The next day we heard that Methuen had orders from Roberts to march at once to Kroonstad and await further orders, and we started off quite unexpectedly at 5 in the evening. The guide lost his way, and we wandered about in the dark and mist for four hours, and finally camped on a small and very stony hill at about 10 o’clock at night. Next day we marched the 18 miles straight into Kroonstad, every one very elated, and making sure of orders for Cape Town in a day or two. We marched through the town and into the dusty station yard, and there off-saddled and fed horses. We had only just done so when Mac. came along and said, “We are off for the Transvaal to-night!” and so we were—at least, those of us whose horses were fit. Those whose horses were not fit (of whom I was one) were to stay the night, get rid of their worn-out steeds, and follow the rest the next day. We accordingly paraded at once and set out for the remount depot, a good 3 miles away. It was a lovely moonlight night, and we lugged our poor, broken-down, old Rosinantes by their head-ropes along the white, dusty road. The remount depot was a large space divided into smaller squares by high fences, and inside these were herded together a large number of sick and otherwise groggy horses. We took the head-stalls off our own animals and turned them loose among the others, and then walked back to the town and had a look round, food being our immediate objective. We tried store after store, but they were all cleared out. On entering one we saw some loose brown sugar lying about on the counter, and immediately a rush was made for it, scooping it up in our hands and crunching it with the greatest relish. The craving one had for sweets of any kind was extraordinary. Then I went to a barber’s and had a hair-cut and shave and a good wash. When we got back, the rest of the squadron were already entrained, lying under the# waggons in open trucks, very much crowded together, with the horses packed into horse-trucks in another part of the train, so we had the station yard to ourselves. Next morning we had a look round. Our waggon had not yet gone, so the few of us who were there did well in the way of rations; but I think the day that followed was one of the most uncomfortable that I ever experienced. The soil of the yard was a light sandy dust, and a strong wind got up at daybreak, which lasted all day. The result was that we lived in a perpetual sand-storm. Whichever way we looked, dust was blown into eyes, mouth, and ears, and every nook and crevice in our clothes was choked up with it All our food got a layer of dust over it; we stood and watched our steak, frying on the fire, collect a beautiful khaki coat I covered myself up in my blanket, shoved my head under my saddle, and read Pearson's the whole day, only leaving my lair and facing the dust to get my rations and do what fatigues were necessary.
The following night the remaining waggons were hoisted into the trucks, and we transferred our saddles, kit, and ourselves to the floor of the trucks, underneath the waggons. Our waggon was wedged so tightly into the truck that there was no fear of it rolling backwards and forwards at all with the motion of the train. This was lucky for me, for, as it happened, we were so cramped up that the only way I could lie at full length at night was with my head underneath one of the wheels. The next two days we passed very comfortably on the journey. We had fine weather, plenty of rations, nothing to do, and no horses to look after, and should not have minded a week of it. The train proceeded very slowly, and sometimes stopped altogether going up hills, and we used to take advantage of these short halts by jumping out with our billies and water bottles to get water, and if there was wood handy, as posts by the side of the rails, out would come the hatchets, and there would be fires going and tea and coffee made in a twinkling. We passed all our old friends on the first day—Honing Spruit, Rhenoster and Roodeval, Heilbron Road— the line having been repaired and temporary bridges erected in place of those destroyed, in a marvellously short space of time. We knew by this time that our destination was to be Krugersdorp, not far from Johannesburg, in the Transvaal.
“Had a jolly time. Two good nights, plenty of grub, and things to see by the wayside. Small bodies of infantry guarding bridges, eager for news and ’baccy and matches. I gave one lot my Pearson's, which I had read, and you can think of that, well-thumbed, going from man to man in the little camp. I got out on the line when the train stopped, made a fire with chips, and boiled tea. We passed through Johannesburg the second night; a huge station, ablaze with electric light We arrived at Krugersdorp early the next morning.”
We collected our baggage, paraded on the platform, and then marched up to rejoin our regiment, which was encamped on a hill about half a mile from the town. Here we heard that we had been sent up north after a commando of 900 braves under one Du Plas, which was lurking in the vicinity. In the afternoon R,, myself, and others were marched off down to the town on fatigue, and spent an hour or two in the market-place unloading waggons of corn and biscuits, and piling the sacks and tins up on huge stacks. A word as to these latter. Whenever a town was made a base for operations for a long or short time, stores were always unloaded from the waggons of the convoy and placed in some convenient open space, under the charge of the A.S.C. These gentry used to get the boxes of biscuit, jam, tinned meat, etc., so arranged that they formed a comfortable, roomy dwelling-place, sometimes, if these stores were in large enough quantity, with two or three little rooms. They would make a roof with tarpaulin or other sheeting.
