From Aldershot to Pretoria

by William E. Sellers

The march from Bloemfontein to Pretoria was one never to be forgotten. It taxed the strength of the strongest. There was fighting most of the way, and many a soldier who started full of hope never reached the end. The first stage was from Bloemfontein to Kroonstadt.

Mr. W.K. Glover, of the S.C.A., arrived at Kroonstadt in company with Mr. D.A. Black, but there was taken ill and compelled to rest. The Rev. T.F. Falkner and the Rev. E.P. Lowry marched nearly the whole way to Kroonstadt with the troops, and the latter speaks of it as the most trying march of the whole campaign. Opportunities for Christian work, with the exception of the hearty handshake or the whispered prayer, were but few, though during the pauses at Brandfort and at Kroonstadt several successful services were held.

A new name now appears on the line of march—that of the Rev. W.G. Lane, chaplain to the second Canadian contingent. He accompanied the Canadian Forces as Chaplain-Captain, and had the spiritual charge of all Protestants except those of the Episcopal Church.

The March to Pretoria.

We have, however, our fullest account of Christian work on the line of march from the pen of the Rev. Frank Edwards, the acting Wesleyan chaplain attached to the South Wales Borderers. He came out late in the war at his own charges to preach to the Welsh soldiers in their own language, and only overtook Lord Roberts at Brandfort. He shows us in vivid outline the sort of work our chaplains did between Bloemfontein and Pretoria.

'And now for the regular routine of "life on the march." We rise at 4 a.m. in the dark and cold, breakfast hastily on biscuit and tea made of very doubtful water, stand shivering in the piercing cold of dawn while troops are paraded, then start on our way long before the sun rises to warm our frozen frames. We march an hour and rest ten minutes—the hour is very long, the ten minutes very short.

South African Dust.

'The marching would be tolerable were it not for the heat and dust, the latter lying in some places quite nine inches deep, rising in clouds. It fills your eyes, nostrils, mouth and throat, causing one's lips to crack and bringing on an intolerable thirst, which makes it impossible for the men to be very fastidious, or even prudent with regard to the quality or source of the water which they greedily drink. At night when we reach our camping-ground our first thought is of our great-coats, for we are bathed in perspiration, and as the sun goes down about 5.30, night immediately following without any twilight, the intense heat of the almost tropical day is changed in a few minutes into the bitter cold of what might almost be called, from its length and severity, an Arctic night.

'At the Zand River I saw my first fight. That morning, as the troops were drawn up in marching order, the ominous command was given, "Charge magazines," and every man knew that something was about to happen, and a murmur ran along the ranks. After an hour's march we came in sight of the Zand River, with its kopjes on the farther side. As our battalion came in view of the river we saw the enemy's guns flashing on the distant kopjes, and showers of shells fell on this side the river into the trees in our front. On our right some mounted infantry were lying behind a kopje, and nothing could be more magnificent than to see the volleying shells burst in a successive line along the ridge of their sheltering kopje. At the edge of the wood we were halted and ordered to lie down; as the artillery dashed by us to the front, where they were soon busily pounding the Boer position, "Advance!" our Colonel cried. Up we arose, marched through the trees down into the river-bed, and there we lay while the shells screamed over us.