Some in the fighting let their hearts rejoice,
For some the waggons are the patriot's choice:
Oh! loot the farm, don't let the chickens go,
Nor heed the roaring of the sergeant's voice!
They say the gentlemen in khaki keep
The courts where Kruger once did plot so deep;
That great Oom Paul across the sea has trekked,
Before the Courts of Europe now to weep.
We are but pawns, first front, then flank, then rear,
Moved by the Master Players there and here
Upon the veldt and kopje (that's the board),
Sans tents, sans beds, sans pudding and sans BEER.
Yon broiling sun which smiles and is our bane,
Yon thunder-cloud which means a soaking rain,
Will both some day look down upon this veldt
For us, and let us hope 'twill be in vain.
The above extract will, I am sure, suffice to show the general tone of the khaki Rubaiyat, and be more than enough to damn my poor but honest reputation.[Back to Contents]
Treatment of the Sick.
Krugersdorp,
December 5th, 1900.
As the English mail leaves this benighted place to-morrow at mid-day, I am dropping you a few lines, though I feel in anything but a scribbling humour. Clements moved out on Monday for about a week's jaunt, and left us, the Sussex Squadron and sick men, behind in charge of about a hundred remounts, mostly Argentines; and with the pleasant task of doing pickets and such like, about two miles out from the town. As I write I am very wet, it having been raining for the last two days. This morning the other four occupants of Mealie Villas had to clear off at 3 o'clock to do a picket, and so, as they naturally withdrew the support of their rifles from their blankets, there was not much shelter for me. I wonder what your opinion was on the statements of Mr. Burdett-Coutts, M.P., as regards certain hospitals out here, and also what you think of the Army doctor? It was my duty to parade the sick men before one of these august beings this morning. I received the order at a quarter past nine from our Squadron Sergeant-Major to parade before the doctor's tent, in the lines of Marshall's Horse, at 9.30. So at that time, behold me with fourteen sick men in the driving, drenching rain waiting in puddles of water outside the well-closed tent of the disciple of Esculapius. There we waited till at last an officer entering the tent, in response to my inquiry, as to whether I was at the right place or not, replied in the affirmative and informed an unseen being that there was a sick parade outside. Apparently without even rising, the great unseen was heard to remark shortly, "Sick parade is at seven o'clock every morning," the tent was again closed, and the men with fever, dysentery, colds and sores wended their ways through the rain and mud, back to the damp interiors of their leaking blanket hovels. They were men of the Fife, Devon, Dorset, and Sussex Yeomanry Squadrons, and that is how some of your dear patriotic volunteers get treated occasionally by certain doctors out here. Our Battalion doctor (the 7th) is a very good sort, and if you are bad will see you at almost any time.