Part 23

"I 'ants my 'ickle khaki, I 'ants my tame Englishman!"

"Don't cry," said the old man, "father will catch you some to-morrow."

The little fellow's eyes brightened with anticipation, and his tears gave way to smiles. Sure enough his father came into camp a few days later driving before him two diminutive steeds bending beneath the weight of two corpulent khakis. He called his son and said--

"Now, sonny, here are the soldiers I promised you."

The little fellow looked them over carefully. Then his lower lip began to pout, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

"What's the matter, my son," asked the astonished father, "doesn't he like his khakis?"

"No, daddy," replied the little chap, striving with his tears.

"Why not, my lad?"

Then the child's restraint gave way, and he burst out--

"Oh, daddy, they're not--sob--real--sob--soldiers at all!"

They were two of the C.I.V.

But to return. As soon as the waggons were ready they were sent on along the winding valley, whilst the horsemen and artillery took up a position on a neighbouring hill and awaited the British attack. This took the form of continuous shelling until sundown. As soon as darkness fell the horsemen took a short cut and rejoined the waggons, which in the meantime had gained a considerable start. President Steyn and his secretary accompanied De Wet during the day and had a taste of the enemy's shell-fire. When we asked the secretary that evening how he had liked the ordeal he said he could hardly describe his feelings whilst it lasted, but when the shelling ceased it was the heavenliest sensation of his life. So if you want a heavenly sensation you know now how to get it.

We had an ambulance staff with us, but were sometimes obliged to leave our wounded behind, because we knew very well the enemy would be only too glad to get hold of our doctors and deprive us of all medical help.

On crossing the railway near Honingspruit we captured a train. From the newspapers taken out of the mail-bags we learnt that we were being closely pressed, and that hopes were entertained of our speedy capture. We did not grudge the papers the pleasures of hope; what we objected to was their crocodile tears over us poor misguided, ignorant burghers, who were too stupid to see the beauty of becoming exultant British subjects, like the Irish. We also learnt that Steyn was ill, that he was hiding on a farm near Heilbron, that he was a prisoner in De Wet's camp, that his mind had given way, that he wouldn't let De Wet surrender, that De Wet wouldn't let the burghers surrender, that the burghers wouldn't let Steyn surrender, ad fin. ad nauseam.

As we had a distinct object in view, i.e. to bring Steyn to Kruger, we generally preferred to avoid unnecessary engagements. But we could show our teeth when we liked. We were laagered near Vredefort one day when the pursuers made a sudden dash forward, coming within a mile or so before they were observed. On this occasion there was no hasty flight. The cattle continued peacefully grazing around the waggons, whilst the horsemen went to meet the enemy. There was a brief exchange of shells, and then our men charged with such good effect that the British were forced to retire. They followed us at a more respectful distance after that.

De Wet kept his plans so secret that very few knew for certain whither we were bound. The President called me into his tent one morning and asked me a few questions about the roads near Balmoral, where the Transvaal Government was at that time. I happened to have a map with me, and so was able to supply the desired information. He then told me to take a couple of heliographists and try to get into communication with one of the Transvaal commandoes near Potchefstroom.

We climbed one of the numerous hills lying around and called up towards Potchefstroom, but got no reply. As we sat chatting, keeping our eyes fixed on the dark ridges in the distance, one of my companions remarked--

"This reminds me of a fine trick I played on the English a few months ago. We were trekking along quietly one day when I observed a heliograph glitter on a hill about ten miles away. I at once fixed my instrument, and soon learnt that it was a British helio post. I sent him a heliogram saying that we were a small party of British in danger of capture, and asking that an escort should be sent to bring us in. The next day the escort walked into our arms! We took the rifles and let the prisoners go--about a hundred men. The next day the British heliographist called me up again and reproached me for telling him such a deliberate lie!"

"And what did you reply?"

"Oh, I said, 'g.t.l.'; you know what that means!"

Espying a pretty little cottage in the valley below, I rode thither to try and buy a loaf of bread, leaving the others to continue calling. On the way down I noticed a telegraph wire running in the direction of Potchefstroom. In the farmhouse were only two young girls, the elder a charming golden-haired fairy with tender eyes of cornflower blue. And her smile!--it was enough to make one say all kinds of silly things just for the pleasure of seeing her ripe lips part, revealing her wholesome, even little teeth! No wonder I delayed my departure! I left at last, however--not without the loaf of bread--and made for the camp. I had not gone far before I met one of the burghers, who told me Steyn and De Wet had gone up to the helio post a little while before. What would they say when they found me absent from my post! I approached the camp in anything but an enviable mood, and was just off-saddling when the two leaders returned. Like a flash the thought came to me of the telegraph line I had seen.

"President," I said eagerly, before he could speak, "there's a telegraph line near here. Shan't I go and try to tap it?"

He looked at me very seriously for a moment, and then replied, a smile breaking through the frown, "Yes, go on, you should have been there already." Saved again! I went, but needless to say, if I heard any secrets that evening it was not through the medium of a telegraph wire!

SKIRMISHES

A band of about thirty Transvaalers, mostly from Potchefstroom, who had been attached to De Wet for some time, now decided to go on ahead and join Liebenberg's commando, near their native town. As De Wet had no intention of moving forward just yet, I joined my brother Transvaalers. Bidding adieu to our Free State comrades, we crossed the Vaal. Just beyond the river we were joined by two or three others, who had with them as prisoner a British sergeant. This fellow had been in charge of a band of native police, whose insolence had terrorised the women and children for miles around, until a body of Boers came along and routed them out of the district, capturing their leader. What became of the blacks I do not know, but it must be remembered that the Transvaal natives are Boer subjects, and liable to be shot if caught aiding the British. The feeling against the sergeant was very bitter.

"Oh, you're the Kafir chief, are you?" said one of our men to him.

"Ho, yuss, h' I'm the Kefir ginnyril," responded the flattered cockney, with an irritating grin.

"I'd like to Kafir general you through the head," said the disgusted Boer promptly. The sickly grin faded, and the threat was not carried out.