Sunday passed uneventfully, and on Monday morning at 4.15 we were off after de Wet, little knowing the dance he was going to lead us. For the next seven days we were to have continual fighting, and the longest marches and roughest fare we had ever had, or were going to have, while I was with Lord Methuen’s column. Every man and horse on both sides was to be strained to the utmost, for it was Methuen’s great dash after the celebrated leader, and one of the most determined and skilful drives of the war, unhonoured and unsung though it has been. Ninety odd miles were covered by the mounted men and guns in three days. Night and day the Boers fled across the veldt, leaving waggons, stores, ammunition, and prisoners behind them, and night and day the small column (for we were numerically inferior, though we had more guns) clung desperately to their rear. Methuen’s task, so we heard afterwards, was to follow de Wet as closely as possible, and drive him towards the Magaliesburg range. Broadwood and Kitchener were supposed to be somewhere near, but we never saw them, and throughout our seven days’ chase we were the only British force with which he had to deal. Unless de Wet could get through our old friend Oliphant’s Nek, he was a gone coon, for Methuen himself would make for and secure the Magato Pass, close to Oliphant’s Nek. This task the general achieved most brilliantly, and if he had been properly backed up by others in this part of the business, de Wet’s capers would have come to an abrupt termination in August, 1900. A certain general was supposed to be holding the Nek, but was not there at the precise moment when it ought to have been held at all costs, the precise moment being somewhere about 12 o’clock on the morning of the last day of our chase, when Methuen had succeeded in driving the “gentleman of the tinted glasses” to the place where he ought to have been cornered. I should like to have seen the expression of astonishment and relief on that gentleman’s face as he gazed through those same glasses at the frowning heights of the Magaliesburg, and realised that they were unoccupied and that he was saved. Years afterwards, the erstwhile Methuenite, reading, perchance, his daily paper in the train, sees that General So-and-So has opened this school or laid that foundation, with the usual accompaniment of complimentary speeches and popular enthusiasm, and he remembers Oliphant’s Nek, and, well—er— sniffs.
But to resume. At daybreak on 6th August we moved out of Potchefstroom, making for the mountainous country by the Vaal River. Twenty miles were covered by the middle of the afternoon, and we were well amongst the hills. We gained the banks of the river (though I never caught sight of the river itself), and at 4 o’clock off-saddled, as we thought, for the night. But in half an hour the order to saddle-up came again, and we went on for another 4 miles. We off-saddled on the side of a low rocky kopje, and set about looking for water. The convoy, of course, had not kept up to us, and was probably encamped, with the infantry, miles behind us. The only water to be obtained was some greenish-looking slime at the bottom of what had been a pond in a mealie patch close by. Those who had emptied their water bottles during the day had to make the best of this for cocoa, etc. I had taken care to fill my syrup tin with coffee before starting, and carried it full all day in my wallet, in case of emergencies. With this served up hot, and some biscuit I had left, I made a very fair supper. We dossed down in our greatcoats, the blankets of course being behind with the convoy. If you clear away the smaller stones, it is wonderful how you accommodate yourself to rocks when lying down, and we all slept like tops, cold or no cold. In the morning the waggons began to arrive just as we were starting, the infantrymen looking cold and grey after their night’s march. We marched on about half a mile towards the formidable hills in front, and then the Mausers began again, cracking all round. They continued cracking till dusk without cessation. It was a noisy day. All day long the guns bombarded those hills—howitzers, field guns, and pom-poms— and still the Boers stuck there. Every foot seemed to have been searched by lyddite, yet as soon as the advance was made across the bare, grassy plain beneath, “ping-pong ” came the bullets as bad as ever. De Wet himself was there, or had been the night before, and, whether he had effected his object by threats or entreaties, he certainly had induced the burghers to stand in the most determined way.
“The I.Y. found the enemy, and then the guns began to play on the hills, and I heard and saw lyddite used for the first time. M. has never been persuaded to use it since Modder River. He says it is ‘inhuman.’ It is terrifying (or must be to the Boers) to hear it in the air. The shell makes a regular puffing noise, like a train going out of a station, and the roar of the howitzer is awful. But when the shell bursts . . . ! it sounds almost as loud as the gun itself, and kicks up dust and rocks and stuff in a cloud as big as a nouse.”
At last, as the sun was going down and the shadows were very long, there was a combined advance, aided by a tremendous bombardment from all our available gains. The 38th formed escort to the howitzers. The Welsh Fusiliers occupied the centre and right, and the I.Y. the left centre and flank. The men had by this time learnt by stern experience the lesson of open order, and any one whose ideas of a battle included that of Tommy marching shoulder to shoulder across the open, and being shot down in scores, would have been astonished had he watched this advance through the grass land towards the deadly kopjes. The men were wide apart as usual, and advanced by three or four at a time. For a moment nothing could be seen; then up jumped three little khaki figures, hardly distinguishable from the greenish- yellow veldt, ran forward for 10 yards or so, then down like partridges, invisible once more.
