Campaign Pictures of the War in South Africa (1899-1900) | Page 5

likely to be tempted out to meet them, since his
orders are to hold Enslin against attack. However, should they venture
to make a dash for Enslin, they will get a pretty bad time, as the
Australians there are keen for a fight.
Concerning farming, it is an unknown quantity here, as we in Australia
understand it. These people simply squat down wherever they can find
a natural catchment for water. There is no clearing to be done, as the
land is quite devoid of timber. They put nigger labour on, and build a
farmhouse. These farmhouses are much better built than those which

the average pioneer farmer in Australia owns. They make no attempt at
adornment, but build plain, substantial houses, containing mostly about
six rooms. The roofs are mostly flat, and the frontages plain to ugliness.
They do no fencing, except where they go in for ostrich breeding.
When they farm for feathers they fence with wire about six feet in
height. This kind of farming is very popular with the better class of
Boers, as it entails very little labour, and no outlay beyond the initial
expense. They raise just enough meal to keep themselves, but do not
farm for the market. They breed horses and cattle; the horses are a
poor-looking lot, as the Boers do not believe much in blood. They
never ride or work mares, but use them as brood stock. This is a bad
plan, as young and immature mares breed early on the veldt, and throw
weedy stock. Their cattle, however, are attended to on much better lines,
and most of the beef that I have seen would do credit to any station in
Australia, or any American ranch. They mostly raise a few sheep and
goats; the sheep are a poor lot, the wool is of a very inferior class, and
the mutton poor. I don't know much about goats, so will pass them,
though I very much doubt if any Australian squatter would give them
grass room.
On most of the farms a small orchard is found enclosed in stone walls.
Here again the ignorance of the Boers is very marked; the fruit is of
poor quality, though the variety is large. Thus, one finds in these
orchards pears, apples, grapes, plums, pomegranates, peaches, quinces,
apricots, and almonds. The fruit is harsh, small, and flavourless, owing
to bad pruning, want of proper manure, and good husbandry generally.
The Boer seems to think that he has done all that is required of him
when he has planted a tree; all that follows he leaves to nature, and he
would much rather sit down and pray for a beautiful harvest than get up
and work for it. He is a great believer in the power of prayer. He prays
for a good crop of fruit; if it comes he exalts himself and takes all the
credit; if the crop fails he folds his hands and remarks that it was God's
will that things should so come to pass. He knocks all the work he can
out of his niggers, but does precious little himself. In stature he is
mostly tall, thin, and active. He moves with a quick, shuffling gait,
which is almost noiseless. Some of his women folk are beautiful, while
others are fat and clumsy, and are never likely to have their portraits

hung on the walls of the Royal Academy.

A PRISONER OF WAR.
BLOEMFONTEIN HOSPITAL.
I little fancied when I sat at my ease in my tent in the British camp that
my next epistle would be written from a hospital as a prisoner, but such
is the case, and, after all, I am far more inclined to be thankful than to
growl at my luck. Let me tell the story, for it is typical of this peculiar
country, and still more peculiar war. I had been writing far into the
night, and had left the letter ready for post next day. Then, with a clear
conscience, I threw myself on my blankets, satisfied that I was ready
for what might happen next. Things were going to happen, but though
the night was big with fate there was no warning to me in the
whispering wind. Some men would have heard all sorts of sounds on
such a night, but I am not built that way I suppose. Anyway, I heard
nothing until, half an hour before dawn, a voice jarred my ear with the
news that "there was something on, and I'd better fly round pretty sharp
if I did not mean to miss it."
By the light of my lantern I saddled my horse, and snatched a hasty cup
of coffee and a mouthful of biscuit, and as the little band of Tasmanians
moved from Rensburg I