I had a talk with a nigger; he was a native of the town, and seemed a rather superior person. In talking about Kruger, he rolled out the ex-President’s full name with the greatest gusto : “Stephanus—Johannes— Paulus—KRUGER!” with an expressive pause between each word, and a roar of laughter at the end. After we had finished, we roamed about the town to see what could be bought in the way of food and other necessaries.
“There is not much to be bought here. I got some corn-flour, which I shall have to learn now to cook, and so add another item to my list of dishes. Also treacle, jam, tea, saccharine, sweets, and lemonade. I invested in a slouch hat, too; we are all getting into them now, they are much more comfortable than helmets.
. . . It is far warmer up here; comparatively warm at night, and hot in the day.”
While we were here a great batch of horses was driven up to some kraals near the camp, and those who had none turned out to get them. Officers had first pick, then sergeant- major, then sergeants and corporals and privates took what was left I was unlucky, and got hold of another Argentine. He was big, bony, and strong, and I hoped he would turn out a good useful beast, but he proved to have no “heart” in him, like the rest of his kind.
On 14th July reveille at 4.30, and we started off on our march to the mountainous country of the Magaliesberg, due north of Krugersdorp, and about half-way between that place and Rustenberg. We trekked till mid-day, and had just got settled for the two hours’ halt when a veldt fire started in the camp, and as a strongish wind was blowing, we had to pack up and run for it across a small stream. It was a very exciting time for the transport. We could saddle up and be off in about five minutes, but the niggers had to run for their mules which were out grazing, bring them in and yoke them to the waggons before they could drive off. One lot stuck on the wrong side of the stream. The niggers yelled and cracked their whips, and men put their shoulders to the wheel, but all to no purpose. The waggon would not budge. The flames were advancing rapidly and had already reached the hind wheel, so the boys unharnessed the mules and drove them across the stream, and left the waggon amongst the flames. However, not much damage was done, the wheels being a good deal charred, but not deeply enough to hurt the waggon. In the hurry of saddling up I had left my “billie ” behind in the grass. It was a Lyle’s golden syrup tin which I had bought full for 2s. 6d. at Kroonstad (home price, 7d. ?) and had kept ever since to carry water, tea, coffee, etc., in. It had a nice lid, which would fit firmly in and remain in, so that I used to carry it full all day, and use the tin as a saucepan on arriving in camp. I was therefore not going to leave it to its fate, and when the fire had passed over the camp I went back and soon found it, not much the worse for its grilling.
During the afternoon we got to very mountainous country, which was an extraordinary change to us after the flat and barren Free State, or Orange River Colony as it now was. We wound along a narrow road at the bottom of a valley with nigh hills on either side, and came in touch with the enemy at about 4 in the afternoon. There could not have been many of them, however, as, with the hills to help tnem, they might have made a good stand against us, which they did not. We had a lot of puff-and- blow dismounted work, running up and down high kopjes, and I am sure by the time we got to the top of some of them most of us could not have hit a haystack at 100 yards. However, we blazed away merrily, and the artillery treated them to plenty of 15-lb. and pom-pom shells. We remained on a kopje till dark, and then came on after the convoy.
“Got to camp,” says the diarist, “at dark, and one of the first waggons to cross the drift broke down in mid-stream, so nothing could get to us on other side. Slept on empty stomach, with no blankets.”
Next day we had more sniping, and did a very long, not march, which quite tired out my horse, and I began to see that if much more was going to be required of him he would soon leave me in the lurch. I now discovered that he had a charming trick of starting to move round and round in a circle, when I attempted to mount him, directly I touched the stirrup with my foot As he was a monster in size, too, I often had an awful job to mount him.
We camped late at night on a bumt-out place where the bushes were plentiful but the wood green, so that R. and I had to blow ourselves black in the face before we could raise enough fire to boil our cocoa. There were some casualties, and one of the Warwick scouts, an old grey-bearded colonial, died of his wounds that night. The Warwick scouts were a body of about 20 men (nearly all of whom had lived for years in the country) under the command of a Captain Warwick. Knowing the lie of the land as they did, they were very useful in the Intelligence and scouting departments, and could fight the Dutchman in his own way.