Then the next group, up level with the first, and so on, the line gradually advancing, and firing as they went, and giving de Wet’s men behind their rocks very little to shoot at During the day we had been for some time on the top of a high, conical kopie which overlooked miles of the country we had come over the previous day. While walking about I discovered a very snug little nest, evidently just left by a Boer watchman. There were the remains of a small fire, egg-shells, an empty potted meat tin, etc. The eyrie was perched right on the edge of a precipitous descent, with a protection of rocks in front and a peep-hole or two. The gentleman must have had a pleasant picnic there, while enjoying an uninterrupted view of the advancing “rooineks.”
At last the Welshmen, who had been doing splendid work, scrambled up the hill where the Boers had been thickest, and their bayonets were seen twinkling all along the crest in the last rays of the setting sun, and a lusty British cheer rose above the din. All was over “bar shouting.” A few Boers lingered to take farewell shots and then departed after their fleeing comrades. Artillery and rifle fire died down, and all was quiet again. So ended the engagement of Tigersfontein, or Lindeque, by the Vaal River. The hills presented a wonderful sight as darkness fell. The bombardment had set on fire the long grass covering them, and we camped in the midst of a huge amphitheatre of inky heights, ringed and bound in every direction by coils and belts of fire. Many of the long yellow lines, with their gaps of blackness, reminded me irresistibly of a train, with all its carriages lit up, on a dark night at home. Among the wounded was Captain St. Quentin of the 37th, son of the veteran colonel of that name whom we had met at Boshof.
Next morning we reconnoitred the ground held by the enemy the previous day. We found ourselves on the top of a long, high kopje, looking straight down on the far side into a deep ravine, well-wooded at the bottom, where wound a dusty road, ending, so far as we could see, in a pretty white farmstead. The whole valley was picturesque in the extreme, and a pleasant sight to eyes that had a short while since been tried by the monotony of the Free State veldt. Our party left horses some way down the hill, by some abandoned gold mines, and we worked our way along the top, some other Yeomanry having been sent across to the corresponding hills on the opposite side, so that together we could act as lookout for the small party which went along the road to investigate the farm nestling so invitingly among green trees at the far end of the valley. When they got to the farm, we saw a woman in a light summer dress come out and talk to them. Whether she was English or Dutch we knew not; but it was not pleasant to think of her having been there all through yesterday, for many Boers had been killed by our shell fire. We came back to the gold mines, and I and one or two others thought it would be a good idea to investigate some of the tunnels, whose black openings we saw all around. We had just entered one with fixed bayonets, in case of accidents, when the order was given to stand to our horses; but thinking that we might find somebody or something in our subterranean passage, we stayed behind a minute or two to see. We walked cautiously down the dark passage, when I became aware of a subtle and faint odour. “Where had I smelt that smell before ?” Five months ago, on the top of the bullet-swept kopje at Boshof, where 100 Boers had been lying all day, and many were lying wounded when we got there. It was corduroy, now strong and unmistakable, and eloquent of the presence of Dutchmen, who nearly all sported that serviceable fabric. Going on a little way we came to a fire, burnt to embers, but still glowing. There were either Boers there now, or had been within the last half-hour. We went through the tunnel and out the other side without seeing anything. By this time a sergeant was yelling out to us to get mounted, and we reluctantly moved towards our horses. On the way we passed what looked like an ordinary heap of straw, and thinking there might be something under it, we shoved bayonets into it. It went down deep, and we found it was a bundle stopping up the mouth of another pit. We pressed down deeper, and presently felt something soft and resistent. The corduroy simply rose up and hit us in the face. “There must be some one here, alive or dead,” we cried, and set about pulling away the straw. Up comes Mac. in a rage — “Come along there, you men; what are you doing hanging about behind there? Get mounted at once!”
“But there’s something here, sir, under the straw, sir, and there’s a fire burning in that tunnel, and …
“Never mind. Get mounted at once and come along.”
Hurrah for discipline and red tape! and off we go. I firmly believe that a search of those mines and heaps of straw would have revealed some prisoners. If there were any there they must have had a bad quarter of an hour.
We then left the banks of the Vaal and the hilly country and trekked north across the veldt. Though going fast and far, we were wary, and I noticed that every kopje or other possible hiding place on the flanks was carefully “made good” by little moving specks of Yeomanry. We ourselves were the centre advance, and on looking back from a rise in the ground I had a splendid panoramic view of the convoy, with its long train of waggons trailing away into the distance under a heavy canopy of dust How many miles we went that day, or what was the name of our camping ground that night, I do not know, but de Wet was again close ahead and the column must hang on to him.
