War's Brighter Side Part 29

_Grumble No. 2._--Almost every man has a complaint to make regarding the non-receipt of parcels despatched from home.

Then when you see the water-cart, You rush up for a drink, You're going to get a "quencher,"

At least, that's what you think; But it's only there for ornament, And you're threatened with the "clink."

_Grumble No. 3._--According to some authorities, the soldier, like the camel, can go for lengthened periods without water. The soldier himself thinks otherwise.

By night we had to stand the cold, By day we stood the heat, And we got lots of duty, But not too much to eat; We had two biscuits daily, Some tea(?) and half-cooked meat.

_Grumble No. 4._--Some one having said that eating was a habit, it was decided that several experiments should be tried. The first (half-rations) having proved an unqualified success, should be followed by another of a more exhaustive nature. Tommy suggests that this one (no rations for a fortnight) should be tried upon the officers.

We're rugged in appearance, Of a tint distinctly brown, We're bearded and we're dirty, As well as broken down: So why the d.i.c.kens don't they send Our kit-bags from Capetown?

_Grumble No. 5._--This is what we would like to know.

PLUNGER.

CHAPTER XV

GENERAL POLE-CAREW IN WAR

_A Visit to his Headquarters, and a Feast of "Tommy"

Poetry._

At this time--on the very night before this, if recollection serves me right--I went up to the quarters of the Staats Artillerie, and there found General Pole-Carew in his headquarters. It was always like a breath of new life to see him, to hear his vigorous views on the war he believed in conducting against the Boers, and to note how thoroughly he was the master of all the information of value that could be obtained wherever he was.

His headquarters--remember he was the dandy of the army as well as one of its shrewdest and bravest men--was a bare-walled building that a monk would have considered cheerless. The dining-room, where his guests were received, was not as attractive as any dining-room in any Tommy's barracks at home. It contained a little table heaped with papers and a large table set with kitchen knives and forks, enamelled iron mugs, and sparklet bottles by way of combined service and ornament. I stayed to dinner of beef and potatoes, bread and b.u.t.ter, and whisky and water, and sat next to Colonel Crabbe, of the Grenadiers, with his arm in a sling from his second wounding in the war. A brave and gallant company was there--of beaux sabreurs and veterans who took life as it came and enjoyed its every phase.

Two t.i.tled ladies had been the last guests of that mess. I wonder what they thought when they realised how their idols of the Guards were living. And what they would have thought had they farther realised that these officers were really feeling up to their knees in clover, being vastly better off than they had been at any time in the previous five or six months. When they were enjoying the serious phases of campaigning--out on the veldt in tents, or oftener still with no shelter at all--the ladies would have found them just as spirited and gay--except that no ladies could ever have found them at all or ventured where they were.

Those men of the Guards have long been called the "London Pets" and "stay at homes" and "feather-bed soldiers," but they very quickly lived down their nicknames in South Africa. There n.o.body petted them; they had no beds (or even tents) between Modder of evil memory and Koomati Poort some six or seven months distant, in time, nor did they manage to get sent home--or want to do so, either. Lord! what brave chaps they are! and what fighters! I saw them fight at Belmont, at Modder, and at Maghersfontein, and I know. Through all the killing and wounding and sickness, the forty-four miles of marching in one spell of twenty-two hours, the half-rations, the tropic heat and the intense cold, the officers were ever jocular and spirited. One said to me, as he pointed at Maghersfontein Kopje, "Set a brewery up on top of that and my regiment will take the place in a romp." But the most characteristic anecdote I have to tell of one of these West-end London dandies is told by himself in a letter he sent to me: "It is cold and wet here now. I have got a bad attack of lumbago, and it took me ten minutes to straighten up and get on my feet when I woke this morning.

I went off on outpost duty, and some Boers began sniping at my men until we could not put up with it any longer, when I gave the order to rush over to where they were and do them up. The devils ran away before we could kill them. I am sorry you are down with that leg. You should be here, enjoying all the fun."

We published the sixth of Mr. Kipling's fables in this number, among scores of articles most interesting there and then, but not repeatable to advantage here and now.

THE FRIEND.

(_Edited by the War Correspondents with Lord Roberts' Force._)

No. 13.] BLOEMFONTEIN, SAt.u.r.dAY, MARCH 31, 1900. [Price one penny.

FABLES FOR THE STAFF.[14]

[Footnote 14: Copyrighted; used here by permission.]

BY RUDYARD KIPLING.

VI.

An Intelligence Officer, meeting a strayed Kaffir without visible Means of Subsistence, reprobated him for a Spy and Forthwith cast him into Jail, where he languished for two Days.

At the Expiration of his Incarceration the Kaffir fell into the hands of a Discerning Colonial who filled him with Cape Smoke and engaged him in idle Persiflage for three Hours.

"My Word!" said the Colonial when the grateful Son of Ham had departed, "that Ethiop is full to the back Teeth of most valuable Information! Let us give him a new Coat and a Pound of Tobacco."

"On the Contrary," said the I.O., "He is a Wastrel and a Stinker. He cannot reply to Direct Questions and habitually contradicts himself."

"That," said the Discerning Colonial, "is just It! I am about to act upon his Inaccuracies."

This the Colonial did with great Success, and wiped up Seven of the Enemy advancing up a Spruit in the Cool of the Evening.

On reporting his Achievement, the Intelligence Officer reported the Colonial for supplying the Kaffir with Illicit Liquor.

MORAL. Oh Caesar!

KOPJE-BOOK MAXIMS.

BY RUDYARD KIPLING, PERCEVAL LANDON, AND A. H. GWYNNE.

_Various._

You cannot argue with a Sh.e.l.l, a Mule or a Press Censor.

The nearer to the Press Censor the further from Truth.

(N.B.--This is generally guaranteed by the Press Censor.)

It's a wise Field Marshal that knows his own Generals.

It's a long front that has no turning.

"A sh.e.l.l in time saves nine," as the 4'7 said when it opened on the sniper.

"Heaven helps those who help themselves," as ----'s Horse said when they found the poultry yard.

Providence and the Company Officer have a great deal to look after.

Between two rivers, drink Modderietly.

It's always the next sh.e.l.l that will do the trick.

Five under cover is fifty in the open.