All the British could do was to struggle to hold their ground, and make their proximity as uncomfortable as possible for the enemy. Routine went on like clockwork, save that the Modder River clock had no works. It was a child of Necessity! A broken steel rail suspended from a crossbeam was struck by the sentry with the blunt head of an axe. The stupendous clang proclaimed the hours all over the camp. The troops were not allowed too much leisure, and ennui was not permitted to reach them; they dug trenches, constructed breastworks, and generally improved the lines of defence; indeed they worked with a will at anything that came to hand. Some one, seeing them alight at a railway station, remarked: “They’ve left all their frills behind them.” This was truly the case. Mr. Atkins was now above the desire for display. He was workmanly in the extreme, and made himself a jack of all trades, alternately groom, labourer, cook, porter, mule-driver, laundryman, and hero! To-day he was scouring, rubbing, kharki-painting, and hoisting; to-morrow he was good-humouredly playing the rôle of his own washerwoman by the river-side. One moment he was pulling or coaxing or cudgelling obdurate mules, and apostrophising them in language peculiarly his own; the next he was rushing gallantly to the forefront to spend his heart’s blood in the service of his Queen!
To General Wood must be given the credit of the first entry into the enemy’s country. On the 6th of January, with a force of all arms, he occupied Zoutpansdrift, the place—situated north of the Orange River, in Free State territory—where gallant Captain Bradshaw met his fate. Communications between the banks of the river were maintained by means of a pontoon bridge. This was an excellent piece of work, for by holding the drift it was possible to control the progress of the Free Staters, and avert sudden raids against the railway between Orange Station and De Aar. A great deal of active though scarcely “showy” work was carried on at this time, often under the most unfavourable conditions. For instance, on the 14th of January, one of the most obnoxious and ever to be remembered dust-storms burst over the place. It made life temporarily into a bilious sea, a blinding, suffocating bath of yellow sand. Food was ruined, to say nothing of temper. Clothes were covered, eyes and throats were clogged, and the pores of the skin were caked with showers of ochreous pepper, which made every one in camp miserable for a period of quite seven hours!
Cavalry reconnaissances at this period were frequent. The troops, always in peril of their lives, explored some twenty-five miles into the Orange Free State, and found the country clear of the enemy with the exception of patrols. The Victorian Mounted Rifles under Captain M’Leish did some admirable scouting, and visited several farms, which they found had been vacated in hot haste at their approach. The country was thoroughly searched, the 9th and 12th Lancers under General Babington doing valuable work. It was this party that came in touch with Colonel Pilcher and the Queenslanders near Lubbe’s Farm.
Our warriors became well versed in peculiarities of Boer homesteads. All the Dutch farms had a brotherly likeness, and were usually found at a sufficient distance from each other to carry out the Boer ideal that one man should not breathe or see the smoke from his neighbour’s chimney. They commonly nestled under cover of some small kopje, and seemed as though so planted for purposes of self-protection. Self-protection is the first law of nature, and the Boer character has a great reverence for first laws. In every farm was found a harmonium—on the Natal side there were pianos—and many Bibles. Some of these were valuable, and were old enough to arouse the covetous interest of the bibliophile. Most probably they were heirlooms, and had belonged to the early trekkers, who could thumb them out, text by text, when their capacity for other reading was nil. These one-storeyed abodes were composed of sun-baked bricks plastered over, and the flat roofs were lined within by ceilings of deal. Simplicity, ignorance, bad taste, and uncleanliness reigned everywhere. Indeed, it was a matter for wonder how close to civilisation, yet how remote from it, the Dutchmen had contrived to dwell. The cattle kraals and homestead were surrounded with rudely-constructed walls of stone that in their ruggedness were not unpicturesque.
Types of Arms—Maxim Automatic Machine-Gun (the “Pom-Pom”).
(By permission of Messrs. Vickers Sons & Maxim, Limited.)
To return to camp. The Boers, determining not to be accused of lack of invention, adopted a new and ingenious dodge. In the distance from the British outposts a Highlander was observed in the act of driving cattle. As the proceeding was contrary to orders, the manœuvres of the man were carefully observed, and he was discovered to be a Boer masquerading in Highland uniform. He was at once fired upon and he fell, but succeeded in rising and making off before he could be captured.
On the 16th of January Lord Methuen made a demonstration against the left of the Boer entrenchments at Majesfontein, for the purpose of drawing off some of the force investing Colonel Kekewich’s garrison. On the following day, the 17th, a similar demonstration was made, but the enemy was nothing if not “canny,” and refused to be drawn. Then new tactics were tried. On the 23rd there was quite a theatrical bombardment. Night fell. The moon rose, empurpling the frowning kopjes and filling the whole foreground with magnesian radiance. Then the balmy breath of evening was ruffled with the uproar of British shells, whizzing like rockets and bursting in the Boers’ lair. For full half-an-hour a brisk cannonade was maintained, neither party being in view of each other, both being wrapped in the mysterious gloom of the midnight shadows; but the echoes took up the weird tale of warring souls and repeated it into the ear of the winds. Ordinarily, shelling morning and evening was a matter of daily ritual. So many shells into the Boer trenches, so much breakfast. An hour of brisk bombardment, four hours of night’s repose. Such might have been the printed programme.
On the 24th of January a tremendous reception was given to General Hector Macdonald, who arrived in the best of health and spirits, and at once took command of the Highland Brigade. With each of the officers he conversed, and apprised them of a special message entrusted to him by Lord Roberts, an attention which afforded immense satisfaction to all concerned.