THE TERRIBLE GAME OF WAR.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1507, 17 January 1901, Page 6

THE TERRIBLE GAME OF WAR.

WITH A CONVOY ACROSS THE ' ■ "" STORM-BEATEN VEDT.

(By Percival C. Franklin, C.1.V.,. in the “Daily Mail.”)

The sun is setting with the glorious radiance characteristic of the South African sunset in the rainy season. Old Sol is ■ rapidly nearing the horizon, and it serems as though he is trying to surpass in beauty all his previous efforts during the djay. The clouds form a handsome proscenium, the colours varying from the brilliance of blazing gold to deep crimson, filially merging into a plum colour bordered with the inky blackness of a stormy night. It is a magnificent transformation scene, designed by the mistress of scenic stage-craft, Dame Nature. The distant rumble of thunder is heard every now and then. It is a scene surpassing all others for

colour, grandeur, and impressiveness, u _ but to the troops it means a bad night, discomfort, and'danger. But the insatiable appetite of Tommy Atkins must be attended to, and so the convoy must go on, and on, irrespective of weather, carrying, as this convoy does, the food for 40,000 men. The work has to be dbne principally at night, as bullocks cannot work in the stifling heat cf the day. THE ORDER TO INSPAN.

The waggons' are in laager, the bullocks have been driven in, and everybody is resting, when the commanding officer gives the order to inspan. Then ensues a scene of activity for twenty or thirty minutes, troopers saddling up, examining rifles, and packing up their kitchen utensils, c'cnsisting of a mess-tin. “Dicksies” (camp kettles) are being stowecl away in* waggons. ' Eaffiirs, making as much row as possible, are yoking up their teams of oxen. Everything seems to be in a most fearful muddle, and! one wonders how on earth the whole concern can ever get on the move; but in an incredibly short space of time troopers are formed up in sections, bullocks stand quietly in teams of sixteen, and everybody is in his place. The advance guard sets out, a body of mounted infantry, hardy bronzed 1 warriors who by this time can go through anything, hut who do not relisn the im-

portant work allotted to them, because th© people at home think only of the men actually in the fighting line and ignore the men who carry out the more _ arduous and equally dangerous task of escorting the convoys. The order is given for the convoy to advance. The Kaffirs scream a,t the oxen in a peculiar way which no living being but a bullock can understand. Magnificent specimens of manhood are these Kaffirs. Wrapped in nothing but a loin cloth, or perhaps a pair of trousers with both legs amputated above the knee, they look like bronze statuary. They walk with magnificent carriage, each carrying a huge bamboo whip with a lash about ten yards long; and this they ply freely. DREARY SIGNPOSTS. And so the convoy moves slowly on, the. rat© seldom exceeding three miles an hour, but covering a lot of ground in. the twenty-four hours. .>• Presently a waggon gives a great lurch. There is a prolonged creak followed by a sharp snap. One of the back wheels has gone into a hole, and the thick pole which runs beneath the whole length of the waggon has snapped like a twig beneath the great strain. Efforts are made to temporarily mend the waggon, but in vain, and, in face of the approaching storm, no delay can he allowed. The load is distributed between the nearest waggons, the team is unyoked, and the waggon is deserted. By these abandoned waggons, the carcases of dead horses and bullocks, and empty biscuit tins, the way of a convoy may be tracked. The distant thunder is rapidly approaching. Suddenly a few huge spots of rain are felt, immediately followed by a torrential downpour. Everybody is drenched to the skin in a few moments. The storm breaks in all its fury, gathering in power every minute. The blinding flashes become so frequent as to make the scene appear like a cinematograph picture, the landscape being lighted continuously for a minute or two at a time.

The downpour continues, and the dry, sandy veldt rapidly becomes sodden, and soon the convoy is labouring in a perfect mire. The mounted escort are getting into difficulties. The men are uncomfortable, . disagreeable andi snappish, with the exception of one or two bright spirits who must be lineal descendants of Mark Tapley, since their good humour is not damped even by convoy work in wet weather.

>^»p«CT^rmr.ea'g , a»gi3)Bg»»f^«rgg»y» l »pggas rrxsaytmsetxs&z caught by the storm. Splash! A puffing, spluttering sound follows, accompanied by fervent criticisms on South Africa generally. It is a trooper who has strayed a bit. His horse has fallen into a donga with, about five feet of muddy water, or, rather, watery mud in it. He scrambles out, dragging his horse after him. He expresses his disgust in eloquent and forcible but not parliamentary language. Our Mark Tapley friend here shines. He addresses remarks to thei section generally about “some blokes as thinks they can get to Blomfontein quicker by swimming/’ _ The victim of the accident hives the delicate humourist one or two. vitriolic words in reply. ... The rain comes down v,i.th increased force, the inky blackness seerhs to get even more more inky. The bullocks cannot clo any more work. The noble beasts have been gallantly striving to pull their loads through the clinging slush,_ but there is a limit even to the patience of a bullock. In vain the Kaffirs cruelly lash their teams. A halt has to be ordered, and a laager is formed for the rest of the night. If there is one thing in campaigning that damps a man’s military ardour more than another it is bivouacking in the pouring rain on an empty stomach. He feels absolutely miserable. Those men not on duty try to get as comfortable a berth as possible. Some creep under the waggon* tarpaulins, waggons loaded with fodder being especially sought after. Here some persevering individaul has managed to ignite a fire under a waggon (there are wooden articles subsequently missing). Round the fire are crouched twenty or thirty mortals wrapped in their blankets, their wan, drawn, bearded faces showing, the effects of this terrible game of war. A RESPITE- OF STEEP'. The rain continues falling with a swishing noise, the cold night wind's cuts through the wet khaki and chills one to the hone, but no inclemency of the weather can ward off sleep so sorely needed by the troops on the convoy. Under every waggon, were sleeping forms, snatching an hour or two’s blissful forgetfulness midst the misery of seven months. Eying in mud or washed by tiny rivulets it is all the same. They are dead tired, and they sleep regardless of thunder, lightning, cold and rain. r* What are they dreaming of as they lie there.? Of home, perhaps; of the parting from all that made heme home. But the reprieve sleep gives them can endure but. a little while with 40,000 men to feed at the further end of the endless veldt. Towards dawn the storm abates and the advance is ordered . The troops, chilled and stiff, mechanically repeat the process of the night before, and once more the convoy proceeds 01T its way across the pathless veldt. With the exception of a short halt for breakfast, consisting of a biscuit and a pint (or less) of coffee, the march is continued until about 10 a.m., when the convoy halts for the" day, and the bullocks are turned out. to graze. The above sketch is a true representation of an ordinary day’s work in rough weather in the transport service. There ; is also a great danger of attack. Apart from this consideration, however, there is no more trying work on active service. Morale and 1 physique are tested Ho' the utmost, and theke is no greater test of the soldierly qualities of a man. All honour, then, to the Army Service Corps, a corps whose services are absolutely indispensable, and above all, one of the' few whose escutcheons have not been stained 1 in the South African campaign by incompetence and red-tape.