This escort duty is a wearisome business, as the ox wagons are always the last to start; and although they travel at a good pace—quite as fast as infantry want to march—yet even one drift is disastrous to thoughts of getting into camp reasonably early. As a rule, the wagons move four or even eight abreast on open country; but once a drift is reached, single file is very often the only means of crossing, and this means a long wait for the escort. If the drift is a bad one, and double teams of bullocks have to be used to get each wagon across, the loss of time is very great.
Villiersdorp is a tiny little town on the banks of the Vaal, situated in a hollow of the ground, where it is not seen until one is quite close upon it. There are a few stone houses and a shop, but the town is, as yet, quite in its infancy, although like Topsy, it will grow in time. Anyhow the designers of the place have left lots of room, as the town is well laid out, with wide streets and plenty of elbow room. I sincerely trust that the very first job that the Town Council of Villiersdorp set about, will be the construction, over the drift, of a first class, man's size, doubled bottomed and copper fastened bridge of the most expensive quality, so that future generations of tired foot soldiers may not have to lug heavy wagons up and down banks.
On arrival we camped on the Transvaal side of the stream, as it was late; but the ox wagons started crossing at daybreak, so that by mid-day nearly all of them were over. They were followed by the Brigade baggage, and at three o'clock in the afternoon the troops moved across the Vaal once more, and led off to our camp, six miles out. The last time we crossed the Vaal was on our entry into the Transvaal on the 26th of May; now, just over a month later, we recrossed it and moved into a part of the Orange Free State, or Orange River Colony, as it should be called, which had not hitherto been traversed by our troops.
Frankfort was reached next day, the 1st of July, and here we remained a couple of days to rest the transport animals. It is a larger town than Villiersdorp, but not nearly so important as Heidelberg, and apparently does a trade with the surrounding farmers in wool and hides—as is the way with most of the small towns in this colony, whose raison d'être is apparently exchange and barter.
The farmers bring in the wool, mealies and hides, and the dealers take them over at a price—not too high, you may depend—and serve out clothes, agricultural implements and other things in exchange. The dealer ships off his lot of wool down to the railway, and eventually to the large firms at the coast, who send him consignments of stores in exchange, and so the game goes on merrily. The ox wagons which take the hides and wool down to the railway bring back stores, building materials and so on; thus there are no empty wagons wasting their time trekking about the country. Most of the shops in a town have the inscription—"Wolkoper, Allgemene Handlaar"—which may be interpreted as "Wool-broker, General Dealer,"—and most articles required on a farm may be purchased there. On market day farm produce, bullocks, cows and other animals are sold or exchanged: every town, however small, has its market square, and its bell, and its day when the farmers come in and sell their stuff and talk politics and drink too much whisky.—The C.I.V.'s left the Brigade on the 4th of July and proceeded with a convoy to Heilbron; they never rejoined the Brigade again.
Leaving Frankfort on the 4th of July, the battalion had a terribly bad time with the convoy, as we were on guard over it on that day, and there was one of the worst sandy drifts in South Africa to be crossed, three miles out of Frankfort. If there is one kind of drift which is worse than another it is the sandy one; wet drifts are no trouble, except that the mules stop in the middle to drink and take their own time in starting again: rocky ones can be cleared: muddy ones can be repaired: steep ones can be cut down, but for sandy drifts there is no cure except brute force to haul the wagons out of the sticky, clinging sand.
Although to the next camp we had only eight or nine miles to go, and we started at eleven in the morning, yet we did not get into our bivouacs at Rietfontein until exactly twelve hours later, and then it had been freezing since seven o'clock that evening. However, that good old soldier Pearce, the Quartermaster, who had got in fairly early, had started fires and boiled water for the men's tea, although he had to take all the wood off the biscuit boxes for fuel. We thought at the time that that day's work was pretty well a record, but it was to be beaten hollow by one or two days which we experienced afterwards.
The next was also a long day's work, but good going over the veldt, although there was lots of it, as we tramped a good twenty miles before settling down for the night. Scarcity of water was the reason of this long march: we had halted for a couple of hours at mid-day, and went on again with the intention of reaching water, so we had to stick to it and trek away until we did come to water. Major Shaw, the Brigade Major, did a fair amount of galloping that day, looking for water, and no doubt his pony, if he is still alive, has not forgotten the 5th of July.
However, the next day compensated us for our hard work, as we had a short march of merely ten or eleven miles, which, with a halt at mid-day for a couple of hours, brought us into camp about four o'clock. There is no doubt that, where troops are marching with a big convoy, it is a wise thing to give the infantry a rest of a couple of hours in the middle of the day, as it enables the convoy to close up, to water and feed, and to get a short rest too. Transport animals travel all the better after being watered and after having had a short rest, and it is a sound policy to do this, as the column travels all the faster afterwards. The Boers, when they are trekking, water their animals much more frequently than we do, and they often made the remark to me that we were killing our bullocks by not giving them a rest. On all marches the pace of the column undoubtedly depends on the rate at which the slowest wagon travels, and matters should, therefore, be arranged with regard to that fact. Apart from considerations of safety, it is not sound to see the troops trekking away into camp with the convoy sprawling along the road, and with the rear guard clustering behind the last wagon.
Another short march fetched us into Reitz, at mid-day on the 7th of July: half the battalion and two guns were sent to occupy a farmhouse at the foot of a hill, about a mile and a half away from the town—but such a farm house! The doors and windows were gone, the ceilings and floors had been wrenched away, part of the corrugated iron roof was gone, and several of the rafters had been cut off short with saws, so that the rest of the roof was in rather a dicky condition. This mass of ruins rejoiced afterwards in the select name of "Joe Muggins' Farm."