"Steady the Buffs," says I; "volley firing with magazines—ready—fixed sights—at that fat old buster next the fire—present—Fire!" and sooting the action to the word I let the old buster have a volley in the fattest part.
The Fighting Fifth didn't make much noise, but was shooting straight enough.
Those cartridges went off so quick, once they'd started, that I knew they couldn't last long, so I gives 'em one more file of my magazine and then whistles on my fingers, "Cease fire!"—pop went the last cartridge on the fire—"Who's that silly blighter firin' after the whistle goes?—take his name, Sergeant-Majer—Now, Buffs, fix bayonets—prepare to charge!"
"Avast heaving, full speed ahead and ram them!" yells the Naval Brigade. But the Boers didn't wait for that—what with the dark, and surprise and noise, let alone a few real bullets, they had gone for their horses and were moving hard.
"Now then, Lancers!" I holloared, "round our left flank and pursue them to the devil!" That was just enough to prevent them turning their heads for the first mile or so. Then our brigade reforms and went down the hill to tally up the loot. There was half a dozen cripples, none of them bad, half a dozen knee-haltered horses, a pot of stew on the fire, and half a dozen black bottles. The Fighting Fifth, who was a kind-hearted chap in his way, turned over the wounded, gave them a sup of water, and tied them up with bits of their own shirts. The Naval Brigade had sweated through everything it had on, barrin' its rifle, just out of pure excitement, and it went for the bottles like a cartload of bricks. Blessed if they weren't Dop![3] "Never mind," says the Naval Brigade, "if the quality ain't up to Admiralty pattern, we'll have to issue a double ration"—and he did—so help me! Meanwhile the Buffs had collected the horses and picked out a nice little chestnut for myself. After that the Brigade fell out and enjoyed itself.
But we couldn't waste too much time, so after half an hour we changed saddles, packed the dop in our wallets, and hoisted the Naval Brigade on board. The whole way to Kimberley he was fighting the Condor against the combined land and sea forces of all creation—even the Yank laughed fit to burst. I do believe Billy might have been a commander—one can't learn langwidge like that, even in the Navy, under a longish time.
Well, we fetched Kimberley about reveille after falling off our horses now and then, and we gives the Sergeant-Major half a bottle to look pleasant. Up we goes before the troop leader, who looked a bit glum at his own written order, but cheered up when I hands over three spare Boer horses we'd brought along.
"If I hear any more of this damfoolishness," sezee, "I'll hang the lot of you; so you'd better take care that nobody knows of it." He's almost as hard as the Adjy.
Well, that's why we don't say what Regiment we belong to. But just to give the devil his jew we don't see why General French gets all the telegrams from the Queen and Lord Mayors—and we ain't even had our chocolate served out yet.
But this is the truth—Billy and the Yank'll both swear to it.