All the next morning we marched without seeing a sign of the quarry, and by mid-day we halted and off-saddled and six of us were despatched on corn fatigue. We proceeded to the farm and found the loft usually set aside by the Boer to store his fodder in already surrounded by a shouting crowd of artillerymen and Yeomanry, all bent on getting as much food for their horses as possible. On these occasions one man stands in the window and throws out the small sheaves to the waiting crowd below. The men grab as many as they can and make them into bundles by strapping them round with their circingles. When we had got as much as we could carry, we set off for the camp. On arriving there we were rather disgusted to find every one saddling up in a hurry, and so we “fatigues ” had no time for our usual midday “snack ” and pipe, but had to set to work to rig up ourselves and our horses again at short notice, all our corn being wasted except for the little we could carry on our saddles. We then heard that the enemy had been sighted by the scouts 3 miles ahead. We went off at a canter, and after going for about a mile and coming to the top of a long grassy undulation, we were rewarded by the best view of the Boer convoy we had yet had. There they were to our right front, not much more than a mile away, trekking off for all they were worth under the lee of a high, precipitous kopje. Hard indeed must de Wet have been pressed to let us get as close as that. We all thought we had the convoy to a certainty. The firing then began on both sides. They had a 15-pounder very well placed behind a little eminence, but used black powder so that we could see it at once. Two of our pom-poms were working away vigorously from the hills on the right, and all the 15-lb. field guns were in action. The 38th came to a narrow, deep cutting across a drift, and, while passing through this our progress was necessarily slow, as we were so condensed. It was very much the same situation as we were in during the fighting on 21st July at Oliphant’s Nek, only this time there was no friendly vegetation, and we were in full view. “Puff” came a cloud of white smoke from their 15-pounder in front of us. We all kept as low on our horses as we could, and a shell screamed just over our heads with a vicious metallic twang and plunged into the veldt on the left bank of the drift, right amongst the end half- dozen men of our troop. I looked round just in time to see a mass of red dust and stones showered into the air, and in the middle of it W. and P.'s horses rearing, dimly seen through the flying earth-clods. I never expected to see them alive again, but when we came forward out of the drift and were all once more in the open I saw them both galloping along as usual, neither of them having been touched.
The squadron cantered over the open ground on the rise to the left, and the enemy, from our right front, turned their pom-pom on to us, but did no damage to horse or man. But it was here we lost a friend whom we could ill spare. Poor old “Titch,” the squadron dog,a kind of sheep dog, I believe, had come all the way from England, and had been with the Bucks, either 37th or 38th, ever since we had been out. I myself saw him racing across the open among the horsemen, but he was never seen after the action, and I think it is certain he must have been killed by a shell. He was a splendid old dog, though he got very thin from hard exercise and short rations. He was always a keen soldier, and never so happy as when nosing about on the veldt with the advance guard. Requiesca!
All this time the long line of Boer waggons, laden with good English biscuit tins, which flashed at us like hehographs in the sun, was edging slowly away, and we were getting no nearer. We got across the open, and formed up behind a rise in the ground. Half a mile ahead of us, and to the right, were two more low hills in full view from the top of ours. The far one was held by some of the Boer rearguard, and from the other side of the near one we saw 30 or 40 horsemen suddenly gallop. They crossed the little valley between the two undulations, and streamed thickly up the opposite slope. "Boers," we thought, " retreating Boers ; how close they must have stuck to have only just cleared out." So evidently thought our two porn-porns, far away in a corresponding position to ours on the right, for they were both turned at once on the little band below us. Into the ground all round and among them pitched the vicious little shells, kicking up the red dust. We chuckled, but our joy was soon turned to something else when we saw the little band stop, lump itself into small black groups, dismount, and a thin cloud of hurrying khaki figures scudding forward up the hillside towards the Boer rearguard, dimly seen against the grassy background as they ran. A white flag shot up from among the horses left lower down the slope, invisible to the Boers, but plainly in sight from our own side. The pom-poms ceased, but not before one or two of the men, including, as we afterwards heard, the sergeant- major, nad been killed and wounded. The khaki figures were seen to top the ridge, the rifle fire crackled louder than before, and the ridge was won. The Yorkshiremen had carried it between two fires.
It was the first time I had seen our artillery make a mistake. It was the zeal and dash of the North-country men, who were doing the advance, in getting so far ahead, that made every one think they were Boers. We remained on the left, every now and then seeing scattered groups of Boers flying across the plain below us. Night closed in, and we were no nearer the Boer convoy. We saw, however, that there would be another chase the next day.
