With Rimington | Page 5

the climbing of the hill
began, numbers of Boers who had been waiting ready poured in their
fire. All along the ridge, from behind every rock and stone, the

smokeless Mausers cracked (it was then the fire rose to that rippling
noise we were listening to on the other side of the range), and the sleet
of bullets, slanting down the hill, swept our fellows down by scores.
But there was never any faltering. They had been told to take the hill.
Two hundred and fifty stopped on the way through no fault of theirs.
The rest went on and took it. That's the way our British infantry put a
job through.
Soon, on our side, scattered bands of the enemy began to emerge from
the kopjes and gallop north, whilst right up at the top of the valley their
long convoy of waggons came into view, trekking away as hard as they
could go, partly obscured by clouds of dust. We made some attempts to
stop them, but our numbers were too few. Though defeated, they were
not in any way demoralised, and the cool way in which they turned to
meet us showed that they knew they were safe from the infantry, and
did not fear our very weak cavalry. We did not venture to press the
matter beyond long shots. Had we done so, it was evident we should
have been cut up.
Various little incidents occurred. This one amused me at the moment.
We had captured a herd of cattle from some niggers who had been sent
by the Boers to drive them in, and I was conveying them to the rear.
From a group of staff officers a boy came across the veldt to me, and
presently I heard, as I was "shooing" on my bullocks, a very dejected
voice exclaim, "How confoundedly disappointing." I looked round and
saw a lad gazing ruefully at me, with a new revolver tied to a bright
yellow lanyard ready in his hand. "I thought you were a Boer," he said,
"and I was going to shoot you. I've got leave to shoot you," he added,
as though he were in two minds about doing the job anyway. I looked
at him for a long while in silence, there seemed nothing to say, and then,
still ruefully, he rode away. This, you will understand, was right up our
end of the valley, and I was driving cattle on to our ground, only I had a
soft hat on.
We have plenty of youngsters like this; brave, no doubt, but thoughtless
and quite careless about the dangerous qualities of the men they have to
meet. "They'll live and learn," people say. They'll learn if they live,
would perhaps be nearer the mark. The Boers, on the other hand, such
as I have seen yet, are decidedly awkward-looking customers, crafty,
but in deadly earnest, versed in veldt wars and knowing the country to

an anthill. Looking from one to the other, I fear there are many mothers
in England who'll go crying for their boys this campaign.
Later a troop of us penetrated into the deep recess among the hills
where they had their laager. It seemed evident, from the number of
waggons and the amount of clothing and stores left behind and littered
in every direction, that the Boers had not expected to be shifted nearly
so suddenly as they were. There were heaps of provisions, quantities of
coffee tied up in small bags, sugar, rice, biltong, _i.e._ dried strips of
flesh, a sort of bread biscuit much used by them on the march, and
made at the farms, and other things. All were done up in small
quantities in such a way that individual men could carry it. There were
waggons loaded, or half loaded, with old chests and boxes, and many
heaped about the ground. Most contained clothes, and the place was
strewn in all directions with blankets, greatcoats, and garments of all
sorts, colours, and sizes. I annexed a very excellent black mackintosh,
quite new and splendidly lined with red; a very martial and imposing
garment.
Diligent search was made for any paper or memoranda, which might
show the plans or strength of the enemy, but all we found were the
love-letters of the young Boers, of which there were vast numbers,
extremely amusing. It never seems to have occurred to any of the
writers that they could be going to get the worst of it. They seem to put
the responsibility for the management of the whole campaign into the
hands of the Deity. They are religious but practical. "God will protect
us. Here is a pound of coffee," is about what they all come to. It is the
fashion to scoff at the calm way in which