against those to whom the men attributed their ill fortune. Two points must be cleared up before the full truth can be got at. First, did or did not General Wauchope believe he was to advance a great distance farther than the point where he was attacked, to an entirely differ ent part of the field, over to the right of the kopje and around it? Next, did he know that the Boers were intrenched on the veldt in front of the kopje; or did Methuen know this and omit to make it clear to Wauchope? Outside the Scotch Brigade it is said that both the Lieutenant-General and the Brigadier-General knew the fact, but the Scotch are convinced this was not the case, and so, rather than trespass on angry ground, it is best to leave the question open, as indeed it is. More absurdities, and even downright inventions and lies, have been current about this matter than about anything else that has taken place in the war, but as I have enjoyed peculiar facilities for learning whatever is reliable, I trust that my statement of what actually took place will be found to be so clear, and void of ornament and bias, as not to call for contradiction or correction in any important detail. Some idea of the terrors of the situation in which the Highlanders found themselves, while marching wholly unprepared for assault, may be gained from the following figures, the record of a surprise and attack which lasted only a minute, or at the most three minutes. The much slighter losses of the Gordons, who escaped this awful trap, are purposely excluded from the calculation. It must be understood distinctly that quite a different account of this disaster is given by the men of the 42nd, or Black Watch, who deny that they can be justly associated with the panic which seized portions of the brigade. They insist that they had already begun to carry out General Wauchope's order for a wider and looser formation, and that when the shock came their ranks 1 In this number (218) are 10 wounded men taken prisoners by the Boers. 2 The Boers took 79 prisoners, including 10 wounded and 14 whose names were given to the British immediately after the battle. The names of the rest were not known to the enemy. They claimed to have buried 15 Highlanders, and this number, with the 45 prisoners whose names were not known, would account for one more than the 59 missing. were over-lapping at the ends, as one moved forward to extend the one in front. They assert that they then lay down, and kept their position, very few joining in the retiring movement. They say further that the men of their battalion, who were found dead in such numbers close to the Boer trenches, were not killed by the first surprising fire, but met death during the after-course of the battle. The Seaforths also claim to have held their position through the awful catastrophe, and an officer of note, whose name I am not at liberty to mention, says that it seems to him that the Black Watch and the Seaforths presented very nearly their full strength, as he saw them shortly after the great shock. This officer received some orders from General Wauchope soon after the surprise. He went off to deliver them, returned in a very few minutes, and could then see nothing of the General. He himself fell wounded at the moment, and knows no more. There are as many stories as there were men in the battle, and I pass over all but the above, which come from such sources, and are so blended with a demand for justice to those who missed the panic, that I include them rather than even seem unfair. CHAPTER XX THE MESS OF THE WESSEX FUSILIERS It was interesting, when no actual fighting was afoot, to notice the social habits of our gallant officers. We are at mess with, let us say, the Wessex Fusiliers. This officers' mess is very proud of itself, because it has commandeered a lot of boards, and built a table twenty feet long and three feet wide, with a bench running along either side of it. Next it has borrowed the canvas cover of an ammunition waggon, and spread this out over six posts so as to shade the table at high noon. In the morning the fierce African sun blinds all who are on the southern side of the table, and in the afternoon the ferocious glow of it broils and dizzies all who sit on the northern bench. If we move our legs along the boards we get splinters in them. If we lean on the table we get jam-stains on our khaki sleeves. But that doesn't matter much now. If you had lost a company in three rounds of the war, if you had missed your bravest companions, and sent their things home to their wives, or down to the hospital at Wyn berg, if you thought the chances were that you would not be alive yourself the day after to-morrow, what would you care whether you ripped your breeches on a nail, or whether it was marmalade or Cape jam that has stuck your coat-sleeve to the table? The colonel is a stickler for promptness. If you are going to sit with frizzled eyeballs at his mess, if you are going to tear your breeches and soil your sleeves at his table you must be there sharp at six. Then you will be invited up close to him, where you can use his funny little mustard-pot that looks like a box of ointment, and you can borrow his big tablespoon to stir your sugar in your tea, while the majors and the captains look on green with envy--and maybe the colonel will fill his sparklet with diluted mud and a Mauser bullet full of carbolic gas, to drive your whisky and mud and sand down your throat-your chicken-like throat which has swallowed sand until it might be a tube of emery-paper. "Don't walk on the windward side of the tableyou, I mean," says the colonel to a soldier servant. "What's your name? Well, you're always kicking up the sand and letting it blow all over our food." (Then turning to his guests): "Now, in India, the native servants "I heard the firing this afternoon," says the major to a captain across the table; "scouting party of the Lancers, eh? Any one hurt?” |