Monday, October 8th. Having had no mails, we sallied forth with Mr. Clements in the direction of Krugersdorp, with four days' rations. My last charger being done, I've got another 'oss, and he seems rather a good one, though not up to my weight. Last night it came to my ears that the Border Regiment had got their dry canteen up from Pretoria, and it would be open for an hour or so, and that chocolate, jam, cocoa paste, tobacco and other coveted commodities would be on sale. So I was soon mingling with the crowd of would-be purchasers; several of our fellows also joined the crowd, but when it came to their turn to buy were turned away because they belonged not to the Border Regiment. I, however, had not my hat or tunic on, and as there was nothing about my shirt or general appearance to distinguish me from Mr. Thomas Atkins of the Border Regiment, I succeeded in buying four packets of chocolate and several tins of potted meats and jams; then, handing my purchases over to a friend, I again took up my position at the end of the queue and bought some more stuff. The prices were what is commonly known as popular prices, being extraordinarily low for this benighted land. As our four days' rations simply consist of four of the least popular brand of biscuits imaginable per diem and horrible stewed trek ox, these little purchases are coming in very handy. We camped early in the afternoon on the high veldt. The night was bitterly cold.[Back to Contents]
The Great Egg Trick.
Wednesday, October 10th.
"When scouting and you must not tarry,
Of things you can borrow or beg,
The best, but the worst you can carry,
Is the excellent, succulent egg."
Extract from contemplated "Loot Lyrics."
To-day we have returned to Commando Nek, at least within a mile or so of it. (A cart has just come in from Rietfontein, and they say there are four bags of mails for the Composites, so we poor Sussex de'ils ought to have a look in.) We were advance party to-day, and a friend and I had the good luck to get a fine lot of eggs, of which I have not had any for a long time. As you may imagine, eggs are not very easily carried by the uninitiated, especially when he happens to be a horseman. The first time I managed to get some I got a couple from a farm down the next valley, and was debating how I should carry them, when the officer of our troop, who was just ahead, turned round and sternly told me to mount and get forward, and as he stopped for me to do so, I was rather awkwardly situated, my rifle being in one hand and the two eggs in the other. However, I seized the reins somehow or other, and did the great egg trick successfully. Missing other feats in which I have never once broken or cracked even one, to-day I eclipsed all previous accomplishments, inasmuch as I carried in the only two tunic pockets I have without holes, THREE DOZEN EGGS loose, and despite having to dismount and mount twice, brought them into camp without breaking or cracking one. Once or twice, when we had to do a trot, our sergeant-major asked why I was riding so curiously, and I told him I was feeling rather queer, but thought it would wear off when I reached camp—it did. A friend and I got these eggs in rather an amusing manner. We spotted a Kaffir village and riding to it, enquired at every kraal for eggs, "Eggs for the general—for Lord Roberts!" but, alas, they had none, "I'kona," signifying the negative. One enterprising youth, however, called to me as I was riding off and brought me four, for which I paid him sixpence. Then once again as we were going away, he called to us—evidently the pay, pay, pay of the absent-minded foreign devil has touched his savage heart—for lo and behold his neighbours had some for sale, and came forward with a dozen in a tin, then their neighbours came to the front with about a score, and yet another lot appeared with more—in all, we got fifty eggs, of which I pocketed three dozen, and carried the remainder in a handkerchief and surrendered them to our major, saying I had got them for him (he was in want of some), and thus appeased him. Had I carried them all in my mouchoir I might have lost the lot, but we simple Yeomen "know a thing or three," as the ancient ballad goes.
We have just drawn rations for fourteen days and been joined by some more M.I., so it looks as if
"Troops may come and troops may go,
But we go on for ever."
"Go hon!" seems to be our call and counter cry.
Commando Nek, Friday, October 12th, 1900.