AT THE FRONT.

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, Volume 1, Issue 6, 1 March 1900, Page 43

AT THE FRONT.

Lsfy By Kkeduiuc Yiluious. K§|m

(All Rights Reserved )

Moddeu R[ visit, December 27. \ y^HEN 1 lauded at Port Elizabeth I \A/ f° llll( i that tliere were four separate commands about to take immediate action against the Boers. The column for the relief of Ladysmith was concentrating at Ere re, in Natal ; General Gatacre was confronting the Boers at Stormberg, near the Orange Free State; General French was approaching a point more westerly, and General Lord Methuen, with his Kiinberley relief force, had scored several successes against the Boers — namely, at Grasspans, Belmont, and M odder River. Now, the question for me was : Which of these commands would be the most interesting to join, from a journalistic and artistic point of view? It took me but a moment to decide, and 1 came to the conclusion to share the adventures of Methuen's division. The relief of Kiinberley, and the rescue from the clutches of the Boers of that great patriot and schemer for the honour and enlargement of the British Empire — Mr. Cecil Rhodes — would probably appeal more to the sentiment of the British and Colonial public than any of the other heroic phases of the war. There was also another and a most interesting reason why I should choose Methuen's column. The smart contingents of colonial troops from New Zealand, New South Wales, Victoria, Tasmania, Queensland and Canada were either with that General's field force, or protecting his lines of communication ; and here was an opportunity to see what our gallant brethren of the Antipodes and America were capable of. Luckily for me,

Colonel Fairliolmo, of the Royal Artillery, was commandant at Port Elizabeth, and it was owing to his courtesy that the necessary passes for the front were sent on from Capetown to De Aar Junction, where 1 found them awaiting me. While I was marking time in Port Elizabeth, I mot two well-known military ollicers. One was the smart übiquitous Major Stuart Wortley, who had just arrived from Italy and Spain, whore he had been purchasing mules. Wortley is always a succohh, and fortune bad favoured him even with mules, for out of several thousand animals the losses on the passage to the Cape were only ten. The Major was now hastening to join bin regiment in JNatal. Another remarkable identity passing through Port Elizabeth wns the famous young engineer, (J inward, who now sported on his shoulder strap the star and crown of lieut. -colonel. But a year ago he was simply "Mr. Girouard," of Nubian Dosert fame. lie bad vacated his post of director of Egyptian railways for a time to give bin valuable services to the Cape Government lines, acting under military regime. Almost immediately on leaving the old Dutch port, one is confronted with the stern reality of war. All the important culverts and bridges on the way to l)e Aar are vigilantly guarded. The serviceable colonial volunteer corps, the Prince Alfred Guards, were watching the line as far as Naauwnoort. At one of the bridges on route, where the Boers, a few days ago, had destroyed the permanent way, a Prince Alfred sentry was keenly surveying the plain beyond, with his rilie ready to hand. A notice board stood

near, on which was inscribed the significant notice : "Trespassers will be prosecuted. — By order." At Eosmead all trains are now stopped for the night, and are allowed to proceed at dawn, owing to the possibility of the line being tampered with by Boer emissaries under cover of darkness. This stoppage brings one seven hours late to De Aar, and we arrived at the famous stragetical Junction at nine o'clock, instead of two, in the morning. From this point westward the line is entirely in the hands of the military. Luckily my companion and I were delayed but a few hours at the station, and were allowed to proceed to Orange River by the kindness of the colonel of the Cornvvalls in the same train with that regiment, which was hurrying up to the front. The country from De Aar north-westward is almost as arid in appearance as some parts of Western Australia, but broken here and there with little avenues of poplars, which end in a clump of bright foliage, where from its snug shadow peeps some little Dutch homestead. Though little water is seen, small (locks of sheep and goats and sleek oxen browse on the scanty grass and salt turf. Kopjes (pronounced coppy) stud the undulating plain like purple islands in a sea of gold under a cobalt sky, till a green fissure winds its way for miles and miles across the plain, and the white tents of a regiment stud the veldt (called felt), and the Orange River is reached. Up to this point all had gone well with us war correspondents — for Mr. F. Wilkinson, of the Sydney Daily Telegraph, had joined me en route— but here an almost disastrous delay awaited us. On presenting ourselves to the commandant, we were informed that no further war correspondents were allowed at the front, in spite of our passes issued by the Commander of the South African forces at the instigation of the London War Office. Here, within seventy miles from our gaol, and after six weeks tedious ocean voyage from Australia, we were about to be thwarted in our endeavour to get to the front. Things had been looking rather gloomy for war correspondents, two men had already been