In the morning (21st July) we had “revally ” at 3.15, and a correspondingly early start The enemy were known to be in force on the hills ahead of us, especially at the pass in the Magaliesberg range known as Oliphant’s Nek, through which ran the road to Rustenberg.
The country through which we were advancing was all in favour of the defenders, and dead against an advancing force. The road wound dustily along the centre of a bushy valley, with the ground gradually sloping up from it on either side to high kopjes running parallel to the road, rocky, bushy, and capable of concealing thousands. It was the Shropshires’ turn for advance guard, and it seemed likely that they would get a rough time of it.
The first shot was fired after the sun had been up about an hour. The valley was looking so lovely in the sun and the blue sky over it, it seemed impossible to believe that somewhere in that smiling landscape 900 men were lying in wait to shoot down the rooinek. The 38th were supports, i.e., just behind the advance guard, and we heard the gusts of Mauser fire in front of us without seeing a soul, as the bushes hid our own men as well as the Boers.
Presently the firing got louder, and shots began to be fired from the flanks as well as from the front We were on the extreme left, and were riding in line close to the left-hand kopjes. Soon a few bullets began to sing over us. We were halted, dismounted, mounted again hurriedly, and told to close in on the road in order to get across a drift. A messenger was sent back to get orders as to what to do after crossing the stream, and meanwhile we remained huddled up under the banks for cover. More bullets came our way than was pleasant to a stationary crowd, and we began to wish for a move on, as the Boers must have known of the place where we were, even if they could not see us, and would be certain to send a shell amongst us sooner or later. More and more men crowded into us from behind till we were as tight as herrings in a barrel. Soon, however, B. came up, and we all clattered and splashed up the drift on the opposite side, and at once got into extended order amongst the bushes on either side of the road. The enemy had a pom-pom going in the Nek by this time, and we could near strings of the nasty little i-lb. shells hissing over our heads, probably aimed at the more visible convoy or infantry behind us. We made several advances on foot, firing every now and then at the top of the kopje on our left front, which seemed to contain a good many snipers and protruded further into the valley towards the road than the rest of the range. On one end of it we could see about a dozen of the Yorkshire or Shropshire Yeomanry lying down among the rocks and shooting. Their horses were standing patiently in the usual groups of four, each with its man in charge, lower down the kopje. Suddenly we got the order to mount. We rushed back to our horses, and of course I could not mount. The more I hopped after my huge brute, my left foot perched up at a dizzy elevation in the stirrup, the faster he edged away, keeping his head towards me, and wheeling his great awkward body away. The ground was rocky and uneven, the horse getting more and more unmanageable, and H. S. G. more and more furious. I thought I never should get on, and my troop had disappeared among the bushes towards the base of the kopje. If looks and words could kill, that animal had been a corpse. With a last despairing effort I managed to hoist myself up, and, hounding him forward to make up for lost time, caught the others up just as they were dismounting.
All this time the artillery, which had been coming up from the rear, and was now behind and below us, were sending shells down the valley and on to the kopjes around. I looked round to see where the guns were that were making all the noise and could not see a sign of them. They were all hidden among the bushes. Here and there infantry could be seen crossing open spaces and disappearing again, and far in the rear the cloud of dust showed that the waggons were still advancing, confident of the retreat of the enemy. Half-way up the kopje we lay down for a rest, as it was a steep one. We lay pretty low, for as yet we had not been seen, but as we waited the first “ping ” came over our heads, and then another, and yet more from the summit of our kopje and from some unknown source on our right. M. yelled that we were in a cross fire and had better make a move. “No,” said B., “they are our own men; those are not Mausers.” “Rot,” thought one person present at least. “Come on,” continued B., who had been crouching about a yard from me, and as we rose a louder crack than usual burst from the bushes on our left, high above us, and a bullet whizzed between the two of us, grazing B.’s sleeve and coming smack on a rock close by. He looked rather surprised, and put his hand up to his arm, saying, “Why, it touched me!” But I think that convinced him that it was not our own men. We scrambled further up the hill, and just as I was expecting the order to fix bayonets, “bang-bang,” two 15-pounders spoke, one after the other, from the bottom of the kopje, and two shells whirled up close to us and lodged with a crash and a cloud of debris on the top of the hill among our snipers.
