War's Brighter Side Part 6

But let me recount, to what, I hope, will be a sympathetic public, how I fell from honesty into the blackest depths of dishonesty. At Jakobsdal, Messieurs les Boers shot my finest horse. I was grieved naturally, and hurt too, that a poor non-combatant should have been treated so cavalierly. But "a la guerre comme a la guerre," I whispered to myself, and hoped for better luck next time. I followed the force from Jacobsdal to Klipkraal and Paardeberg, and at the last-named camp I awoke one morning to find my st.u.r.dy black pony had been taken quietly from under my very nose. I raved and stamped and swore at the loss. My sympathetic black boy tried to console me. "If master like," he said, "I go catch another horse." But so high and pure was my morality at that time that I almost thrashed him on the spot for daring to make such a suggestion. I walked away disconsolate, and sought a friend whose ribboned breast showed that he had seen service in every quarter of the globe. His answer to my request was short and simple. "Go and see whether he is picketed with ---- Horse"

(wild rhinoceri will not drag from me the name of that gallant regiment of M.I.). I went, and there conspicuously displayed in the front rank of the tethered horses was my black pony. I did not hesitate, but, blessing the members of ---- Horse for so kindly caring for my poor wandering pony, I began to untie the ream of the halter.

But the watchful eye of one of the men was open, and I was startled to hear a noise at my side say, "Well, upon my soul, this beats c.o.c.k-fighting. You come to the wrong shop if you think you can steal a horse from _this_ regiment," and he roughly took the ream out of my hand.

I protested. "The horse is mine," I said, "I'd know him anywhere."

"Get on," was the answer, "he belongs to my captain. Why, look at the brand." And, sure enough, on my poor pony's quarters were three big letters which represented, I suppose, his initials.

But I was in no way cast down. To go and explain to the officer that a little mistake had occurred was, after all, quite an easy matter, and I approached the gentleman who was sitting under a mimosa bush having breakfast. I explained the matter to him, and asked permission to lead my property home. But the captain roared with laughter. "Lead my horse home?" he shouted in another burst of laughter. "I like that. Why, do you know that the dam of that horse belonged to my Uncle Jim? He was the first man in that part of the country. Why," and again he laughed, "I remember when that black pony of mine was foaled. It was the 7th, no--the 10th of October. I remember quite well, for three weeks after we had a big garden party and all the ladies fell in love with the little beggar because he ate bread and b.u.t.ter from their hands and was the greediest beggar you ever saw after chocolate creams. Why, damme, if I didn't take that pony home again, I believe my old governor would cut me off with a shilling."

I stood aghast. What a fool, what a sanguinary fool I was to go and make such a mistake. My apologies were ample, humble and profuse. But as I pa.s.sed the horse-lines again I could not help thinking how singularly like my lost pony was the animal which, as a foal, so amused the ladies at the garden party.

And then I did the foolishest thing I ever did in all my life. I bought a new horse. Twenty-four hours afterwards it was claimed by four different officers, and I narrowly escaped hanging at the hands of the Provost Marshal, who at once ordered me to return the animal to its rightful owner. I gave it up to the four claimants, and let them decide among themselves the question of ownership.

And now I had but one pony left--and I guarded it as the apple of my eye. But again the Fates were against me, and it went off--I do not for a moment suggest that it was taken off. Again I tried ----'s Horse and all the Regular and Irregular Corps in the force, and was indignantly rebuked for daring to look for a stray horse in their lines. And so I was reduced to walking to and fro at Paardeberg Camp.

But one fine afternoon, returning across the huge endless plain, I was nearly ridden down by a subaltern, and as I glanced at the reckless rider I saw that he was riding _my_ pony. I shouted and yelled to him to stop, which he did.

"You are riding my pony," said I.

"I'm not," was the laconic answer.

"But I'm sure of it."

"So am I."

"Well, you're wrong this time. That pony is mine. I've had him for three months and I know him as well as I know my own boots."

But there was never a blush on the face of the subaltern. The pony he rode was, he admitted, of a very common type as regards colour and height. And he discussed at great length the difficulty of recognising horses. He told us that one of the greatest horse-dealers in London failed to recognise a horse that he had himself ridden a whole year.

And then he drowned me in dates. The pony he was riding was bought for the remount of December 13th, kept at Stellenbosch till January 4th, arrived at De Aar on January 6th, was used there by a staff officer who did not like him and sent him up to Orange River on February 1st.

On February 5th he became the property of the subaltern, who appeared to have tethered the beast at night to his waist, so positive was he that "he had never lost sight of the pony since."

What could I say? I couldn't call him a liar, for he was a tall, well-made subaltern, and he might have knocked me down, so I let him ride my pony away, and I trudged home to my camp beside the river.

Early next morning I collected all the servants and I addressed them as follows: "I have not got a single riding-horse left, and I want some; go and get some."