sent back from the Modder River. One young gentleman who had probably threatened the powers that be for some imagined slight on the part of the staff, with the thunder of his journal, the Swillwell Advertiser, or some other important rag, had passed through Orange River station, under escort en route for Capetown. Another, I heard, had been too fond of the luxuries of the local sutlers — not a dry goods store — and had received full permission to go where — to use a music hall refrain — " the booze was cheaper." No wonder generals in command do not love war correspondents, when journals are so indiscreet regarding their choice of men to represent them. But in our day there are so many gentlemen of means who are willing to pay their own expenses and go for the "fun" of the thing, that papers cannot resist the temptation of doing things on the cheap, and advertising from "'our special." Anyway, in spite of the serious rebuff at Orange River, L thought I would have a shot personally, so I wired to Lord Methuen asking permission to proceed, and early the next morning I received the welcome reply : " Certainly. Glad to see you. May come at once." Trains were running with troops and munitions pretty frequently to points northward, but not so far as Modder River. The iiext train to that spot would not leave until nine that night, and we would probably arrive at the front at dawn. Still, I felt confident we should be in time for the battle. Hitherto, I had always been lucky. Why should fortune fail me now ? The waiting for the train that Sunday at Orange River, though a bitter experience enough at the time, probably saved me from a terrible calamity — which I was soon to learn. With my necessary pass in my pocket and a lighter heart, I looked round the camp. This important post was well secured, the surrounding kopjes were mounted with artillery, and a strong scouting force was always on the alert, while the Cornwalls had just relieved a regiment pushing further to the front. The unit of New South Wales infantry, under that smart young Australian, Captain Legge, had just entrained for

lielmont — a point higher up the line, where the Boers might give trouble. It was simply remarkable how this little unit had been licked into shape during the journey from Sydney to the Cape. It had impressed every command it had passed through from Capetown to Orange Eiver. What surprised many Imperial oilicers was its perfect equipment and mobility. It seemed to want for nothing but the word " Forward ! " and the little contingent would gather itself and its belongings together, and move from one point to another without the slightest bustle or fuss. The refreshment room of the Orange Eiver Railway Station seemed to be a small Imperial Institute, judging by the number of its Colonial patrons — New Zealanders, Queenslanders, Canadians, Victorians, and Cape Colonists — who congregated within its walls to taste, for the last time for many a day, the sweets of civilisation. Here Major Bailey, on special service from Australia, had the h'rst staff appointment of the contingent. Major King Hall, one of Kitchener's successes on the line of communication in the Soudan, was cam]) commandant, and Captain Banon had the arduous post of traffic manager. Eor several nights and days this vigilant young officer had hardly had the proverbial forty winks, and dozed at night on a stretcher placed on the platform, awaiting the arrival of and hurrying forward the numerous trains, loaded with troops, horses, mules, artillery, bully beef, and hard tack. Lieutenant Cartwright, engineer, of Canadian Pacific Eailway fame, had brought his experience to bear on reorganising the Orange Eiver depot, and had rigged up temporary sidings and sheds, converting the drowsy little station into a South African Crewe in less than ten days. At half -past nine that evening, my companion and I were informed that our train was ready, and we were tumbled into the guard's van with a half-dozen men of the A.T.C., and a general cargo of sheeps' carcases, potatoes, and flour. A thunderstorm had been raging for- many hours, the rain had come down in veritable sheets, and

the line for many miles was hidden by tho Hood. Tho wator dripped between the warped planking of the roof of tho van, making our life anything but a happy one for many hours. However, with a carcase of lamb for a pillow, a sack of potatoes for a mattress, and a ■ trickle of water from tho roof to soothe my fevered brow—for the atmosphere of tho caboose was some 1()2 above zero— l fell asleep till dawn. About

half-past three in the morning we were shunted while an empty goods pussed iih. The driver of the pausing train told us I hat the army had marched the night before from M odder River, and our guns had already opened fire. At four we steamed over the temporary bridge beside the line iron structure over the Modder River which the Boers had destroyed, and in a few minutes the Modder .Station was reached. The Crown and Eoyal Hotel opposite the station had not yet opened its hospitable portals. A red flag denoted that it enjoyed the patronage of the headquarters staff, but there was no bustle or sign of military, though reveille had long since sounded.

