Tuesday, August 14th. Off, without any coffee, on advance guard. As we moved out of camp, revolvers and rifles were banging in all directions. However, it was not sniping, but merely the usual killing of sick horses and mules. Along the road the defunct quadrupeds hummed dreadfully (if any tune, "The place where the old horse died").[Back to Contents]
Relief of Eland's River Garrison. Join in the great De Wet hunt.
Wednesday, August 15th (in the vicinity of Eland's River). Another day without tea or coffee, and in a district lacking in wood and water. At about mid-day we came upon Kitchener, Methuen, and others with their respective forces. Colonel Hore's gallant Australians and Rhodesians had just been relieved. The various columns halted and camped here. That afternoon a couple of commandeered sheep were served out to our troop; I dressed one, and obtained the butcher's perquisites, viz.: the heart, liver and kidneys. On these, with the addition of a chop from a pig, at whose dying moments I was present, and a portion of an unfortunate duck, I made an excellent meal. That night was rather an uneasy one for me, for I had Eugene-Aram-like dreams in which relentless sheep chased me round farmhouses and barns into the arms of fierce ducks and avenging porkers. But reveillé, and then daylight came at last, and peace for my burdened mind and chest.
Thursday, August 16th. Off in the direction of Olifant's Nek. At noon we came in contact with the scouts of the enemy who were holding the Nek. After being under a heavy rifle fire, we retired to camp and waited for the morrow. Ian Hamilton arrived in the evening with his infantry and cow-guns.
Friday, August 17th. We moved out early in anticipation of a big day, for amongst the various rumours was one to the effect that De Wet's laager was on the other side of the Nek, and Baden-Powell and Methuen were going to attack him from that quarter. Oh, the rumours about this slim individual, they are legion! Here are some of the hardy perennial order:
- 1. De Wet is captured at last.
- 2. De Wet is surrounded and cannot escape. (The modification brand.)
- 3. De Wet has escaped with eleven men.
- 4. De Wet has 4,000 men with him.
- 5. De Wet has only 300 men with him.
- 6. De Wet has heaps of stores and ammunition.
- 7. De Wet has no stores, etc.
This is supposed to be the dry season, but it appears to me to be De Wet, and our "Little British Army which goes such a very long way" (quite true especially here) seems like the British Police, who always have a clue, and expect shortly to make an important arrest, but don't. We took up a position on a kopje opposite to the right of the Nek, and for a few hours had a rare easy time. Divesting ourselves of our tunics, belts, bandoliers and other top hamper, we lounged about in our shirt-sleeves, smoking and dozing, only rousing ourselves a bit later when the double-rapping reports of the Mausers over the way told us that our scouts were being fired on. Soon the R.H.A. came into action, and were quickly followed by the banging of the cow-guns. It was most interesting to see where the shells struck, and how soon the kopjes and Nek opposite became blackened, smoking rock and earth, and the spiteful Mausers ceased from troubling. Meanwhile, the infantry, Berks and A. and S. Highlanders, advanced and the Nek was ours, and the Boers, De Wet's rearguard—vamoosed. Then we all marched through the Nek, which was a wonderful position, and possible of being held after the manner of Thermopolæ. Our Sussex farrier-sergeant was shot in the arm. Going through the Nek we passed three graves by the roadside—graves of Royal Fusiliers who had died of wounds and enteric during B.-P.'s occupation of the place a short time previous. A soldier's grave out here is a simple matter, a rude cross of wood made from a biscuit case, with a roughly-carved name, or perhaps merely a little pile of stones, and that is all, save that far away one heart at least is aching dully and finds but empty solace in the pro patria sentiment. When one passes these silent reminders of the possibilities of war, it is impossible to suppress the thought "It might have been me!" But more often than not any such morbid reflections are effaced by the sight of a house and the chances of loot. Which reminds me that we ravaged with fire and sword a good deal in the vicinity of Rustenburg, numerous houses being set a-fire by authority—in most cases the reason being because the owner of the domicile had broken his oath of allegiance and was out again fighting us. We reached Rustenburg at about six o'clock, and had to go on outlying picket on a terribly-high kopje, known as Flag Staff Hill, at once. So just as it became dark—tired and tea-less, with overcoats and bundles of blankets—a little band of wearied, cussing Empire builders set out on their solitary vigil, with none of your "Won't-come-home-till-morning" jollity about them. Oh, that thrice, nay seventy-times-seven, execrated hill! Up it we stumbled with a compulsory Excelsior motto, staggering, perspiring profusely, with wrenched ankles, cut and sore feet, cussing when breath permitted, dropping exhausted, and resting now and again. Thus we ascended Flag Staff Hill. On the top we found strong sangars with shell-proof shelters, which had been built by the indefatigable Baden-Powell during his occupation of Rustenburg. That night passed at last.[Back to Contents]