The little fellow's eyes brightened with anticipation, and his tears gave way to smiles. Sure enough his father came into camp a few days later driving before him two diminutive steeds bending beneath the weight of two corpulent khakis. He called his son and said—
"Now, sonny, here are the soldiers I promised you."
The little fellow looked them over carefully. Then his lower lip began to pout, and tears rolled down his cheeks.
"What's the matter, my son," asked the astonished father, "doesn't he like his khakis?"
"No, daddy," replied the little chap, striving with his tears.
"Why not, my lad?"
Then the child's restraint gave way, and he burst out—
"Oh, daddy, they're not—sob—real—sob—soldiers at all!"
They were two of the C.I.V.
But to return. As soon as the waggons were ready they were sent on along the winding valley, whilst the horsemen and artillery took up a position on a neighbouring hill and awaited the British attack. This took the form of continuous shelling until sundown. As soon as darkness fell the horsemen took a short cut and rejoined the waggons, which in the meantime had gained a considerable start. President Steyn and his secretary accompanied De Wet during the day and had a taste of the enemy's shell-fire. When we asked the secretary that evening how he had liked the ordeal he said he could hardly describe his feelings whilst it lasted, but when the shelling ceased it was the heavenliest sensation of his life. So if you want a heavenly sensation you know now how to get it.