“9th May.—I awoke much refreshed by my good night’s rest. 5.30 A.M.—On the march. The ground being densely shrubby, many halts have to be made to allow the scouts to reconnoitre the front. 10 A.M.—Roodepoort. We are now nine miles from Vryburg. Water and rations are, as usual, scarce. 11 A.M.—‘Halloa! what the deuce is this?’ A gaily decorated carriage with three pretty maidens! ‘Well, I never! what can they want!’ Oh, thank you, as they gracefully throw us some loaves of lovely white bread, and with the most charming of smiles welcome us to Vryburg. ‘Bravo,’ my bonny lassies! had it not been for my uncouth apparel and bristly whiskers, ‘a kiss,’ I should have vaunted you. 12 noon.—So the Boers have fled from Vryburg! What an infernal pack of cowards, and no mistake! All the better for us; the less opposition the sooner at our journey’s end. 2 P.M.—We continue the march. 5 P.M.—Vryburg. An enthusiastic crowd of supposed loyalists greet our arrival with cheers. Somehow their welcome is not at all appreciated. Most of them are Dutch, and, considering the Boers have been amongst them until two days ago, we fail to see what loyalty they could have established for us in so short a time. 7 P.M.—On outpost; an exceedingly cold night.”

But whatever the sentiments of the people, there was decent food and a brief chance of comfortably partaking of it, and there was a sigh when the enjoyable time came to an end, and Vryburg, with its apology for civilisation, its costly meals and inferior cigars, so highly appreciated in those days of sparse comfort, had to be left behind. Farewell drinks—beer, gin and lime-juice, green chartreuse, tea—were disposed of, and then from five till midnight the steady march onwards was pursued. The conditions of the march, if nothing worse, were uncomfortable. No man dared betray his presence with the whiff of a cigar; and after the sun-scorchings of the baking African day, the searching, chill air of the moonlit veldt nipped the bones and filled the frame with aguish apprehensions. So cold were the nights that some declared they had to sleep walking up and down to save themselves from being frozen. Still, through it all, every member of the gallant band remembered the glorious object of his mission, and, when inclined to growl, packed away personal irritations and meditated on the number of hours which would elapse before London would be ringing with the news of the great relief. Every soul of this goodly company was swelling with pride and satisfaction at having the good luck to be among those chosen for the spirited exploit, and it was this pride, this almost heroic afflatus, which served to cast into insignificance the thousand and one inconveniences, trying to constitution and to temper, which were involved in this momentous if fatiguing march. It is true, bullet and shell were as yet only in the near future, but the aggravations of these, as all men agreed, were not to be compared with the sustained fret of marching under unrelenting sunshine, sleeping in violent chills, eating irresponsive biscuit, tackling “bully” without the assistance of a hatchet as a mincer; and enduring through all a parching thirst, a perpetual craving for water, which, when found, bred a loathly suspicion of the imps of enteric and dysentery that might lurk therein. As Mr. Stuart of the Morning Post declared: “To go through ten or a dozen of our days uncomplainingly was a higher test of manhood than to fight, howsoever gallantly. To stand to arms an hour before sunrise, possibly to march for hours without a cup of coffee in the empty stomach, possibly to do patrol or picket as soon as the outspan place was selected, to return barely in time for a wad of stringy beef and some chunks of biscuit, to march again across the sand or over lumpy grass, so tired that at every halt they lay at their horses’ feet dozing till the unwelcome ‘Stand to your horses’ was called, to go to bed without fire, without the last sleepy pipe: that was often what Mahon’s men called a day.”

It is well to emphasise what may be called the greys and drabs and neutral tints that go to the making up of a complete picture of heroism; it is imperative to appreciate the superb nuances which in their very retirement and unostentatious inconspicuousness made the background to now immemorial scenes in our nation’s history. There are so many who have contributed their tiny inch of fine neutral tint, their little all of patience and self-abnegation to make up this background—infinitesimal atoms in the great machinery, whose names and histories are enveloped in the vast dust bosom of the veldt, yet who, unknown and unsung, have contributed the “mickle” which has made the “muckle” belonging to the Empire. The ruminations of a soldier, who, rolled up in his overcoat, was struggling to sleep, shows the pathetic side of the brilliant undertaking: “Horses and mules are dropping down from sheer exhaustion, unfit for further service. They are left on the veldt a prey to the hungry vultures.... I shudder as I inwardly apply the case to myself, how perhaps in years to come, when of no more use to my country, I am left, like those poor creatures, to the mercy of an ungrateful world, or, worse still, thrown as a pauper into some home of destitution.”

On the 11th they were early astir in the dewy air of the morning, moving across open country to Majana Mabili, which was reached at 7.30 A.M., and on from this place after tea, on and on for eleven miles, till the stars began to shimmer, and moon to light the open veldt. The night was spent at a spot known as the “Hill without Water,” a name sufficiently inhospitable and repellent.