That night I missed my horse. He got off the picketing rope, and in the morning, before the early start, I hunted round and found old chuckle-head (he was the Argentine I got at Krugersdorp) wandering aimlessly about, looking very dismal and foolish, with his reins trailing on the ground. He was pretty well done up by this time, and I sincerely hoped that we had not got to do much more forced marching, as it would be a case of “foot-slogging ” for me. A start was made before dawn, the 38th being advance guard, and in for a hot time of it we guessed. A mile ahead of the camp lay a long, low, straight ridge right across our path. Two or three thousand men could have lain concealed behind it with the greatest of ease. As we rode towards it two niggers came up and said that the whole ridge was lined with Boers waiting for us. We fully believed it, as it looked such a good place. I think what happened next was the bravest and coolest thing that I ever saw done. Two men, colonials I think they were, but I am not sure, rode out from the advance guard, keeping about 100 yards apart, towards the deadly ridge, lying cold and quiet in the grey dawn. It was certain death for them both if there were Boers there, and they knew it. They cantered leisurely up to within 500 yards, all behind looking on breathlessly. No sign from the ridge. They dismounted, and let off one round each at the sky-line. Still no sign. They mounted, and cantered nearer still; dismounted, and fired again. The ridge remained as silent as the grave. Then they galloped up to it, on top for a moment against the sky-line, and over it. Not a Dutchman to be seen! It was just “scouting,” and all in the day’s work. Whether the two niggers, who were evidently suborned by the Boers in order to delay our advance, ever got the hiding they deserved I do not know. The column pressed on all the morning with no sign of the enemy, and at mid-day we halted for a short rest at a farmhouse under the lee of a high, smooth-backed kopje, formed of two peaks with a dip between them. Looking from this we could see miles of plain over which the Boers must have recently been trekking. There was no trace of them now, however. We got some corn for the horses from the farmhouse, and had our own lunch of bully beef and biscuit. The saddles were hardly off before they were on again, and we continued our chase at a rapid rate, occasionally breaking into a canter, the main body following far in our rear. No. 3 troop were doing the centre advance, and four men, of whom I was the right-hand man, were sent on ahead in widely extended order, 100 yards or so apart. After marching thus for about two hours, we came upon a Tow kopje, bristling with rocks and bushes. I found that
it would be my duty to ride over it, as it lay directly in my path. The old Argentine was fagged and obstinate, but by dint of much kicking we scrambled slowly to the top without mishap, though I fully expected to hear “crack ” every minute. It is a curious business this riding over a kopje as scout in front of an advancing column. The possibilities are so very limited; either you will be shot or you will not, the question entirely depending upon the presence or absence of men with rifles complacently regarding your laboured advance up the kopje from behind the rocks. As you kick your weary animal to stimulate him to pick his way among the boulders, you are absolutely and entirely at the mercy of the said gentlemen, as you cannot retaliate in any possible way, nor can you go back. You have the satisfaction, however, of feeling that, if you are shot, the report of the Mauser will warn the main body that there are Boers on the kopje.
After this all was plain, level plain, for 4 miles, dotted here and there with farmhouses. All at once, hanging in a thick, motionless cloud over the line of hills a mile or so ahead, we saw what we had been looking for all day, the dust of de Wet’s convoy. It hung straight over a slight dip in the long, venomous-looking ridge, which we knew must be the pass through which the road wound. A mile behind us the guns were beginning to trot out to the
front, and we kept steadily on. We stopped at a farmhouse, close by which the road, with its fresh wheel-tracks, ran, and asked the people if they had seen any Boers. The answer was what we expected, “No Boers been near here.” Indeed, we had only asked as a matter of form. We got to within 1000 yards of the long, straight, rocky ridge, which lay right across our path at right angles to our direction. It was now late in the afternoon. The cloud of dust still hung over the pass. We walked the horses quietly on, knowing the ridge must be full of Boers, wondering how much nearer they were going to let us get before they mausered us.
“… That day my troop were under the hottest fire we have been under yet. The Boers had gone through a little pass with long, high ridges on either side, on which, of course, we knew their rearguard would be. We had to ride slowly up to these beastly ridges over a perfectly open plain. … 1000 yards, 800, 500. I thought to myself, ‘We’re goners this time.’ We instinctively got further apart, and there were four of us ahead of the troop, of whom I was right-hand man. We kept looking at this ridge, and wondering when it would come. The horses seemed to know something was up too, every one kept so quiet 450 yards; then at last ‘ping-pong ’ came two sighting shots, one to the right and one about 10 yards in front of me. (Why me?) Then it fairly came—sounded like a Maxim going off. They came by your head in bunches, and kicked up the dust all round. Round we went and galloped back, I expecting one in the back every minute. My old horse, who was fairly done up before (I could hardly kick a trot out of him), put down his head, and went like a good un till we were out of range. I felt him whisk up as one went between his hind legs.
“I thought some of us must have been knocked over, but no one was touched. Perfectly marvellous it was. And waiting for it was far worse than being in it. We heard the same thing going on over on the other side of the pass, and judged that the 39th scouts were also in hot water, which we found out afterwards to be the case, though they did not get off so easily, having several horses shot.”