The British army and its general had evidently" left Modder River for good, and was on the march to Kimberley. With the instinct of an old campaigner, I suggested to my friend that we should forage around for a cup of coffee before we joined the fighting. Guns were pounding away, and shells could be easily seen bursting on the enemy's position. Though intensely exciting, I knew it was only the lever de rideau to the day's drama. So we. stirred up one of the bauds of the hotel, kindled a fire, and commenced the day's hard work in a sound and proper manner with hot coffee, filled our pockets with biscuits and our bottles with water, and started for the battlefield on foot. Young Lieutenant Pritchard, one of the engineers of the great Nubian Desert llailway during Kitchener's Campaign, was in charge of the station, and advised us to keep to the right of the military balloon, which was now a distinct mark in the sky. About two miles of tramping brought us in full view of the field. It was a beautiful morning; the previous night's deluge had laid the dust, and the air was fragrant and balmy. Before us lay almost a level plain, through which the dull muddy, or Modder, River trickled its way on our right flank. In our immediate front the Boer position of Magersfontein stood out like a rocky island in a green sea. Shells were bursting from our Lyddite gun, a 4 point 7 from H.M.B. Doris, scattering rock and stone from the kopjes on the tail end and head of the Boer position — for Magersfontein looked for all the world like the effigy of an abnormal camel, with its head and elongated neck stretching westward, and with its hump and hindquarters squatting towards the river. At this point a bloody assault was waging to cover a still bloodier assault which had failed. Shell after shell from our Howitzers split the rock and tore up the earth round the Boer position, but there was no sign of any activity on their part. The sullen mountains emitted no smoke, no flash of fire streaked their purple flanks, no living soul was seen ; yet the sharp bark of the Mausers, and the spitting and hum of passing bullets,

told us that it was dangerous ground within a mile of the death dealing rock. Yet the Highland Brigade that morning had tried to rush the strongest flank. The wounded from the heroic enterprise were yet dragging their bleeding bodies along the turf towards the " First Aid," and the heaps of dead and dying were still where they fell under the frowning berg, which, like a dog snarling over its bone, dared any to come near. 1 had arrived early enough on the-battle-field, and not too early. My delay at Orange Eiver saved me probably one of the greatest shocks of my life —if not my life itself — and I have experienced in warfare not a few. 1 had been with the Black Watch in many a fight, and no doubt would have thrown in my fortunes with them in this disastrous charge if 1 had arrived the previous night. 1 learnt of the ghastly affair from a colleague, who received his baptism of fire with the Brigade that morning. We met on the battlefield by accident, and he told me in the simplest manner that he had marched with the troops through the rain At an early hour before dawn the Brigade came to a halt in quarter column, about thirty yards in front of a precipitous berg, enshrouded in mist. The battalion was beginning to deploy when, from front and right flank, from earth and apparently from the sky, a deadly hail of bullets tore through the Brigade. Companies fell like one man, not a Highlander could pull trigger, so sudden was the deluge of lead. Soon there was a dark mass of struggling men. Then came conflicting orders. Some heard the charge, others the retreat. Finally Wollen found himself, with many others, crawling along from bush to bush, nursing Mother Earth from the deadly hail, and exhausted and worn, had met me, apparently much astonished that he should happen to be alive, for the bullets seemed to shriek between his legs, arms and fingers, and to whistle past his ears. It was certainly a strange and terrible ordeal for a baptism of fire, for, as he said to me : " Why, there was no show for the money!". Not a Boer was to be seen, not a puff of smoke, and there was

hardly sufficient gloaming to set oft' the flash of the Mausers, There was no sight of the enemy, but there was death all round. But the Highlanders had not suffered the cruel, searching fire for nothing. Beaten back by the Mauser bullets, they came across an outlying trench, which they had passed in the night. This work was held by the Scandinavian contingent, who, unlike the Boers, met our men face to face, and a death struggle ensued at the point of the bayonet, which was, no doubt, quite a refreshing incident to our gallant Highlanders after emerging from the ghastly death trap of the Boers. I saw a few of the wounded of this advance trench. The Scandinavian in command had a bayonet thrust thro.ugh his stomach, and was dying. He signed to me that he was thirsty. 1 lifted him up and gave him a cup of condensed milk. A wounded companion lying by his .side said, in very good English : " Its no use to give it him, sir, it only comes out of the hole in his stomach." This was true, but still the poor fellow had the sensation of the refreshing draught passing down his throat. It was his last drink. 1 can see his eager, hungry look even now, and though an enemy, 1 wish I could have done more for him. A few hours afterwards he was buried by the side of the heroes of the Highland Brigade. Hot fighting still continued on our right. The Guards and all available troops were pushed forward to check any attempt of the enemy to follow up our reverse, it was strange to see the skirmishing Hue of the (Gordon's come within the zone of the enemy's lire. It was mj first experience of smokeless powder — with both forces — and there was a strange weirdness about it that struck me forcibly. There was absolutely nothing to denote that men were in bloody conflict, but the ever trickling stream of wounded. Men moved forward — front, half -right, half -left— and bringing their rifles to the ready, no puff of smoke denoted they had fired, and no sign but a sharp report from the enemy's trenches marked the point from which one of our men had received his