Nearly the whole of the 12th was spent in marching, with short periods for rest, from Jacobspan to Setlagoli, the latter part of the way over infamous roads, drifts, and stretches of sand, ledged with limestone and other impediments disastrous to cattle and to the tempers of their owners. However, the reception in Setlagoli compensated for many discomforts, for at the hotel, the proprietor of which was a Scotsman, there was fat fare and “a true Scots welcome,” which in other words means that the company regaled themselves at the expense of mine host, who refused to accept any equivalent for his hospitality! During the day some sad scenes had occurred, scenes so pathetic that they touched the hearts of the rank and file in the pursuance of their duty. One of them said, “Some Dutch farmers who had been brought in by our scouts as suspects, were followed by their wives and children. Undoubtedly the poor women thought that after examination by the chief officer they would be allowed to return with them. As it was, however, we had some very clever detectives with us, who unfortunately caused them to be handed over to the guard as prisoners. The women in their extreme anguish at seeing their husbands about to be separated from them, rushed in amongst us, flung their arms around their necks, and refused to leave them. The scene that followed was a pitiful one, and not until the convoy had gone some distance on its way did their heart-rending cries cease to be heard.”

On Sunday the 13th of May the plot began to thicken. Colonel Mahon, as we are aware, had been reserving himself, knowing that the nearer he came to his destination, the more certain was he of repeated tussles with the enemy. Native scouts now informed him the Dutchmen were assembling at Maribogo, hanging round Kraaipan Siding, and lurking in their hundreds in the frowning kopjes that fringed the nek near Koodoo’s Rand. Precautions were taken, and all remembered the Mafeking besiegers had bragged of their intention to cut off the party at Koodoo’s Rand. The Light Horse, in very extended columns of squadrons, provided the advance and the scouts, and the transport moved in five parallel columns. Nothing as yet was seen of the Boers, and the troops reached a point nine miles off, called Brodie’s Farm, in safety. Here they watered their horses, and rested till the early afternoon. Here they were joined by an officer who had ridden from Colonel Plumer’s force, which, acting on information received, had by then reached Canea. Three questions were forwarded from Colonel Plumer. First, he wished to know the number of Colonel Mahon’s men; second, his guns; third, the amount of his supplies. It became necessary to concoct a reply which should defeat the curiosity of the Boers, and to that end Colonel Mahon and Colonel Rhodes put their astute heads together, with the result that for the number of men they answered, The Naval and Military Club multiplied by ten (94 Piccadilly). The number of guns was described as The number of brothers in the Ward family (six); and the amount of supplies was represented by The C.O., 9th Lancers (Small, Little). It was now decided that both Colonels—the relieving officers—should join hands at Jan Massibi’s, Colonel Mahon’s plan being to make a detour to the north-west of his route and thus surprise the enemy, who imagined he would come straight by way of Wright’s Farm.

Now came a critical moment. The column moved out from Brodie’s Farm in the afternoon, and had scarcely started before they became aware that Boers were slinking everywhere, behind trees, in the scrub, in the dried grass of the veldt. They had been so admirably concealed that the Imperial Light Horse scouts had ridden beyond them. Now, however, when they began to blaze away with rifles from the scrub, the scouts turned upon them, caught them in the rear, while in front they were greeted with such warm volleys that they made for their horses, which had been deftly hidden in the bush. Others of their number strove to get a chance of enfilading the convoy, which was promptly diverted from its course to the left, while the guns galloped to the rescue, and took up a position that commanded the open ground to the right, and here blazed away, pouring cascades of shrapnel whenever the smoke from the Dutchmen’s Mausers gave them a clue to the whereabouts of the hostile weapons, and a chance to put in some execution. Meanwhile, the Boers were firing fast and furious at the gunners, and awaiting reinforcements which were spurring across the far distance. The Imperial Light Horse, dashing as ever, were pouring volleys into the enemy, and sweeping them towards the British 12-pounders, and there was a good half-hour’s brisk interchange of aggressions, much of the fighting being done on foot and at fairly close quarters. The pom-poms also rapped out a warning tune, and the smart Light Horse, now riding, now dismounted, hunted the foe across the ochreous grass of the veldt, keeping him perpetually on the run, or “winging” him so that he could run no more. Meanwhile Colonel King, on the right rear with his Kimberley men, assisted in the fight, and finally after much volleying and sniping the Dutchmen took themselves off. But the brilliant skirmish was not without its penalties, for twenty-one men were wounded, while six—including a native driver who had been knocked from his waggon in the course of the fray—were killed. Major Mullins of the Light Horse was seriously injured in the spine, an unlucky incident, following, as it did, on the loss to the gallant regiment of Major Wools Sampson and Major Doveton. Corporal Davis of A Squadron was hit, but managed even afterwards to do considerable damage among the Boers. Mr. Hands, the correspondent of the Daily Mail, sustained a compound fracture of the thigh, and Major Baden-Powell narrowly escaped, so narrowly, indeed, that his watch was stopped and a whistle twisted in his pocket by the force of the bullet. Captain Mullins, Kimberley Mounted Corps, was also injured.

After their exhilarating and successful conflict it was decided that the force should bivouac where they were, the country to the north having been scouted and reported free of the enemy. It was said also to be devoid of water. No water could be found, and food was scanty, but the troops after their satisfactory rout of the Boers went to sleep in the moonlight full, if of nothing else, of contentment!

With the passage of every hour precautions became more necessary, for the Boers might now be expected to crop up from any quarter. At 6 A.M. the troops started, the men riding six yards apart from each other, for Buck Reef Farm, a distance of five miles. A drift had to be negotiated, and water from the bed of the River Maretsani was dug up, and, richly yellow though it was, enjoyed. It was necessary to make the most of this refreshing if suspicious draught, for now the march onwards promised to be almost entirely waterless, with the enemy possibly mounting guard over any pools which might present themselves.