS AND THE AUTHOR OF A GUIDE TO POLITE LETTER
WRITING.
No. I.
(_From a General of Division unshaven for eight days who lost his
horse, which he had lately commandeered from a subaltern of transport,
after having dined not wisely but too well at a Cavalry Camp, five
miles from his own tent, to which he was conducted through a
rain-storm by an inebriated signaller, to Captain Vanderbyl of the
Ninety-Third Field Hospital, given by voluntary subscriptions, of
which the larger part remain to this day unpaid, so that the hospital
is without bandages, lint or beds, whom he suspects of being accessory
to the animal's disappearance._)
RESPECTED SIR:--
It is with deep pain that I take my pen in hand to trespass on your
valuable time, but the imperative needs of the case must be my
justification.
Twelve happy hours ago I was the proud, and I may add, the lawful
possessor of a bay mare, off fore foot white, white blaze and snip,
near hind pastern marked by heel rope, unshod in front and ear nicked,
which I think I left with a man with two heads but that may have been
on account of the sherry and bitters and she was tied up to the
railings because my boy forgot the blanket and I borrowed one from the
hospital but anyhow I know that when I came out she was a lousy mule
and the saddle cost L6 10s. at the Army and Navy Stores and I may as
well tell you at once if you have tried to dispose of it that they are
marked all over with my name and rank. Therefore, Augustus Burstem,
General of Division presents his compliments to Captain Vanderbyl and
everybody in the camp knows the mule is yours and besides your boy was
seen grooming her at the back of your tent this morning. I want it
back by bearer.
Yours sincerely,
AUGUSTUS BURSTEM,
General.
No. II.
(_From a saddle-chafed officer of the Staff with Evangelical
convictions and a rooted distaste for Scouting, who has just come off
a 10 days' march on quarter rations and has lost half his transport
and 7 men by advancing in close order upon the white flag to his
General, who has a taste for horse-racing and profanity and a good
seat across country, seventeen and a half hours after his return to
camp, and seventeen and one quarter hours after the General had
expressed his (the General's) opinion upon his (the Captain's) facial
peculiarities, mental attainments, moral rectitude, birth, parentage,
and probable future._)
MY DEAR SIR,--
I have been much perplexed for some days, in consequence of a growing
conviction--which has indeed been deepening for some weeks--that we
are each of us conscious that we have made a mistake in becoming
engaged. I believe you have this conviction, as I am obliged to
confess I have. Now it is infinitely better that we face it at once. I
would gladly be convinced that we have not been mistaken; and if I am
wrong in believing that this thought has been in your mind as well as
my own, pray forgive me for having misjudged you. How else can I
account for the depression which seems to rule you when in my company,
and for the apparent relief which parting seems to bring you? Now,
will you do yourself and me the justice to ask yourself seriously
whether or no (I) have at all correctly gauged your feeling? If so, I
would wish to release you, for your own sake as well as for mine. It
really seems that we have each discovered that our ideals are not to
be found in each other. If so we shall respect each other none the
less in future years that we had the courage to confess to each other
that we have been mistaken. Kindly write when you are sure of the
answer which you are sending.
Faithfully yours,
WALTER.
It is interesting to note that this and the following letter are taken
literally word for word from a well-known "Letter-writer." Thus we see
the adaptability of these invaluable helps to the epistolary art. It
will not be necessary to suggest the original suggested circumstances
of this correspondence.
No. 3.
THE GENERAL'S ANSWER.
DEAR WALTER,--I have taken a few days to sift my thoughts on the
subject of your last. The conclusion that I have come to is
practically the same as yours. I have no blame to lay on you; on the
contrary, you have been most kind and considerate in all things. No
doubt, without intending it, we have been both mistaken; and although
we have honestly tried to be all to each other, yet that mysterious
something which is perhaps best expressed by the word "affinity" has
been lacking. So, without in the least losing my respect for
you--rather it has increased--I accept the proposal contained in your
last, viz., that our engagement should cease.
Sincerely yours,
B. I. TUMEN, Genl.
* * * * *
UNITED WE STAND.
BY TROOPER G. SIMES, F SQUADRON, ROBERTS' HORSE.
Who are these hasting with speed o'er the ocean,
Meeting together in one common cause,
Proving by deeds and a whole-souled devotion,
Their love for our Flag and contempt for the Boers?
These are the oversea sons of one mother,
Some bred in sunshine and some bred in snow;
Meeting together as brother with brother,
One common kindred 'gainst one common foe.
Bright sunny land in the far-off Pacific,
Fit habitation for men such as these,
Proving their birthright in battle terrific,
Sons of the Mother though bred overseas.
Grand snow-clad land on the stormy Atlantic,
Home of our brothers who fight with us here--
Proving by deeds most high-souled and romantic
Their love for their country we all hold so dear.
This be our comfort and this be our beacon--
Blood that was shed has but bound us together,
No power can conquer, no quarrels shall weaken
The Rose and the Maple, the Wattle and Heather!
* * * * *
TEN-A-PENNY'S.[8]
[Footnote 8: "Ten-a-Penny" was a soldiers' nickname for the Pom-pom.
"The ----y Doorknocker" it was christened in the Highland Brigade. The
word "Pom-pom" came first into use immediately after the battle of
Modder River.]
