A few horses were exchanged for some in the Mounted Infantry, but all those which were of the slightest use had already been taken. At night our custom was for all horses, after watering, to be taken to the Mounted Infantry lines, where they were fastened together in huge rings, under a guard, the Boers going back to their lines and coming at daybreak again to receive their animals. Any possibility of our friends taking French leave during the night was thus precluded.
The commandants were warned and directed to inform their men that any insubordination would be severely punished, the offender being placed under a guard and compelled to walk instead of riding; and the commandants were held personally responsible that none of their men attempted to escape.
During our subsequent march to the railway, prisoners were constantly being received in twos and threes from the Provost Marshal, and a large number, some seventy-five, of the remainder of those who had surrendered to General Hunter at Fouriesburg, were handed over to us on one occasion.
The morning of the 7th of August saw us out of Bethlehem for the second time and tramping along the well-known road to Meyer's Kop, over which some of us had already marched three times.
Bethlehem looked better by daylight than it did when we left it in the dark on the 16th of July; it is a large town and, as is usual, well laid out with a fine church in the middle, but it would be a good deal prettier if the indolent Boers could be persuaded to plant a few more trees. It is a curious trait in the Boer character that, notwithstanding their Dutch origin, they do not appear to care in the least for flowers, or trees, or gardening of any kind.
In the teeth of an icy cold wind, which raised clouds of dust, we tramped along, past Sevastopol, and our old friend, Meyer's Kop, to Bester's Farm, a few miles beyond the latter place, and continued our march the next day and the next in similar fashion, halting at each mid-day for a couple of hours.
On the road we passed the redoubtable Biddulph's Berg, which had been some time previously the scene of a severe action, where a battalion of Guards was heavily engaged and suffered from a very large number of casualties, over 150, I believe. They had a terrible experience in this action which has happily seldom occurred in warfare before; the grass was very long and dry, and there was a breeze blowing from the rear, where a number of people were watching the fight; these individuals were seen to drop matches on to the dry grass, and the consequent fire was soon beyond their power to extinguish. Rapidly the flames grew and spread to the right and left, and rushed, fanned by the breeze, straight down upon the unfortunate Guardsmen, extended and carrying on the attack upon the enemy in front: there was no escape, and the roaring flames swept like a rolling torrent down upon the soldiers, scattering them in all directions and scorching them severely: worse than this, the wounded, of whom there were a considerable number lying in the long grass, were badly burned and suffered terrible agony: it was a truly dreadful experience.
On the 9th of August we reached Senekal, crossed the drift, and camped just beyond the town; the opportunity was here taken to buy what food could be purchased, for the Brigade Canteen; but there was little to be had, and that was at famine prices.
Captain Wisden, however, struck what shopmen call a "line" of sardines, in which he invested largely for the Officers' mess, and which proved to be the worst possible kind of fish that had ever been put in a tin. How the wretched animal had existed when it was alive was a marvel, as it consisted, seemingly, of one huge backbone and little else; but no doubt the bad oil, into which it was put when it was tinned, brought about a speedy death and released the poor creature from its sufferings! Captain Wisden will never hear the end of this, and all our officers will in future beware of that particular brand of sardines.