quietus. The sharp crackle of the rilles was incessant. There is little for the picture-maker in modern warfare. Troops are all drowsed in monotonous colour, the tone of the landscape. There is no apparent distinctive rank, for the respective grades are ripped from l-ho shoulder-straps ; olliecrs carry rifles and bayonets, from general to corporal ; the Highlanders wear a kharki apron to hide the target of the kilt ; the lances of the troopers are coloured the same hue ; cannon are painted kharki, and even war correspondents have been compelled to dye their piebald or trrey horses with Condy's iluid, to avoid the vigilant eye of the Boer snipe. The enemy's position at Magersfontcin was too strong for Methuen's little fora* to attack. Some lifteen thousand Boers wen* lying behind most perfect defensive trenches, from the head of the Camel Rock to its tail, and in rifle-pits on the plain as far as the river on our flank, some six miles of earthworks, it was a task that a general with 20,000 men would think twice about before tackling, and Lord Methuen had little over half that number. This incident of Magersfontein is the first check, up to dale, of the only victorious general in the campaign. Belmont, Grass pans, and Modder River were all positions of considerable strength ; hut. Magersfontein is a tougher nut than all to crack. 11. Moddkk Rivkk, January s. Til K Crown and Royal Hotel, when I returned from the battlefield to Modder River, had never before, in the shoit period of its existence, seen so many visitors thronged in its corridors, outhouses, or closely nursing the shade of its verandahs. In the evening it was a veritable Hotel Dieii, for its present patrons were the survivors of the wreck of the Highland Brigade— and a more battered and bloody crew I have seldom seen. The ambulanco carts, with their smart teams of six or ten mules, were trotting up with their sorry burdens till late at night, liy the

light of the moon strong arms, with almost feminine tenderness, stretched out to receive the maimed, suffering and exhausted travellers, who, stricken down at dawn, had lain patiently under the torrid sun all day, hardly daring to stir to raise their water bottles till darkness came, for the vigilant, remorseless foe, safe and snug behind his cover of rock, fired on all that moved. There was ii) classification of the wounded that night; the injured men lay shoulder to shoulder. A reverend father was soothing the last moments of one poor fellow, whilst the surgeon was trying to save the life of his immediate neighbour. The breath of the night was sweet and cool after the feverish

turmoil of the day. The slightly wounded stood iv groups nursing their maimed hands and arms, swathed in bandages, while they whispered over the terrible events of the morning, wondered why they had been led into that veritable death-trap at Magersfontein, and hoped that their beloved leader was still alive ; for there had been no news of General Wauchope since he dashed forward into the jiuvs of death at break of day. I never felt so proud of being a Britisher and claiming the same nationality as that brave warrior, thau on that memorable night after the battle. There was hardly a murmur or a sigh from the feverish and

tortured Highlanders, and if a man could speak it was always in a cheery, hopeful strain, his sole wish being to pull trigger and use bayonet again. One young trumpeter, with a face moulded and coloured like that of a beautiful girl, had a curious experience for his baptism of fire. When the Brigade was about to break under the terrible crosslire of the enemy, a young officer (not of his own regiment) ran up to him, and, asking him whether he was game to follow, ordered him to sound the charge. A number of men readily responded to the call. They ran forward a few yards, when the plucky young officer was shot The trumpeter then stumbled and fell headlong into a trench.

Three Boers grabbed him and took him prisoner, when two Highlanders dashed in, bayoneted the Boers, and dragged him out of the trench. One of his rescuers was shot down, while he and the remaining Highlanders crawled along the open. But the seai'chiug fire from the trenches found them out. A bullet seared his thigh, and he lay feigniug death till the heat caused him to feel for his water bottle. In the act of drinking a bullet passed through his arm, and another struck the water bottle and seared his lips and face. A long dark smear marred the beauty of his nut-tanned cheek, but, with a merry twinkle in his large blue