It was a laconic speech, but wonderfully effective. By five o'clock that afternoon three grand beasts were standing under the shelter of the river bank close to my camp, undergoing the different processes of hogging, tail-cutting, dyeing and other forms of transformation used by horse-stealers. In ten days I could have mounted a whole troop of cavalry. I will confess that I was a bit frightened, when, at five o'clock one morning, they brought me two magnificent chargers, for I recognised them as the property of the Commander-in-Chief. But although I delayed His Excellency's departure to Kimberley for an hour, I succeeded in sending them back to his lines unperceived.

I now possess a splendid stud of saddle-horses. I find it so difficult to feed them all, however, that it is my intention to offer them for sale next Wednesday. The conditions of sale are the usual ones, but it is to be distinctly understood that if any person dares to claim one of the animals as his own he will be turned out of the enclosure with ignominy.

TO THE SOLDIERS' POET.

BY B. CHARLES TUCKER.

So you've come, Mynheer Kiplin', so you've come: Wot a chap you are to foller up the drum!

S'pose yer's gwine to make some verse?

Well, there's lots wot does it worse, You'd 'ave made a better Laurrytte than some.

We 'ave read your latest rimin' in the "FRIEND,"

But it's finished up too soon toward the end; But the paper's raither small, Sure it's 'ardly none at all, If 'twere larger now 'twould be the bigger friend.

Now I arsks yer, Mister Kiplin', ain't yer proud Of the "absent-minded beggars," how they've ploughed Through 'ard ground to "Bobsfontein,"

Dorp of late departed Steyn, Ain't yer proud of this great ragged Kharki crowd?

Glad to see yer, Mister Kiplin' and the "boys."

Old Bloemfontein never knew such times--and noise, There's paradin', drillin'--and Every night we gets the band, And there's nothin' now our 'appiness alloys.

A SERIOUS MATTER.

BY PERCEVAL LANDON.

Horse-stealing is becoming a grave scandal. It const.i.tutes the one blemish upon the otherwise excellent military regime that has been firmly but un.o.btrusively imposed. From their grazing grounds, from the rail in front of the Club, from the actual hands of Cape boys leading them to or from their lines, horses have been stolen with as little compunction as though they had been found grazing on the veldt.

In some cases marks have been obliterated and manes and tails cropped by the thieves in the endeavour to conceal the ident.i.ty of the animal, and it is our duty to ask that an example shall be made of any person found in the possession of a horse not his own, or from which such marks or brands have been recently obliterated, or upon which others have been recently imposed.

It must be apparent to any man of sense that a horse which is offered to him by any person, white or coloured, for a nominal sum, is a horse which that boy or person has no right whatever to possess or attempt to sell, and any man purchasing under these circ.u.mstances must be held to be an accomplice in the theft.

It is earnestly to be hoped that, in felling necessary timber for the use of the troops, all particularly fine or ornamental trees will be spared. This district is sufficiently well wooded to supply otherwise all requirements, and depends largely upon its timber for its attractiveness.

Mr. Kruger was being sped from the late Presidency when he recently visited the front near Gallaiskop and Osfontein, and President Steyn's parting remark was "Mind the British don't catch you, or you'll get a better place in St. Helena than I." It is hardly necessary now to remind the late President Steyn that many a true word is spoken in jest.

It is not a little offensive to the ordinary British sense of the fitness of things that a native should be parading the Market Square in the red tunic of the Soldiers of the Queen. Yet this was to be seen yesterday afternoon when the pipes were skirling their martial strains, to the delight of all and sundry. The name of the regiment--Shropshire--was plainly in evidence on the shoulder strap.

Lord Roberts's entry into Bloemfontein narrowly missed marking another of those historical, dramatic episodes such as Cronje's Day afforded.

The British withdrawal from the Orange Sovereignty Territory actually took place on March 11, 1846, the proclamation being dated February 23rd of the same year. The Queen's soldiers re-entered this town on March 13th, only missing what would have been a wonderful coincidence by less than forty-eight hours.

PROCLAMATION

TO THE BURGHERS OF THE ORANGE FREE STATE.

In continuation of the Proclamation which I issued when the British troops under my command entered the Orange Free State, in which I warned all burghers to desist from any further hostility, and undertook that those of them who might so desist, and were staying in their homes and quietly pursuing their ordinary occupations, would not be made to suffer in their persons or property on account of their having taken up arms in obedience to the order of their Government, I now make known to all burghers that I have been authorised by the Government of Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen to offer the following terms to those of them who have been engaged in the present war:--

All burghers who have not taken a prominent part in the policy which has led to the war between Her Majesty and the Orange Free State, or commanded any forces of the Republic, or commandeered or used violence to any British subjects, and who are willing to lay down their arms at once, and to bind themselves by an oath to abstain from further partic.i.p.ation in the war, will be given pa.s.ses to allow them to return to their homes, and will not be made prisoners of war, nor will their property be taken from them.

ROBERTS, Field Marshal, Commanding-in-Chief Her Majesty's Forces in South Africa.

Government House, Bloemfontein, 15th March, 1900.

CHAPTER V

TREATING OF MANY PEOPLES