“Good; the guns are on them,” and effectually too, for it stopped the shooting. Then came the order passed up the line, “Stand to your horses,” and down we clattered, knocking nails out of boots and ruining spurs in the descent. On the way we passed a company of infantry slowly plodding up the way we had come. “Are there many of ’em up there ? ” asked one weary Tommy, with his helmet, as usual, on wrong side before. “No,” we told him, they had just been shelled out of it, and he went stumbling and swearing his way up the hill. What our precise move now was meant to be I don’t know, but on mounting (I got a friend to hold his head this time) we cantered along the path at the base of the kopje, keeping it on our right till we came to a farm, where we dismounted and climbed up the kopje again. It may have been a flanking move. It was much steeper this side, though there were fewer rocks in the way and plenty of bushes to swing ourselves up by. We reached the top, blowing like grampuses, and found ourselves on a broad sort of plateau covered with numerous walled enclosures which brother Boer had only just evacuated. We messed about, as the diarist would say, for a short time and saw that no one was about, and then clambered down the hill to our horses. But all this climbing about had taken time, and by the time we got back along the path to the valley again, the guns had pushed ahead, and were busily engaged in shelling the Nek and the road passing over it As we rode up we had a splendid view of the artillery practice. It was a most magnificent sight the way those guns worked up that pass, shelling every yard of the road, and the hills by the side of tne road. We trotted past the sweating gunners and soon had the sharp, ear- splitting cracks of the guns behind us, and heard the scream and roar of the shells as they sped over our heads towards the pass. " Puff- puff-puff”—spurts of dust and stones shot up all over the red dusty road in the pass, below the little white balloons of shrapnel bursting high in the air, and “pom-pom” came the enemy’s reply, feebly now, and at long intervals. Then came the final rush, all the Yeomanry advancing at a canter, a cloud of horsemen in open order, towards the Nek.
The artillerymen behind redoubled their efforts, and what with the roar of the guns, the bursting shells, and the thunder of hoofs, it was a moment worth living for and never to be forgotten. The enemy’s fire ceased, and we rode up the steep ascent unopposed, though I expected every minute to see the first man to gain the crest topple off his horse. We halted at the top, and the general came up soon after. The smashed remains of a Boer pom-pom had been found, and I saw him standing looking at it, and heard him say smilingly—”Well, we’ve done for their pom-pom, anyhow.”
“ … Then we off-saddled and rested a bit on the other side of the pass, and admired the view. After that we sniffed about and found a farm, and, what ho! a lovely orange grove! There was a scramble, but there was no need for it, as there were heaps. I filled my nosebag and helmet, after eating as many as I could. You can imagine how good they were, after rushing up and down rocky kopjes all day in the sun.”
Two little Dutch boys appeared to be the sole occupants of the farm, and, far from cutting up rough at their oranges being taken, they seemed to think the whole thing a great joke, pointed out the best ones, and helped to shake down the fruit. We asked them where their father was. “Oh,” they said, smiling, “he has been fighting here this afternoon, but he has gone down that way now with the rest of the commando.” Several of our shell-cases were lying about the garden outside the house. The Tommies now began to arrive on the scene. They were very much grieved that we had got to the oranges first. “Ah,” said one indignant, red-faced, super-heated artilleryman, dodging about under the trees with a nosebag which he was rapidly filling with oranges, grabbing at them frantically as they fell, “it’s always the ___ way, the ___ Yeomanry always get first at every ___ thing,” etc., etc., ad lib.
“Then we went and camped in an orchard just below the grove, where there was plenty of dry wood for fires, and a stream of water as clear as crystal, at the bottom. Yes, the Transvaal is certainly a better place than that awful Orange Colony.”
During the afternoon a small party of mounted men, evidently colonials, arrived from Rusten- berg, looking very spic and span compared to us. With them was a man whom some said was the great B.-P., and others, Colonel Baden- Powell, nis brother. We heard that evening from prisoners that “the Boers wanted to meet the Yeomanry, as they intended taking their horses for their own use.” They had 300 unmounted men, non-combatants, with the commando, and no doubt horses would have been very acceptable.
The casualties for that day had fallen chiefly on the Shropshire Yeomanry, who had been doing advance guard and had suffered heavily, four or five of one troop being knocked out of their saddles in the first few minutes.
The duty of doing the advance guard for a column and “locating the enemy ” is a charmingly simple one. AH you have to do is to march forward, offering yourself for the enemy to pot at, and, if not bowled over, you are able to ride back and state positively that there are enemies ahead.
