Chapter XI: Part I: On the Trek (8)

At last the pleasant drive came to its end, and we entered the Rondebosch camp. I was told off with 25 others to a hut, drew bedding and blankets--which included bugs--had some tea at a coffee bar, looked about, and turned in for the night. Alas! that night and others. Rondebosch boasts of a dry canteen and _another_, where Tommy can obtain beer, oftentimes called "Glorious Beer," even as we allude to "Glorious War." Over the sale of this to men, fresh from the hospitals recovering from enteric, wounds, and so forth, there is no restriction. The result needs no imagination--copious libations, songs, rows, and vomitings.

The next day I was put on as Orderly Sergeant. Now, if I was Sergeant-Major and had among my subordinate "non-coms." a man I wished to get into trouble, I should make him an Orderly Sergeant at Rondebosch. About every half-hour the bugles went "Orderly Sergeants," and up I doubled. In all, I attended about a score of these summonses, and even then omitted to report a man who had been absent since _reveille_.

This last sin of omission came about in this way. I was anxious to turn in early and get a little sleep if possible, but could not do so, as I had to report "all present and correct" at tattoo. Anyhow, I strolled down to our hut at nine o'clock and found that the poor gunner alluded to already was in great pain, writhing about and groaning horribly. One of his chums who was with him told me he could not find a doctor, and the chaplain, who had looked in, had said that he could not get him even a drop of hot water.

The poor fellow was really bad, and thought he was going out, and I should not have been surprised if he had. Soon a few more chums came in, somewhat beery, and commenced to buck him up. The great method apparently on such occasions is to grip the sufferer's hand very tightly, pull him about a good deal, punch him now and again, and tell him to bear up. "Stick it, mate! * * * it, you ain't going to * * * well die! Stick it, mate!" And there he lay, with his pals, fresh from the canteen, exhorting him to stick it, a poor broken Reserve man, with a wife and children across the seas. At last I went and, after no little bother, discovered an R.A.M.C. Sergeant, who found his Sergeant-Major, and the two came with me to our hut. The result was a mustard leaf, which was sent down to me to place on the sufferer. With this on the left side of his stomach, bugs biting, mosquitoes worrying, and comrades lurching in, singing and rowing, and beds collapsing, the night passed. The next day the doctor saw him, and he was returned to Wynberg.[11]

[Footnote 11: I met him again looking much better and in the
best of spirits on the _Aurania_, being invalided home.]

In the afternoon we paraded and came on here. In the evening I slipped off to Cape Town and met a friend, with whom I dined at the "Grand." Having a decent dinner and amongst decently dressed people made me feel quite a Christian, though as a matter of fact, most of the diners appeared to be Jews. The sheenie man refugee is still very much in evidence, and though he sells things at ruinous prices (for himself, he says) seems to do well.

Tuesday, March 6th. After being kept outside the doctor's bureau from 9 till 12.30, the great man, the controller of fates, the donor of tickets, the Maitland medicine man, has seen me, and, whatever he has done, has not marked me for home.

ANOTHER ALBUM!!

_March 9th._

To weary you with a further continuation of the experiences of a forlorn Yeoman, who, having drifted from Pretoria, now finds himself on the sands of Maitland, with a distant and tantalising view of the sea and its ships, seems an unworthy thing to do. But, alas! I have acquired a terrible habit of letter-writing. News or no news, given the opportunity, I religiously once a week contribute to the English mail bag; so here goes for a really short letter.

On Thursday, having endured as much toothache as I deemed expedient without complaint, and goaded on by a sleepless night, I paraded before the doctor, and having borne with him moderately and half satisfied his credulity, obtained from him a note to a Cape Town dentist for the following day. I am now in that being's hands, he has considerately assured me that no man is a hero to his own dentist.

In Cape Town there are two topics--the town guard and the plague, known as bubonic; owing to the latter, great is the stink of disinfectants.

I have already made allusions to the "Sisters' Albums" and the contributions which they levied. Here at McKenzie's Farm, I have struck another style of book. This is run by Sergeant-Major Fownes (10th Hussars) who is in charge of all of the Yeomanry at the base. It is a "Confession Book," containing reasons "Why I joined the Imperial Yeomanry" and "Why I left." It has been contributed to by members of nearly every I.Y. squadron in South Africa. Thanks to the courtesy of its owner, I am able to give you a selection from its contents, omitting the names and squadrons of the contributors only.

WHY I JOINED THE YEOMANRY.

1. To escape my creditors.

2. Patriotism.

3. Because I was sick of England.

4. Could always ride, could always shoot,
Thought of duty, thought of loot.

5. "England Expects ----" (you know the rest).

6. To injure the Boers.

7. (All Excuses used up.)