The diarist’s account, evidently penned, or rather pencilled, that night—”We are pressing them hard. While their convoy was going through pass, their rearguard stopped and held us off. Four of us had to advance to a low hill, knowing it stunk of Boers, to draw their fire. Got to within 400 yards, when about 50 Boers let fly at us; *as we were galloping away had stiffest bit of. firing I have been in. S. had bad luck. He broke three eggs he had in his nosebag when galloping back.”
The guns behind us quickly got the range, and soon the crest of the hill was being made lively by the bursting shrapnel. By this time it was dark, and without attempting to push his men any further that night, Lord Methuen camped about 800 yards this side of the frowning kopjes. We got plenty of wood from a small hut near by, and carried it back to the lines to make a good fire. Our butchers had found and killed a large pig, which they promptly cut up and sold. I bought a piece weighing 15 lbs., the greater part of which we fried and disposed of that night, tying the rest up in a red handkerchief and stowing it away in my nosebag for future use. The fat made glorious dripping. The 38th had that night to find outlying picket, and although I was not one of those on the list, I was told off with some others to take their bedding and supper out to those who were. It was a lovely, cold, moonlight night, and on the way back S. and I had a race in to camp, nearly falling over sundry ant-hills as we did so. I forget who won. We did not, however, feel quite so frisky when we were kicked out of our beauty sleep in the cold and dark at 3 the next (Sunday) morning to continue the de Wet hunt.
The Yeomanry made straight for the gap in the hills, but, on coming to the top, found that the Boers had cleared. The ridge was an ideal natural rampart, studded all along its flat margin with rocks, bushes, and small hollows. The column turned sharp to the left and continued marching along the plain, keeping parallel with the hills on which we were. Two pom-poms had joined us on the top, and every now and then they let off" a few rounds at likely places, but received no reply. We kept along the top for some distance, and then joined the infantry and convoy on the plain below. After going a few miles we were surprised to see a comfortable-looking and obviously British camp away on the plain to our left The white tents stood there smiling at us in the most calm and orderly manner, as if they were in their native Aldershot We heard that the camp was that of General Brabant. We passed it without stopping, our objective now being Bank station on the railway line between Krugersdorp and Potchefstroom.
We arrived late in the afternoon. This was our second visit to Bank station, the first being about three weeks before on our way to Potchefstroom. While we were there we saw an armoured train full of greatcoated Tommies pass up the line. I was on fatigue here, and had a merry time, carting about 8o-lb. sacks of corn. We snatched what sleep we could till i am., when we were up and away again. As we stood shivering in the station yard, dismounted, by our steeds, and standing close together for warmth (there was a keen wind blowing), waiting for the order to mount, some poor fellow behind was taken suddenly ill and carried back to the camp. “Another enteric,” we thought. We marched on all that morning in the dark, and the wind got colder and colder until the day dawned. We dismounted some distance from a farm, and the wind cut through us as we stood like a knife. I thought I never should be warm again and stamped about madly. Heenan, who was always neat and fairly clean under whatever circumstances and never worried much about anything, was calmly smoking a cigarette. Everybody else looked miserably cold and horribly dirty. We had had no chance of a wash for more than a week now, and how he kept clean was a mystery. I have seen him, though, when the rest of us looked like sweeps after passing over a patch of burned veldt, carefully wiping his face clean with a coloured silk handkerchief.
We got into the farm and had ten minutes’ law among the live stock. I did not see any owners about There were, however, several geese, and a rush was immediately made for the latter. Half a dozen of us chased some down to a small pond. They swam at once into the middle, and—well—we were desperately hungry, and we got the geese. R. and I were hastening bade, when he suddenly remembered that he had left his rifle down by the pond. I took his goose, and he ran back to get his rifle, finding it after some little search, as the pond was surrounded with thick reeds and undergrowth. Just as we got back, scouts galloped in to say that the Boers of whom we were in chase were away on our right front. The convoy and infantry had not come up with us, and the force which started in pursuit was composed of Yeomanry and artillery. We had been after them about an hour when they opened fire on us with shrapnel from two guns ahead, one immediately in front of us and one away to the left. The Yorkshiremen on the extreme left as usual came in for the worst of it. Then followed a whole day’s chase of the terrier yapping-at-heel description — de Wet, with his big force and many waggons, fleeing in frantic haste from Methuen, with his tiny force of Yeomanry and guns, and no waggons. We were closer than we had ever been before, and the chase was never more exciting. Every rise in the undulating veldt was taken advantage of by the Boer rearguard, who turned and fired into the scattered English horsemen at every possible opportunity. As we topped each rise the empty Mauser cartridge cases could be seen lying about behind the rocks. When they started firing we would dismount and advance on foot, lying down and firing at intervals. The day got very hot, and our long advances on foot reminded me of the Haileybury corps on a field day. As the remembrance came over me, I thought of how much I used to ease the weight of my rifle by holding it and the edge of my tunic together, and letting the tunic naif carry the rifle. But I found that, although it acted very well on level ground, it did not do when scrambling about on the bumpy veldt. While we were thus advancing on foot, the two guns shelled the retreating enemy over our heads, and the noise of them behind us was deafening. The fresh gun-wheel tracks of the Boers lay on the veldt before us; here and there a piece of limber, corn, boxes, and other impedimenta lay on the track where they had been dropped. As soon as the guns, pulled by the sweating gun-teams, got up level with us, we would mount again and ride on till we were again stopped, and the whole process would be gone through again. On one rise we came to we found a sorry sight. Close by an abandoned gun lay its team of six horses, all dead and in an awful mess, killed by a single shell from one of our guns. Under the limber lay a fine pair of field glasses, evidently left by the gunner, who I should think must also have been killed. I had half a mind to dismount and get them, as I had lost my own not long before, but everybody was galloping on, and I did not want to be left behind, as my old Argentine could manage a canter with the others, but preferred a walk or, better still, a dead stop when by himself. A case shot, undischarged, was afterwards found in the breech of the gun, so we had probably had a lucky escape. The gun was found to be one of those lost by General Gatacre at Stormberg, so, after being a renegade and fighting against us for nine months, it had now once more become a good Britisher. Poets, walk up!
