“Take heed to thyself, for the devil is unchained.”  We are told that Christian De Wet is loose again, and is trifling with our lines of communication.  If this is so, our supplies will be cut off, the army will be starved, and you will never get this letter.  There has been a pretty general hope that the taking of the capital would mean the end of the war.  “We have fired our last shot,” said some.  At least we counted on a good rest.  Alas! orders have just come in.  Good-bye flowers and shady gardens and dreams of bottled beer and a dinner at the club.  We march immediately.

Talking of soldiers, here is a soldier’s story for you—­

Officer (to distracted Tommy, fleeing for his life under shower of bullets):  “Dash you! what the dash are you running for?”

Tommy, tearing on:  “’Cause I ain’t got no b——­y wings.”

Here’s another—­

First Tommy:  “And the bullets was comin’ that thick——­”

Second Tommy:  “Well, but ’adn’t you got no ant’ills?”

First Tommy:  “Ant’ills!  Why, there wasn’t ant’ills ’nough for the orficers.”

FOOTNOTES: 

[Footnote 1:  This account is true of a type, but I should not let it stand if I thought it would make the reader forget that, besides these, there are any number of men in the army who lead lives in every way straight and honourable.]

LETTER XIX

THE MARCH SOUTH

BETHLEHEM, July 14, 1900.

Whenever in this campaign we have dealt the enemy what looked like a crushing blow, he has always hit back instantly at us.  When Methuen reached the limit of his advance at the Modder River victory, the Boers were round immediately threatening us from behind.  When we took Bloemfontein they at once swarmed round to the east and south, and dealt us two nasty blows at Sanna’s Post and Reddersberg; and no sooner had we taken Pretoria than the same activity was displayed again.

They threatened us now from two points.  Louis Botha had collected a large force, and was watching us from the hills east of the town, while the everlasting De Wet, far south, was breaking up the railway and burning our letters.  The first thing we did, and we did it the very day after entering the capital, was to march against Botha.  Ian Hamilton has paid our little corps the compliment of taking it on as his bodyguard.  He is a general that inspires every one under him with great confidence.  It is curious, by the way, how very soon troops get to know the worth of a leader; just as a pack of hounds knows by instinct when it is properly handled.  Outsiders may argue about this or that general, and analyse his tactics, and never very likely get much nearer the truth (for there is a monstrous lot of luck one way or the other in all manoeuvres, and the ones often succeed that didn’t ought to, and vice versa); but once you are under a man, you don’t need to argue; you know.  We all know that Ian Hamilton, with his pleasant well-bred manner, and the mutilated hand dangling as he rides, is the best man we have had over us yet, and we would all do great things to show our devotion.