Don't you fancy I'm a-grousin'. You can look me in the face
An' judge if I'm a coward or a cur,
When I tells you 'ow I scrambled up each blood-an'-thunder place
Without any 'esitation or demur.
Still, your absent-bodied comrade's got a thirst what's run to waste,
And 'e'll show you in the future, when you find 'im
Back in Wellington or Chelsea, as 'e's not forgot the taste
Of the beer what 'e's at present left be'ind 'im.
Wayo! 'Ere's luck! Drink to your sweet-'eart dear
(Fifty thousand 'orse and foot, moderate drinkers we),
Wait till the war is over, then for the pint o' beer,
Pass your tin, for there's nothing to drink but tea, tea, tea!
CHAPTER XXI
Loot and Lurid Crazes
A chapter in which we also tell of a modest Prince and a gallant Adventurer.
"The Friend" contained notices of Kruger sovereigns and Transvaal pennies for sale, of Boer rifles and saddles, but none of the postage stamps of the former Free State or the newly surcharged ones in use by the Army. Though Transvaal pennies fetched twenty-five shillings and were in great demand, the real enthusiasm of collectors was for postage stamps, and officers and others were busy as bees buying stamps and having them erased to make them the more valuable.
South Africa is as bare and barren a place for collectors, and even for the modest traveller who wishes for merely one trifling souvenir, as can be imagined. The war provided some trophies in the way of shells and Mauser rifles, but outside these there was nothing except, perhaps, the empty ostrich eggs to be found in every Boer house—and also to be found everywhere else in the civilised world.
The most coveted war trophies were: first, the Transvaal and Free State flags; second, the extraordinary waistcoats worn by a few Boers, and covered all over with cartridge slits or pockets made especially to hold the Mauser "clips" of five cartridges each; third, old Dutch Bibles illustrated by quaint woodcuts, and fourth, Boer rifles. However, even the war trophies were few and hard to get, and the singular energy of collectors expended itself in the gathering of new and old postage stamps, at which generals, colonels, and Tommies busied themselves, and a well-known London man of my acquaintance cleared a profit of £300, still reserving for himself a handsome collection.
The name of Prince Francis of Teck no longer appeared in The Friend beneath the demand he had been making for horses. I remember that the circus-ground he had pre-empted for the safe-keeping of his stock was now full of animals one day, half-empty the next day, and full again on the third, as he bought and distributed his live stock. I want, before I forget it, to tell how some of us editors entertained him without having the vaguest idea who he was.
He was invited to dinner at the Free State Hotel by Mr. Landon, who saw him seated and then introduced him to the rest of us, but in so indistinct a manner that we did not catch his name. We simply saw in our company a handsome and stalwart young officer of imposing stature, and evidently profound good-nature. We all conversed upon the current topics of the day and place, and one of us, I remember, had occasion to differ with our guest, diametrically, upon some point—doing so as bluntly, though not at all rudely, as men were apt to do in such a place and at such a time—when the extra and more elaborate formalities are apt to be laid aside for future use at the Mount Nelson Hotel, and later in the routine of life at home.
After dinner our guest suggested that he should enjoy a chat and smoke in our company elsewhere than in the noisy dining-room, so we invited him to Mr. Kipling's bedroom, which was larger than Mr. Landon's or Mr. Gwynne's or mine. We spent a very pleasant hour in freest converse, one of us being prone upon one bed and rolling around on it pipe in mouth, while our guest lolled upon a cot beside the chest of drawers, and the others held down two chairs and looked after the distribution of the cigarettes and the less dry refreshments at our command.