I settled these knotty points to my satisfaction, and off I trudged, with my field-glasses and, of course, my kodak, directing my steps towards the Dutch farm, with gleaming white walls, nestling under the kopje to the northeast. It was quite a snug little farm for South Africa, surrounded by blue gums and fruit trees. About a quarter of a mile from the farm I was met by the owner, Mr. Andreas Brink, a tame or surrendered Boer farmer, and his two sons, Piet and Gert. Such a nice man, too, with a pleasant face and long beard. He would insist on calling me "captain," and as any correction might have confused him, I did not think it worth while to make any, and after all I wasn't so very far from my "company." The three of them positively bristled with dog's-eared and dirty passes from every provost marshal in South Africa, which they insisted on showing me. I had not thought of asking for them, and was much impressed; to have so many they must be special men. They escorted me to the farm, where the guid wife and several daughters met us, and gave me a drink of milk, which was most acceptable after my long and dusty trek. The whole family appeared either to speak or to understand English, and we had a very friendly chat, during the course of which I gathered that there were no Boer commandoes anywhere within miles; that the whole family cordially hoped that there never would be again, and that Brink was really a most loyal Briton, and had been much against the war, but had been forced to go on commando with his two sons. Their loyalty was evident, because there was an oleograph of the Queen on the wall, and one of the numerous flappers was playing our National anthem on the harmonium as I entered.
The farmer and the boys took a great interest in all my personal gear, especially a brand-new pair of latest-pattern field-glasses, which they tried with much delight, and many exclamations of "Allermachtig." They evidently appreciated them extremely, but could not imagine any use for my kodak in war-time, even after I had taken a family group. Funny, simple fellows! They asked and got permission from me to sell milk, eggs, and butter in the camp, and I strolled on my way congratulating myself on the good turn I was thus able to do myself and detachment, none of whom had even smelt such luxuries for weeks.
After an uneventful round, I directed my steps back towards the thin blue threads of smoke, rising vertically in the still air, which alone showed the position of my little post, and as I walked the peacefulness of the whole scene impressed me. The landscape lay bathed in the warm light of the setting sun, whose parting rays tinged most strongly the various heights within view, and the hush of approaching evening was only broken by the distant lowing of oxen, and by the indistinct and cheerful hum of the camp, which gradually grew louder as I approached. I strolled along in quite a pleasant frame of mind, meditating over the rather curious names which Mr. Brink had given me for the surrounding features of the landscape. The kopje above his farm was called Incidentamba, the flat-topped mountain some two miles to the north was called Regret Table Mountain, and the gently rising hill close to the drift on the south of the river was called Waschout Hill. Everything was going on well, and the men were at their teas when I got back. The nice Dutchman, with his apostolic face, and the lanky Piet and Gert, were already there, surrounded by a swarm of men, to whom they were selling their wares at exorbitant rates. The three of them strolled about the camp, showing great interest in everything, asking most intelligent questions about the British forces and the general position of affairs, and seemed really relieved to have a strong British post near. They did not even take offence when some of the rougher men called them "blarsted Dutchmen," and refused to converse with them, or buy their "skoff." About dusk they left, with many promises to return with a fresh supply on the morrow.
After writing out my orders for next day—one of which was for digging some trenches round the camp, an operation which I knew my men, as becomes good British soldiers, disliked very much, and regarded as fatigues—I saw the two guards mounted, one at the drift, and the other some little way down the river, each furnishing one sentry on the river bank.
When all had turned in, and the camp was quite silent, it was almost comforting to hear the half-hourly cry of the sentries—"Number one—all is well;" "Number two—all is well." By this sound I was able to locate them, and knew they were at their proper posts. On going round sentries about midnight, I was pleased to find that they were both alert, and that, as it was a cold night, each guard had built a bonfire, silhouetted in the cheerful blaze of which stood the sentry—a clear-cut monument to all round that here was a British sentry fully on the qui-vive. After impressing them with their orders, the extent of their "beat," and the direction of their "front," etc., I turned in. The fires they had built, besides being a comfort to themselves, were also useful to me, because twice during the night when I looked out I could, without leaving my tent, plainly see them at their posts. I finally fell asleep, and dreamt of being decorated with a crossbelt made of V.C.'s and D.S.O.'s and of wearing red tabs all down my back.
I was suddenly awoken, about the grey of dawn, by a hoarse cry—"Halt! who goes——" cut short by the unmistakable "plip-plop" of a Mauser rifle. Before I was off my valise, the reports of Mausers rang around the camp from every side; these, mingled with the smack of the bullets as they hit the ground and stripped the "zipzip" of the leaden hail through the tents, and the curses and groans of men who were hit as they lay or stumbled about trying to get out, made a hellish din. There was some wild shooting in return from my men, but it was all over in a moment, and as I managed to wriggle out of my tent the whole place was swarming with bearded men, shooting into the heaving canvas. At that moment I must have been clubbed on the head, for I knew no more until I found myself seated on an empty case having my head, which was dripping with blood, tied up by one of my men.
Our losses were ten men killed, including both sentries, and twenty-one wounded; the Boers, one killed and two wounded.