Battlefield Wonders

Southland Times, Issue 14797, 14 November 1900, Page 4

Battlefield Wonders

While there is life there is hope, and there is hope for the soldier sometimes even after he has been hit by a Boer bullet. There have been some marvellous escapes from death on the battlefields since the war began. One soldier owes his life to the Queen's chocolate box, another to his matchbox. Sergeant Woon, of the Natal Mounted Police, who went through the siege of Ladysmith, and was dangerously wounded in the final attack on the town, declares that he owes his life to the fact that he had a whistle in his mouth at the time a bullet struck him, the whistle diverting the bullet into the cheek. The man who was saved by a matchbox has a wonderful story to tell. He was sitting down on the top of Hussar Hill when the Welsh Fusiliers brought their Maxim along just in front of him. The Boers, who Baw the move, started firing at once, and one of their bullets hit his khaki coat pocket just in line with his heart. A box of matches in the pocket turned it aside, and the ballet went through the centre of the chest, and came out at his back, just missing a vital organ. But by way of wonderful escapes this will be found hard to beat. A drummer of the Connaughts was drinking soup out of his Maconochie's rations — a tin of meat and vegetables — when two shots went through it. He took a rifle from one of the wounded to guard himself ; and that was knocked out of his hand. He picked another up with a bayonet fixed, and the bayonet was smashed. Another man of the same regiment was hit nine times without being seriously hurt. We were (writes a trooper of Plumer's force from Valpen's Fan) about seventeen miles from Mafeking when suddenly the Boers came rushing out of their forts like bees from a beehive, Estimating them to be about 1200 strong, we took up a position on the railroad, and fired thirty -five volleys at them. Then we retired at the gallop. For the whole thirteen miles of our retreat we stopped at intervals of five minutes, dismounted, and fired a few volleys into our pursuers at 500 yards range. The retirement, however, was very arduous work, for the country was full of thick bush, and our men and horses were being bowled over at almost every step. I had my horse shot under me, and had to make my escape as best I could. We eventually reached the huts at Bamattakana, after four hours' fighting, and then the sport began in real earnest. Our Maxims opened fire in order to check the Boers for a few minutes ; meanwhile Colonel Plumer had taken all the men away with the exception of my company. The order to retire was given when our Maxim got jammed in a very awkward position, and thirty of us, under our captain, were ordered to save it. Colonel Plumer and all his men had by this time gone some considerable distance, and we were left with only four horses among the lot of us. We succeeded in keeping the Boers at bay until the gunner and a couple of others had mounted the gun on a norse and galloped out of action. Our position then became very critical, as the Boers had taken shelter in some houses about 300 yards away, and were firing volley after volley at us, wounding and killing several of our men. I was touched on the shoulder by a bullet, and sent staggering back. Putting my hand to my neck I found that it had swollen greatly, and I said to myself : " I'm a gone coon." However, the captain and a corporal caught hold of me and rushed me away towards a horse. As the three of us offered a good target for the Boer rifles I told my rescuers to look out for themselves. At last I reached a horse, and managed to scramble into the saddle, when another bullet whizzed past my face, lodging some splinters in my cheek. My horse was hit next, and galloped off at a terrific pace, with the reins trailing along the ground. As luck would have it, he carried me straight into the Boer lines, where he was hit again, and then wilder than ever dashed along the right flank, and took me goodness knows where. When I at last managed to pull him up I bandaged my neck with a piece of my shirt, and patched up my horse's wounds with paper, I was nearly dead with thirst, and was then 40 miles from camp. I set out for camp at 4 o'clock in the afternoon, and after tramping all night and until noon of the next day I met some Kaffirs, who took me into camp, where I was welcomed as one from the grave. Another remarkable case was that of a gunner of the 44th Battery Field Artillery, who owes his life to having a pack of cards in his pocket. He was struck in the left breast by a bullet which lodged in a pack, of cards in the pocket of his khaki jacket, and passed through the whole pack with the exception of the ace of spades. Here it stopped, and that ace of spades could not be purchased to-day for the price of many packs of cards. A stone saved the life of one of the Coldstream Guards. Writing to friends at Billingborough, Lincolnshire, Private Tipler tells of a narrow escape experienced by one of his comrades. He says :" We were lying in a hollow, when one of the Engineers came along with a waggon. I suppose the Boers thought it was abig gun that we were getting up, and they opened fire on us. The bullets came unpleasantly close. One struck a stone immediately in front of the man next to me, and that undoubtedly saved his life. As it was, the bullet cut into his water-bottle and then . into his haverßack. He had a letter which he was going to send home, and the bullet cut the corner off just as if it had been nibbled by a mouse. The incident occurred on his birthday."