A certain General has breathed vengeance against two of the Editors of
THE FRIEND, threatening to put them in his guard-room if he finds them
within his lines. They are not afraid of him, but prefer to admire him
as of old. They scorn his threats but will welcome an invitation to
lunch.
* * * * *
A linesman describing the arrival of the Guards Brigade at
Bloemfontein after they had covered 41 miles in 22 hours: "An' they
come in the last mile like a lot o' bloomin' Park hacks, steppin' 'igh
an' dressin' most particular."
* * * * *
A French waiter at a Parisian cafe recently heard the news of
Kimberley's relief, and observed joyously: "Bon! Fashoda finds itself
avenged. Behold, ze English again in the consommee, for ze French are
in Kimberley!"
* * * * *
"Look here! You get away from this antheap. This is my antheap. There
are plenty around, and you find one for yourself." The hail of Mauser
bullets from the kopje was pretty heavy, and the nearest antheap at
least fifty yards away, so the other Grahamstown man disputed the
uitlander theory of his comrade, and insisted on staying. "Confound
you, get away I tell you; your big feet are drawing the fire; if you
don't I'll break your neck." "You shut up," said the other, "this
antheap is as much mine as yours, besides if you talk of breaking
necks, well----" There appeared to be no further conversation, but the
officer observed the two men suddenly arise and a hot set-to followed.
The fire was too hot for immediate inquiry, but after a prolonged
round one man was knocked down, the other drew him behind the disputed
shelter, and resumed patient firing at the enemy.
Later a request was made for orders regarding the possession of
antheaps by irregulars.
* * * * *
A well-known scout returning from Kimberley last week was taken
prisoner at Modder River by a party of eight Boers. He was sent in
charge of two burghers to the Boer camp near Brandfort. On the way the
Boers off-saddled and their horses strayed. Leaving their prisoner
alone with their guns and ammunition, which they had laid down, they
went after the horses. Here was an excellent opportunity. Both Boers
were at his mercy, but it looked too much like murder, so awaiting
their return, the scout, who could speak the Taal, appealed to them
to let him go, telling them that he could easily have shot them, but
the war was nearly over, and he would not take men's lives in that
way; further, that it would greatly inconvenience him to be taken
North, and he might be able to put in a good word for them soon, if
their farms should be in danger. After an hour's palaver they agreed
to give him a show, and told him he could go. They then escorted him
to the river and showed him the road to Bloemfontein.
* * * * *
PONT FILLED WITH BULLION.
This is the story of two men who, unarmed, and without a guard brought
L25,000 in bullion from Capetown to Bloemfontein, through a country
still seething with dangers of war. The men were L. L. Michell,
general manager of the Standard Bank of South Africa, and W. Munro du
Preez, formerly of the National Bank of Harrismith, now teller of the
Standard Bank's new Bloemfontein branch, which opened to-day in the
building on Market Square, formerly occupied by the Cafe Royal and
later by the Military Post Office.
They left Capetown on Thursday a week ago, with twelve boxes of
specie, each one of which weighed eighty pounds. For six days they
lived, ate, and slept on those boxes. Their only holiday was at
Naauwpoort, when they paid a high compliment to six A. and S.
Highlanders by putting the boxes in their charge and going out to
stretch their legs. For hundreds of miles the train ran through
desolate karoo in which a band of train robbers would have stood a
fair chance of success. At Colesberg the twelve heavy boxes were
piled out again on the platform and into the ladies' waiting-room and
the weary bankers stretched out on them, for the night.
There was to have been a military guard for the gold at Norval's Pont,
but somehow the guard did not connect. The bank men found themselves
stalled at a broken bridge, with the choice of trusting their bullion
to a thin wire rope slung across the broken spans, or putting it on a
pont that formed a rope ferry across the river. They chose the pont.
The train from Capetown reached Orange River at 2 o'clock on Tuesday
afternoon. The train on the north side of the river had to wait until
7 o'clock for the gold.
The transfer across the river was the most interesting part of the
journey. Messrs. Michell and du Preez deny that their interest had
anything of anxiety in it. They trusted the twelve sweating volunteers
who wandered wide from the train to the pont with its 960 pounds
avoirdupois and 25,000 pounds sterling. Du Preez walked at the head of
the volunteers and Michell at the tail. The volunteers seemed to be
walking all over the country.
So the twelve boxes were finally slammed into the guard's van on the
north side of the river, and the bank manager and his teller clambered
in on top of them. If there was a military guard on the train they
didn't have the comfort of knowing it. They had been told that all the
Boers were giving in their arms and that the country through which
they rode was thoroughly pacified, but then, as du Preez said, "when
you are travelling with twelve boxes of bullion you can't be dead sure
of anything."
When the train reached Bloemfontein on Wednesday, the boxes were
taken at once to the vaults of the National Bank of the Orange Free
State, and the two men, wearied by their six days' vigil, went at once
to bed, and to sleep.
Mr. Michell, who manages the Standard Bank affairs in all parts of
South Africa, is only temporarily in Bloemfontein. Mr. D. Savory,
formerly of the branch bank at Oudtshoorn, will be manager of the
Bloemfontein branch. Mr. A. S. D. Robertson, formerly in the branch
bank at Ceres, will be accountant, and Mr. du Preez will be teller.