The 28th and 29th passed uneventfully, Captain Romer occupying the time in again demonstrating his architectural capabilities in the erection of a fort near the pass.
Boy Fitzpatrick waiting at Lunch.
On the 30th a reconnaissance in force was made along the Gatsrand in a westerly direction, the left half-battalion of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers acting as the infantry of the force. Moving along the summits of the hills in four lines of widely extended companies, they marched to within sight of Frederickstadt before they returned. Imagine exaggerated Pyramids of Cheops; imagine each block of stone carved by stress of weather into a thousand needle-points and ankle-twisting crevices; plant a dense growth of mimosa and other thorny scrub in every cranny and interstice. Take a dozen such pyramids, and do your morning constitutional over them, after the scrappiest of breakfasts at 5 a.m., and you will find twelve or fourteen miles quite as much as you care about. But the march was not devoid of interest, though we met with no Boers. Small buck, hares, and partridges were there in sufficient number to afford a good day's sport under other circumstances, while a profusion of various kinds of flowers afforded satisfaction to the eye, in strong contrast to the bare and barkless trunks of trees riven by the frequent storms that devastate these hills. In one place a most gruesome sight was met with. Under a small tree beside a tiny stream stood a three-legged cooking-pot, and round it lay three skeletons, with a scattering of shrapnel bullets to silently tell the story of the tragedy. Beside one body lay a Rifleman's haversack, an eloquent if speechless travesty on the fortunes of war, for undoubtedly they were the remains of Boers, over whose head a chance shrapnel must have burst months before.
A similar reconnaissance, but in the opposite direction, was made next day, resulting in one man being wounded. Convoys were also passing to and fro, and on the 2nd, Captain Fetherstonhaugh took over the duties of provost-marshal, temporarily, from Captain Thompson, of the Somersetshire Light Infantry, who had hurt his knee. Rumours of an early move also began to circulate, with the Losberg, the grim and solitary hill rising out of the plain to the south of the Gatsrand, as our probable destination. For some time past the Boers had used it as a sort of headquarters and rallying-place for their frequent raiding parties. Columns were now converging on it from all points of the compass, but as they could be plainly seen from its summit, the high hopes entertained in some quarters of rounding up a large number of the enemy were not shared by everybody.
Yet the start at 9 p.m. on the 3rd was sufficiently impressive. The officers were assembled, and had their several duties clearly pointed out to them, one peak of the hill being assigned to the South Wales Borderers and the other to the Dublin Fusiliers. To 'A' company of the latter regiment, under Major English, was given the honour of leading the attack, which was to be made at dawn next morning. Silently and with all due precautions the column slowly wound its way down the pass, like some gigantic boa-constrictor, and out on to the plain below. Whenever a farm was reached it was entered, and steps taken to prevent lights being shown or signals flashed: three Boers, booted and spurred, being taken in one. It was a perfect night for marching, all Nature hushed in deep repose save the loud-mouthed bull-frog; the moon set an hour before dawn, reminding one of Whyte-Melville's line:
'The darkest hour of all the night is that which brings the day.'
But dark as it was our objective could be seen ominously looming up—a lamp-black mass against the velvet softness of starlit sky. The movement had been admirably timed, and as day broke the two regiments advanced to the attack, the South Wales Borderers on the right, the Dublins on the left, while the artillery opened fire against the hillside between the two summits. But that was all. Not a shot was fired in return. Not a Boer was even seen. Nothing. Except, indeed, large quantities of most delicious and most acceptable oranges, after eating which the tired troops lay in the rain, which commenced to pour down, and slept peacefully till the transport came up.
Before we started next morning, a huge herd of blesbok suddenly appeared on the scene, wildly galloping about in every direction, being continually brought up by the barbed wire fences of the farms. A good many were shot, but it was cruel to kill them, or try to, with hard bullets, and many and many a beast must have got away badly wounded, whilst the indiscriminate manner in which the sportsmen fired in all directions was a source of danger, not only to themselves and the buck, but to the camp as well. One fine old fellow, with a good head, charged right through the camp, altogether eluding one regiment, in spite of every variety of missile, from cooking-pots to helmets, to finally fall a victim in another regiment's lines to a tent-pole. After which interlude the force marched to Modderfontein.