“I’ve roared from the kopje’s summit,
And barked on the open plain,
I’ve banged at both Boers and British,
Once a Boer, now I’m British again! ” etc., etc.
All day the terrier snapped at the heels of the flying quarry, and the terrier was becoming very weary. Horses which had cantered on bravely and stolidly for miles, at last gave out, and spurring had no more effect on them. A balloonist, soaring high in the peaceful blue overhead, would have beheld a thin string of crawling horsemen spread far back along the direction of the hunt. Horses and men were both dead beat, but still they kept on. The Boers now began to fire the grass as a last resort, and soon we were black with burnt grass again. My old Argentine was doing far better than I had expected; and as long as I did not let him get behind, he kept his place fairly well to the front All order and formation had been lost long ago, and men were riding anyhow, those that had the best horses being in front. At last there came a time when the chase could go no further; our horses might have, but the gun-horses could not. We were lying on the black ground, watching a low kopje ahead of us, on the summit of which some Boers could be seen black against the sky-line, standing up and firing at us (the first time we had seen Boers expose themselves). A few of their bullets were flicking into the charred ground around us, when up came an exhausted team at a walk, dragging a 15-pounder. The gun was brought into “action front,” the teams were unhooked, the watching Boers on the kopje disappeared, and two rounds of shrapnel were loosed off at them in less time than it takes to tell this. I was lying close by the gun. “Seventeen, time, fuse 6,” said a dirty-looking, black-faced tramp, who, I suppose, was Lieutenant Somebody, R.A. “Bang—whee-ee-ew," a long, windy roar, a little white balloon of cotton wool just this side of the kopje, and a faint, distant “crack,” like a rocket at the Crystal Palace fireworks. “No, this side of it. Try 19, fuse said the tramp, squinting at the kopje through his telescope. “Be careful of prematures,” he added, “Yeomanry in front” Twenty almost invisible figures were lying flat On the ground 200 yards ahead of us, and the shells must have passed uncomfortably close over their backs. Up came the sweating gunner, carrying in his black hands another 15-lb. weight of death and destruction. “Bang!” again. This time the woolly balloon cracked itself into existence just over the sky-line of the kopje. “That’ll do,” said the tramp; “give them some more,” and they got some more. Then up came a dapper-looking staff officer, trying to look as if his face was not black. “The general wants you to join the other gun on the left as quickly as possible; he thinks you may be able to get a shot at the convoy from there.” “Very sorry,” said the tramp, “my horses are quite done up; they can’t go any further.” They were indeed done up. Imagine a ’bus-horse spanked about the London streets all day, and then, instead of going home to his stable, think what he would look like if he was spanked on all through the night and the next day, and you have something resembling those unfortunate gun-horses. “I see,” said the staff officer, and rode away again.