The next day was Sunday, and we had a late “revally ”—6.30—and spent the day in camp, the horses being out to graze as usual.
July 26.—We marched back again through the pass, shelling some Boers who had been hanging about within range.
27.—Escorted a convoy some way towards Bank station on the Krugersdorp-Potchefstroom line, through some pretty wooded country, with plenty of Kaffir locations and farms, and got eggs, bread, and turkeys. The column was divided into two, Methuen going one way and scouring the country, and Colonel Benson the other. We were under Benson, and in the course of a long day’s trek in dull, windy weather, left our farms and trees behind, and came into country that reminded us unpleasantly of the Orange Colony, with its bare, treeless veldt, and occasional low kopjes. My troop was scouting on the left, with orders to get into touch with Methuen (having been separated from him the previous day). About the middle of the afternoon, when we were up on a range of low hills, we saw a number of mounted men advancing parallel with us about 2 miles off. The question was, were they Britons or Boers ? We regarded them long and carefully through our glasses. They were galloping about among some Kaffir kraals, in no sort of order, which looked rather suspicious, and, after a bit, one of them evidently saw us, as they all halted, and we could see them looking towards us. We decided that they must be Methuen’s advance guard, so, keeping our line and distance very carefully to snow them we were British, we advanced gingerly towards them. They did likewise, but having come about 200 yards, they halted. However, Mac. cantered gaily forward to hail them, and one of their men did likewise, while we kept on at a walk, watching events. M. sailed up, and we soon saw him in friendly confab with the man who had come to meet him, so we knew it was all right, and that we had “found Methuen.”
As we returned to camp, the rain, which had been threatening all day, began to come down in great drops, and the wind got up, so we knew we were in for a rough night. And we , were. The sky got pitch black, and when lying down by our saddles, we could not see the horses’ heads, four paces from us. Down came the rain, and the lightning flashed and the thunder roared all night without cessation.
A few men dug trenches round themselves (“graves ”) and raised a mound in the centre to sleep on. But the rain soon filled the trenches and beat through the well-worn mackintosh sheets. We were all speedily wet through, and lay huddled up and shivering under our blankets.
“Isn’t this jolly ? ” shouted R. to me from under his blanket “Ripping,"came from under mine, in muffled tones. It was a perfect nightmare, and we were heartily glad when the morning came. Some of No. 3, myself among them, were early afoot, as we were going out to relieve a night picket. They were Highlanders, though how they got there I don’t know. They must have joined us at some previous camp, and they soon left us again. They were busy getting into their clothes on the top of the rocky kop on which they had passed the night when we arrived. I was talking to one of them, a cheery youth of eighteen or nineteen. He was telling me about Magersfontein and Modder River, and other big fights he had been in. I asked him if he had had any narrow shaves in the engagements. “Oh, nothin’ much,” he ’said; “I’ve had one through me helmet, and one through me haversack, and one through me kilt, but never any close yins! ” “ Don’t you get fearfully fagged with all that stuff on your back?” I inquired later. The infantry nave to carry greatcoats, mess tins, etc., slung on their backs by a cross strap, which is perpetually dragging at their shoulders. “Och, no,” he replied cheerfully, “ye get so used t’it ye couldna do without it.” He then proceeded to tell me about his home uniform, which his mother was keeping nice and clean for him, “so that he could have it to put on directly he landed.” I hope the brave laddie did get home to put it on.
The column then made for Bank (short for Vlaawbank) station, which was reached after about 8 miles' trekking. It seemed quite civilised to be near a railway and hear trains puffing about again. We saw several train loads of Tommies in their black overcoats and khaki coloured helmets going up the line, each train preceded by an armoured one, with Maxims and other guns wherewith to do battle if any Boers approached. We were short of biscuits, but had plenty of flour, so had 1 2 oz. of the latter served out in lieu of the former. The question was, what to do with it? Our only materials were -flour and water, and, to the lucky ones, fat. Having no fat, R. and I decided to mix the flour with water into a sort of paste, squash it out flat, lay it on the hot embers, and see what happened. The result would hardly have been passed in a school for cookery, but we made short work of it.