8. I considered it was the right thing for an Englishman
to do.

9. Because I thought it was my duty.

10. A broken heart.

11. Anxiety to get to South Africa.

12. For the sake of a little excitement, which I can't get at
home and didn't get out here.

13. Patriotic Fever!!!

14. I did it during the Patriotic Mania, 1899-1900. Under
like circumstances believe I'd do it again.

15. Sudden splash of Patriotism upon visiting a Music Hall.

16. Poetry.

17. "Married in haste."

18. Because I did not bring my aged and respected father
up properly.

19. To kill Time and Boers.

20. Because I am Irish and wanted to fight.

21. Love of War.

22. For Sport.

23. My Country's call my ardour fired.

24. Because I was tired of the Old Country.

25. Old England's Honour, Glory, Fame,
Such thoughts were in my mind.
To die the last but not disgraced,
A V.C. perhaps to find.
To sound the charge, to meet the foe,
To win or wounded lie,
My firstborn son and I should fight
And, if the needs be, die.

26. Hungry for a fight.

27. Drink and Drink.

28. Vanity.

29. Because I thought:

1 'Twas a glorious life on the veldt,
So unrestrained and free. (_Note. Read opposite page._)

2 'Twas grand to lie 'neath the star-lit sky
In a blanket warm and nice.

3 'Twas exciting to gallop over the plains
To the music of the Mausers.

4 Bully beef and biscuits are all very well,
And so, for a time, is jam.

30. To have a lively time.

31. Wanted to see a little of South Africa.

32. Came out on Chance.

33. To escape the Police at home.

34. Had always preached Patriotism and thought it was the
time to put theory into practice.

35. Because I had nothing to do at home
Bar drinking whiskies and sodas alone,
And shooting pheasants which is beastly slow,
So I thought I'd give the Bo-ahs a show.

36. Thought I would get the V.C.

37. A soldier's son and a volunteer
Heaps of glory, bags of beer.

38. To become acquainted with Colonials before settling.

39. For adventure.

40. Northumbria's reply, "Duty."

WHY I LEFT.

1. The old man stumped up and I am in no danger of
receiving a blue paper.

2. Captured at Lindley. Too much mealie porridge and rice.

3. Because I have changed my mind.

4. Gammy leg, couldn't ride,
Sent to Cape Town, had to slide.

5. "Go not too often into thy neighbour's house, lest he be
weary of thee!"

HOSPITALS.

1. Imperial Yeomanry Field. 2. Johannesburg Civil.
3. No. 6 General. 4. No. 9 General. 5. No. 8 General.
6. Deelfontein. 7. Maitland.

6. Because they injured me.

7. Love of my native land (England).

8. I did not get enough fighting, but too much messing
about.

9. "FED UP!!!"

10. A broken leg (more serious and imperative).

11. Anxiety to get away from it.

12. Joined B.P.'s Police Force to still search for the
impossible.

13. Enteric Fever!!!

14. Ill health.

15. Bathing one day, found varicose veins much to my
delight. Invalided.

16. Prose.

17. "Repented at leisure."

18. To see if he has improved.

19. Because Time and Boers wait for no man.

20. Because I want to do more fighting and am joining the
S.A.C.

21. Love of Peace.

22. Time for close season.

23. The "Crisis" o'er, I've now retired.

24. Because I was sick of the New.

25. Alas, no Glory have I earned,
No Trumpet's Requiem found,
Altho' I've laid upon the veldt,
With scanty comfort round.
My son has seen more fights than I,
Tho' he is scarce fifteen,
Whilst I must sound my trumpet at
The Yeoman's Base-fontein.
SERGT.-TRUMPETER (McKenzie's Farm).

26. Appetite appeased.

27. Drink and Drink.

28. Vexation of Spirit.

29. But I found:

1 That after twelve months of the same I felt
It was not the life for me.

2 That when you wanted to go to sleep,
You're scratching and hunting for l--ce.

3 That 'twas very unpleasant to ride all day
When you'd lost the seat of your trousers.

4 That to get nothing else for more than six months,
Would make any fellow say "D----!"

30. What with Mausers by day and crawlers by night. I
had it.

31. Have seen enough.

32. Going home to a Certainty.

33. Same reason here.

34. The Patriotic Fever has run its natural course.

35. Because the Bo-ahs shot me instead,
And the papers (confound them) reported me "dead,"
That sort of game is rather too bad,
So the prodigal now returns to his dad.

36. Got C.B. instead!

37. Bags of biscuits hard as rocks,
Smashed my teeth and gave me sox!

38. To join the Bodyguard for same reason and--_better pay_.

39. To go back to a hum-drum life, which is better than a
Dum-Dum death.

40. Novelty somewhat worn off, and military discipline not
being at all adapted to my temperament.

In a few days all the men marked for home will be leaving, and to those they will be leaving behind them the yearning to be on the sea once again, seems stronger than ever,

"Can you hear the crash on her bows, dear lass,
And the drum of the racing screw.
As she ships it green on the old trail, our own trail, the home trail,
As she lifts and 'scends on the long trail--the trail that is always
new?"