We mounted, and by the time we got to the kopje it was dusk. Nothing was to be seen of the Boers but a box full of ammunition which they had left on the kopje. We waited for stragglers to come up, and, having re-formed our squadrons, proceeded at a walk in the direction of the Boers’ flight. Away on the veldt in front of us could be seen three or four waggons which they had abandoned and set fire to. They were all burning furiously, and, together with the long lines of burning veldt, made a very pretty effect in the dark. Every now and then there would be a loud explosion, and a shower of sparks would come from one of the waggons, marking the blowing up of ammunition. As we went on towards these, we were suddenly met by a haggard, weary- looking apparition in khaki. He was on foot, and waved his hand as we approached. Soon we saw others, and finally a whole crowd of them, walking together. They were Tommies; escaped prisoners of de Wet. They had seized the opportunity, one told us, and all “done a guy,” having been on the trek with the Boers for six weeks. They had been having a rough time of it, having to march day and night, and live on mealies. De Wet, they said, was desperately hard pressed, and the oxen were dead beat; if we could only continue the chase they were sure we should capture the lot Some of their own lot had been wounded by our shells during the day. All the Boers had spare horses, and that was the reason they could move away from us so fast. Such was the news we gathered from them. The little force of mounted men and guns were now gathered together in the darkness, and we soon had the saddles off the horses. Our plight was not particularly cheerful. We were camped in the middle of a level sea of black burnt veldt, with not a blade of grass for the horses, far away from water, and with the convoy, with our food, drink, and blankets, miles away in the darkness behind us. One of the guns was turned in the direction of the convoy, and a blank cartridge was let off to enable them to locate us. The horses were picketed, and had what was left of the feed of corn which had been given out twenty hours previously. A line guard was left over each troop, and then men lay down to get a first rest since midnight the previous night
I was on second relief line guard, so I did not lose much time in dossing down, with my greatcoat over me. When I was aroused, about two hours later, the convoy was arriving, and the cooks were lighting fires all round. By their light we could see the tired infantry trudging along by the side of the waggons. Orders were given not to unload waggons, as we were to start off again at midnight, so there was neither tea, coffee, nor blankets for any one that night. Corned beef, biscuits, and, best of all, a ration of rum per man, were served out, and, as it was getting very cold, we crowded round the cooks’ fires while we ate.
It was then about eleven o’clock, and at a quarter to twelve the word to saddle up was passed round, and we line guards hardened our hearts and went round waking up the men with the usual kick on the boot I saved my rum till the last minute, and drank it just before we mounted. Will anything ever taste so good as that thimbleful of rum did ?
Mounted men and guns were off again, leaving convoy and infantry in the arms of Morpheus. We made straight for the burning waggons and low kopje in the distance, behind the left side of which the enemy had been last seen. With the approach of dawn the cold increased, and as we passed each burning waggon and veldt fire we wished we could get off and warm ourselves. When it got light we could see that the line of the Boers’ flight was marked with all sorts of abandoned baggage, principally heavy things, as ammunition and sacks of grain. It was evident that they had been heaving things overboard to get the oxen to travel more quickly. Every man filled his nosebag from the sacks, which all contained mealies (maize or Indian corn), and when we arrived at a spruit, a few miles further on, both horses and men drank their fill. All that morning the same grim race continued, the veldt altering a little in character, and becoming more hilly and better clothed with bushes. The wheel tracks still lay in front of us, and we now occasionally passed an abandoned horse standing patiently on the veldt, and not moving at all as we came up. The absolute immobility of such unfortunate derelicts is quite uncanny. On one occasion, not the present one, I happened, when No. 3 were doing advance guard, to come upon a horse standing on the veldt perfectly still. I had seen it a long way off and wondered what it was. I rode up to it, but when I had got within five yards of it my horse shied and snorted with terror, and I could not induce him to come any nearer. I dismounted and led him by degrees nearer, so that by stretching the reins I could reach the motionless brute. Its wide- open, fixed, and glassy eyes were horrible to look at, and I almost persuaded myself that it was dead. I gave it a gentle push. It seemed to resist the pressure, and swayed slightly, coming back to its original position. I debated whether to leave it or whether to give it a harder push and see what would happen. But it was cold and hard to the touch, in a sort of living death, and I decided to leave the poor brute alone. I rode on, and never heard what became of it.
But to resume. At 2 o’clock we came upon a large, rambling, deserted farm, by the side of a deep spruit Here we heard with much joy that we were to rest till midnight, so we had the glorious prospect of ten hours to do as we liked, namely, sleep and eat The first part of the time, however, I was, with others, on fatigue, and so our time was somewhat curtailed. As soon as I was at liberty, I set off down to the farmhouse to see what I could find
to eat. I found that I was not alone in my quest. Several Yeomen were chasing pigs with fixed bayonets, and I saw two knocking one porker on the head with a large mallet. It may sound very barbarous, but the men were rendered half animal themselves by hunger. It can be imagined, therefore, that I did not see much left at a first glance round. I went round to the back of the house, and there perceived a small, skinny chick running about among the vegetables. I immediately gave chase, and there ensued the most exciting rough-and-tumble hunt round the garden, and in and out amongst the pumpkins, that can be imagined. Tne chicken laid itself out well, and sped ventre a terre in every direction. He was running for his life and I for my dinner. I rained lumps of earth at him all the time, and if I had not been so desperately in earnest by reason of the aching void within, I might have seen the funny side of it At last a well-aimed clod staggered him for a moment, and I fell on him and slew him, and bore him back to our lines in triumph, skinning him as I went. I fried him in bully beef fat in my mess tin, but I found that when cooked he was a meagre bird. It then suddenly struck me that here was a spruit, and time to spare, for a wonder, and, , this was a unique opportunity for a wash. As I had not * had one for ten or eleven days, and we had been riding day and night through dust and burnt grass, I naturally needed it. It also struck me that, as I had been on line guard last night, I had practically had no sleep for two nights running. Should I spend half a precious hour in cleaning myself when I might be sleeping, or should I doss down at once and sleep where I was? That was the question. I decided on the former, and taking a long-treasured piece of mottled blue soap wrapped up in a towel from my wallet, I went down to the spruit and had a good wash. Here I met a man in the Shropshire Yeomanry, who, in speaking of previous fights, told me how heavily they had suffered in the fight on 21st July when marching from Krugersdorp to Oliphant’s Nek. He had been with the advance scouts, and four or five of his best friends were shot when going at a walking pace on horseback, one on either side of him, and all in the first five minutes.