July 29.-" Revally" 4.30. We started down the line towards Potchefstroom, about 40 miles distant. We were on the left of the line, between it and a range of kopjes. We had not gone very far when we heard the well-known crackling of Mausers from the kopjes on our left, about half a mile off, and, looking up, saw three or four scouts galloping for their lives. Then ensued the usual disposition of troops. One lot galloped this way, another that, some stood still, and some went on. The 38th kept on in a more or less straight line, though edging nearer to the hills and further from the line all the while. The firing ceased for a short time, and we began to think it was to begin and end in an affair of scouts, when it began again, and we now saw there was to be a “scrap ” before we got into Potchefstroom. In the course of the next mile or so we got on to the hills, and our horses were cantering among rocks and bushes. The firing on our left got more and more heavy, and we guessed that tne 37th, who were doing flanking duty that day, were coming in for a not time. We were escort to the guns, and for a short time had the honour of escorting also Lord Methuen himself. We were on a kopje with two field guns, and he was standing close to us on the left, watching the operations through his telescope. After a little while he took some sort of a tablet from his pocket, put it into a small folding cup, and dissolved it in some water, and drank it off. One of his staff took the cup and began handling it to see how it shut up. “Don’t, don't,” said the general, “you’ll break it"
There were some signallers with a heliograph close by, and Methuen came up and dictated a message to General Douglas, who was advancing parallel with us, some miles to our right. It was, “Don’t push on too fast, keep in touch with me,” or words to that effect.
A little later he had occasion to send out a squadron of Yeomanry. “Tell them,” he said to the messenger, “that the general is watching them.”
The day, from beginning cold, turned out very hot, and we were soon dismounted and advancing on foot through the long grass with a very hot sun overhead. From mat moment (mid-day) there was fighting all day till dark. We left the guns behind, having enjoyed our stay with them. It is very pleasant, though perhaps less glorious, to be behind the scenes occasionally and see our own gunners at work, banging away at Boers in the distance, instead of being the target for the enemy’s gunners, who are, no doubt, equally enthusiastic about shooting at us. The Boers had three or four guns for a change. A pom-pom and two 15- pounders were popping away at intervals from our immediate front, though we could see nothing of them. After doing a lot of doubling, lying down, and firing at hill-tops from whence Mausers were still sounding, we mounted and rode between more thickly - wooded kopjes ahead of us. We found ourselves in a long valley under the lee of a high conical hill rising up in the middle of the valley, on the further side of which were the Boers’ main body and guns. The pom-pom on our left had a good chance at us as we crossed the open to get to this kopje, but apparently they did not notice us, so we arrived there peacefully, and, after leaving horses at the bottom, climbed up to the top of the kopje to look round. We found we had a splendid view— too splendid to be pleasant, in fact, for we were in full view of the Boer gunners, the hill being bare of all vegetation. However, by keeping down among the rocks and not moving about, we escaped notice, though fully expecting to have a 15-lb. shell and a string of pom-poms amongst us.
From our point of vantage we could see the Boers dragging their guns about behind the further hills, and longed to have a gun handy wherewith to pepper them. Our artillery were, unfortunately, far in the rear, and could not get to us owing to the rough nature of the ground. Half a mile away on our right was a low stretch of rising ground facing the Boer position. On this was extended a little bunch of Yorkshire I.Y. shooting at the ridge in front of them. Their horses formed a black mass lower down the hill. We had been watching them for some time, when suddenly from behind a Boer kopje opposite us we saw two long, moving bodies slowly emerge, like giant beetles, from behind a hill, and creep slowly towards the devoted Yorkshiremen. On looking through our glasses we could see that they were guns with their mule-teams, and having noticed that their two 15-pounders had been silent during the last few minutes, we guessed that they were shifting in order to shell the Yorkshiremen. This proved to be the case, and presently a hail of shrapnel from the top of the kopje burst overhead, but beyond them. They streamed down that hill like greased lightning and were on the horses’ backs and away before you could count ten. They did not give the Boers a chance to put more than two or three shells among them, and though we saw one horse and rider come down, yet they were up and after the others in a moment.
The day dragged wearily on, very little appearing to have been done; but I suppose all that the general desired was to protect the convoy, and get it safely into Potchefstroom. Our casualties during the day included P., the adjutant, who had been slightly wounded in the back by a spent bullet.