HOME.

ENGLAND-FONTEIN
_April 22nd, 1901._

"We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome,
Our ship is at the shore,
An' you must pack your 'aversack,
_For we won't come back no more_."

So from going up to Elandsfontein, which is by Johannesburg, it came to the above cheerful sentiment. And this is how it happened. An order came from somewhere to our doctor, who had of late so hardened his heart, to "invalid convalescents freely," and, to be brief, within a few days nearly every man at Maitland was marked for home, wore a smiling face, and drew warm clothes for the voyage.

The next burning questions were "What boat will it be and when does she sail?" Needless to say, these interrogatories were answered at least thrice a day, and were always wide of the mark. Still, we were booked for home, and could afford to wait cheerfully. Our hut (No. 1), inhabited by the thirty best men in the camp (any man of that hut will tell you this assertion is correct), thereupon blossomed forth as the publishing and editorial offices of a camp newspaper known as the

"LATEST DEVELOPMENTS GAZETTE,"
WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED
"THE COOKHOUSE NEWS."

In this journal shipping intelligence was a speciality, and topical cartoons a great feature. We claimed the largest circulation in the camp. The various articles, stop-press news, and cartoons, were stuck on the walls of the hut and afforded much entertainment. Of course, B.P. was very unpopular in Cape Town and with us, and had to be dealt with severely. (Note.--Not the Mafeking man or the "worth a guinea a box" lot, but the Bubonic Plague).

A few days before sailing I caught sight of a well-known name in the dread casualty list: "69th Co. I.Y., 16,424, Trooper R. Blake, (severely wounded, since dead). Hartebeestefontein." "Poor Blake!" He used to sing at our concerts on the boat coming out, at our bivouac fire when we indulged in an impromptu sing-song, and at Pretoria, when in the police, he often appeared at the various musical entertainments held in the town or hospitals. His mimicry of a growling or barking dog, big or small, was marvellous and notorious. I remember once how a fellow on one occasion, accustomed to Master Blake's games, on hearing a persistent yapping at his heels, at length said "Oh, shut up, young Blake!" and turned round to see a live terrier there. A verse in the last issue of our paper, expressed, in a humble way, every man's feelings on such matters.

We are leaving them behind us,
'Neath the veldt and by the town,
The men who joined and fought with us,
Who shared each up and down.
We are going home without them,
But our thoughts will on them dwell,
We shall often talk about them,
Good comrades all, farewell!

The day before we left, the sketches and other matter were sold by auction, it having been previously decided to devote the proceeds of the sale to the last No. 1 Hut annual ball. By way of explanation, it must be noted that the hut had an annual ball _once a week_, "dancing strictly prohibited." To be explicit, the annual ball was a weekly dinner. The auction was a great success, a real auctioneer presiding, well over L10 being realised.

The farewell dinner was a grand affair and very convivial. To my surprise I was presented with a handsome silver cigarette case by the so-called staff of the "L.D. News" as a token of good will and their appreciation of my humble efforts to relieve the monotony of camp life.

The next day, Friday, March 29th, we embarked on the transport "Aurania," and, as the sun was setting, bade a sarcastic good-bye to Table Mountain.

As regards the voyage home, which was accomplished in three weeks, much might be said, but probably little of particular interest. A transport is not a very luxurious affair for the common soldier, though the accommodation for the officers amply atones for what may be lacking for the ninety-and-nine, as it were. But what on earth, or sea, did it matter, we were going home.

Good Friday was not a success, an officer committed suicide, a sergeant in the Royal Sussex died of dysentery, the engines broke down, and we had no buns. At St. Vincent we stopped two-and-a-half days to coal, and flew the yellow flag at the fore, being in quarantine on account of the Bubonic outbreak at Cape Town. In the Bay of Biscay a Yeoman comrade died of enteric, and was buried two days from home. Friday, the 18th, on a lovely spring morning, the sea being as smooth as glass, we sighted the cliffs of England once again.

"England, my England."

Then we commenced passing shipping; a man at the tiller of a Cornish fishing boat waving his cap to us made it clear that we were getting back to our real ain folk once more. At eight in the evening we were lying off Netley Hospital, and taking in the proffered advice of a large board in a field by the waterside to eat Quaker Oats, and by twelve o'clock the following night I was home once again.

The treking, the fighting, the guards and pickets, the hospitals are done with now. My small part in the game has been played, and, with a slight and permissible alteration, the concluding lines of a favourite poem must end these simple records.

"But to-day I leave the Army, shall I curse its service then?
God be thanked, whate'er comes after, I have lived and toiled with men!"

BURFIELD & PENNELLS, PRINTERS, HASTINGS.