On getting back to the lines I heard a momentous piece of news. We were going on our final forced march after de Wet, who was making for our old friend, Oliphant’s Nek, in the Magaliesberg. ____ was there, with 200 men and guns, to prevent him getting through; there was no other way for him to get, and he was actually cornered at last. In fact, this was “positively his last appearance.” We were much elated, and forgot how tired we were. De Wet caught, the war would be over, and we should have ended it! Our march
of a week’s continuous trekking at full speed, with little food and less sleep, would not have been wasted, and would go down to posterity as the march of the war! The general would be the hero of the hour, and well he deserved to be. Poor R. (not the diarist) was amongst those whose horses had given out, and would have to remain behind to follow on slowly with the convoy. “Lucky beggars,” he said, “I’d give anything to be in at the capture.” Every one was hopeful and keen. Alas! how little we knew. De Wet we could have forgiven, but could any one forgive the people who deserted their post at Oliphant’s Nek at the eleventh hour, and rendered all our labours fruitless ? No one who had taken part in the march I have attempted to describe could have been charitable enough to do so, I am quite sure.
At midnight we were off once more, and feeling as fresh as ever, perhaps from the effects of the wash. We went at a good pace, and soon got into very different country from that we had been in lately. High wooded kopjes were everywhere, and we were scarcely ever on the level. I soon found out that my freshness was of a spurious kind, and after riding for five or six hours I felt as heavy as lead all over, and dead tired. What astonished me was how my old Argentine managed to keep up so well. We were nearly all swaying with sleepiness in our saddles, in which we sat, or rather drooped, like sacks of potatoes, with legs dangling helplessly. When the sun was fairly up we saw in front of us the Magaliesberg range. No sign of the Boers, the country between us and the pass being well wooded. As we got nearer to it and heard and saw nothing, we began to get anxious. By this time the guns of the men holding the pass should have been heard, but there wasn’t a sound. Still, we thought that all must be right. Perhaps the Boers had surrendered without a shot being fired, and were at this moment being herded together in kraals by the triumphant Britishers. Methuen would shake hands with de Wet, and we should escort him down country.
About a mile this side of the pass a halt was called “in a nice place with trees. Immediately every man tumbled off his horse like a log, and instantly fell asleep. We had been there about an hour when my face got out of the shade, and the sun awoke me. I looked up and saw every man sleeping, under his horse for shade, and the poor beasts, too tired even to graze, hadn’t stirred a foot” It was a gigantic tableau vivant, the motionless men and horses in the glaring sun, and no breath of wind. “It was like jam and cream night on board the ‘Britannia.’ You might have heard a pin drop if there had been a floor to drop it on.” Things seemed to drag a good deal after that No one knew what we were supposed to be doing, where the Boers were, or what the people in the pass thought they were doing. We straggled on towards the range, halting every now and then, and there wasn't a sign of the enemy. Once I got off to give my old Argentine a rest, but soon found that I was too tired to walk. The Argentine had surpassed all my expectations, and had done well. We got to the pass at about 4 in the afternoon, and soon knew the worst The Boers had got through, bag and baggage, without a finger being raised to stop them. There was a little desultory sniping, but nothing happened. We camped amongst the bushes just beyond a spruit, a mile on the other side of the Nek. Every one was very much down in the dumps, and what the feelings of the general must have been I leave you to imagine. Our march was not talked about much in the papers, but I cannot help thinking it was one of the smartest things done in the war. From the 6th to the 14th of August we had been continually on trek, both by night and day. We were said to have done 90 miles in the last three days and nights of it, and I should not think this was very far wrong. Want of sleep, not physical fatigue, seemed to me the greatest hardship of war. Late that night the convoy came in, and we were glad to get our blankets.
“I turned in about seven that evening, after a good tea, and slept straight away till 8 the next morning, when a man woke me up for morning coffee. But we were all very much downcast at our old enemy cheating us after all our trouble.”