As night fell we were still on the kopje, and beginning to feel pretty hungry and thirsty. The last issue of rations had been early that morning, and we had been on the move ever since, having nothing but biscuits to console ourselves with. Late in the evening E. and I were together under a rock, and feeling desperately peckish, when I suddenly remembered some slabs of chocolate which, together with a pipe, tobacco, and pouch, had come for me with yesterday’s mail. I fervently blessed the people at home, and we munched the chocolate, spinning it out as long as possible. We were indulging in pleasant anticipation of a speedy return to camp, whose lights we could see twinkling invitingly a mile away, when up came Mac. with a long face, saying we had got to stop the night at the kopje. After the “grousing” had been got over, we began to consider the position. We had not a blanket amongst us, and the night was already as cold as Christmas. We had not had any food for fifteen hours (bar chocolate). There was no water; no corn for the horses. So it was decided to send a man in to bring a “Scotch cart” (a small two-wheeled springless cart ' drawn by a mule), with some corn and rations. We sat down in the dark, confidently anticipating a good supper. Alas, for high hopes! The corned beef was bad to a tin, and there ' was about a thimbleful of lukewarm tea per man, and no biscuits. A few ate the putrid meat. I tried to, but had to fling it away. We got back on top of the kopje, cursing the beef, the Army Service Corps, the quartermaster-sergeant, the war, the Boers, the kopje, and anything else we could think of at the moment, and prepared to make a night of it, arranging that two men should be on guard at a time, while the rest slept. E. and I slept together under our greatcoats, and went on guard in the early morning before it was light, feeling, on being awakened, more like corpses than anything else. We had been peering into the dark for an hour when suddenly we heard a faint footfall on the rocks below us, from the enemy’s side, and a stone dislodged. We waited, staring down to where the sound came from. It came again— very far down the kopje, but a distinct footfall. Step by step, up it came, we lying like mice, fingers on triggers, waiting for the first sight of a man. It could hardly be an attack, or we should have heard others as well, so we did not wake up the other men. The day was slowly breaking, and still the hesitating footfall came slowly up. Just as it seemed as though we must see the man, there was a clatter of footsteps, a cheery voice sounded from the other side of the kopje, and a detachment of the 37th arrived to relieve us. We went some way down the kopje and looked about, but could see nothing. We told our relievers we had heard something coming, but I never heard whether any one was discovered or not Perhaps it was a Dutchman coming up to have a look at our camp, thinking the hill unoccupied.
We got back to camp that morning, and immediately set about getting our rations, it being the first food we had had for thirty hours.
The diarist had been particularly unfortunate. In the last entry of the preceding day there is the melancholy fact recorded—”Lost my two biscuits out of hole in haversack.’’
The next day we moved to Friederickstaad, a hamlet about 8 miles distant from Potchefstroom, having a little sniping on the way. When we got there the guns did a bit of shelling at some Boers on the hills round about, and one shot was said to have lit among 12 of them on a kopje with a heliograph, killing some of them and smashing the heliograph. The 38th spent most of the day on a kopje on the flank, with two guns, awaiting an attack which did not come off. At mid-day a halt was called, and the horses sent out to graze. Most of the men had seized the opportunity to run off and wash at a stream near the camp, and I had just got out my precious bit of soap (wrapped in a towel) when I heard a shout from Saddler R., who had been trying to light a fire, and, looking up, saw him and one or two others vainly endeavouring to stamp out the beginnings of a veldt fire which they had started. But there was a wind, and the grass was long and dry, so that their efforts were vain, and the fire spread to the saddles and kit in an instant. Luckily for No. 3, it was blowing away from our line, but right towards No. 2 troop, who were just in front We rushed and saved as many saddles, blankets, etc., as we could, but fully half a dozen were destroyed. The unfortunate men came back from their ablutions to find their saddles and bridles charred, and tunics, helmets, blankets, and all their private belongings, so carefully treasured on the march, reduced to ashes.
On the 30th we marched into Potchefstroom, passing into the little town over a frail wooden bridge across a stream. I heard a sinister yarn about this bridge from one of the loyal townsfolk. It seemed there had been a small garrison there a short time before, and it had been the custom to place a sentry on the bridge by night. The stream and the bridge itself were enclosed and overhung on every side by trees, and the place was very dark at night. One night the sentry was shot at his post, and for a time no guard was placed there. The first time another sentry was placed, he also was murdered. It was found out that an old Boer used to come out of his farm by night. and stalk the sentry on the bridge, with the deliberate intention of shooting nim in cold blood. Whether or no the hoary-headed ruffian was ever caught, I did not hear.
We passed up the main “street ” of the town, past the Dutch church on the right, and the principal inn on the left, at the corner of the market square, and camped on the flat plain on the further side. We had great difficulty in getting wood, and annoyed an old gentleman very much by taking the fence round his kitchen garden for fuel.