eyes, he said : "I had my drink all the same." Eventually, by lying low for a time and wriggling along on his back, he fame to the •• First Aid," and was at last forwarded down to Modder River. The Highland lad rested hut little that night, for he was continually mi the move helping his more seriously wounded comrades. Another of the Black Watch showed me his hand, badly mauled by what the surgeons told him was an explosive bullet. It was terribly smashed, but the man was quite hopeful of being all right in a day or two. 1 did not like to tell him that' it probably meant amputation. My companion the next morning, hearing about the Boer explosive bullets, came up to me, and, with a cunning look, whispered : " T have found one of those explosive bullets that smashed that poor fellow's hand." " Oh !" said 1, il this is interesting; let me see." And he produced from his pocket an empty sparklet shell ! There was much amusement with my colleagues over that explosive bullet till I showed the discoverer my iurator, and explained the usefulness and luxury of the sparklet. Anyway, it shows the popularity of this excellent invention ; for even the supposed ignorant and uncivilised Boer has advanced so far as the comfort of a> rated water to quench his thirst in the trenches. Whatever the British soldier lias to say regarding the way he has been sacrih'ed in attempting to carry almost impregnable positions during the war, he can never complain of want of solicitation on the part of the authorities for his comfort when he is once hors tie combat. The ambulance and hospital arrangements from first to last are the most perfect and well organised that I have yet seen in any campaign, and seem to me so complete in every detail for the comfort of the wounded or sick soldier that they can hardly be bettered. The present mode of warfare makes it exceedingly dangerons, often impossible, to assist the seriously hurt till some arrangement has been made with the enemy to bring off the wounded, or till they can be moved under cover of night. At Magersfontein and else-

where heroic deeds have been done in succouring the wounded by comrades and surgeons during the battle, but as this campaign progresses it will be seen whether this heroic folly can be allowed to go on. It seems excessively inhuman and un-English to leave wounded comrades on the Held, yet the wounded in this war have seen the necessity of being left— and prefer being left — alone till after the light. There have already been many instances where bearers approaching wounded have been earnestly requested not to come near by the man they were about to succour, owing to the danger of being shot again when being lifted from cover on to the stretcher. Out of innumerable instances the following have come under my notice of this — if 1 may again use the expression— heroic folly in succouring wounded. Colonel Keith 'Falconer was lulled as he lifted his head from cover when he heard that Hevan, of the sth, was hit. Beau Kgar and Kay, both of the fill), were hit in attempting to succour wounded. At Magersfontein, Milton, of the Mounted Infant) 1 )', though wounded, received a more severe injury, which caused his death, through the attentions of a comrade who would insist on succouring him in wpite of his remonstrances. Captain. Percy Probyn, attached to the Gordons, found that the .second shot had passed through Mil ford's liver, and though he himself has been instrumental in assisting many wounded under fire, he acknowledges the futility of it. That veteran and now retired war correspondent, Archibald Forbes, L'L.D., a few years ago predicted, in an excellent article on the war of the future, the hopeless risk of succouring the wounded until after the fighting was over. One can understand nny risk being taken when the enemy is a Hiivago and cruel one, and does not give quarter; but with a humane arid generous foe like the Boer — who has treated, and will no doubt continue to treat our wounded within the immediate vicinity of his lines with consideration — this heroic folly of picking up the wounded should be diHContinued. I came across an excellent colonial

ambulance corps, the King Williamstown Volunteers, which, next to the Gruard's Ambulance, was doing the best work on the field. Wounded arriving at the ambulance were immediately seen to, given a cheering cup of beet" tea, cocoa, or other, stimulant, when they were lifted into tlie ambulance waggon, and taken to the Hotel Dieu at Modder River, where they awaited the coming of the ambulance train, and were eventually taken on the first stage of their journey, en route for Capetown. At the Orange River the various cases were sorted and arranged, the more serious and hopeless being treated in hospital there, and the others forwarded to the base hospital at Wynberg, Capetown. The Red Cross trains have every comfort within them that a saloon passenger enjoys on the Canadian Pacific Railway. The wounded soldier hobbling or carried toward this car has likely never seen or enjoyed, or even dreamt of the comfort and luxury which awaits him, when faint and weary from the long waiting, huddled next to dead and dying in the shade of the Hotel Dieu, he is tenderly lifted on to the train, and placed in a sweet, snowy white berth, and, if possible, is undressed and sponged and made comfortable with a cigarette and some soothing draught. Womankind are busy about the cars, in the shape of brisk young Netley nurses, sporting the bright scarlet jacket of that Institution, and soon a hot meal is prepared, the delicate cooking of which Tommy has probably never experienced in all his life. Surgeon Major Elemming, recently of Soudan fame, is responsible for all the little dodges and inventions in these marvellously fitted ambulance trains, the description of which I must denote more space to in another letter. Eor three days the dead, the dying, and the wounded thronged the Crown and Royal Hotel, and when the sun declined, the steady tramp of men, with reversed arms, was heard moving towards a little spot about a hundred yards west of the hotel, where the dead were interred. By the side of fifty of his gallant Highlanders poor unlucky Major General Wauchope, the idol of the Brigade, was laid

to rest. Next to him was buried the gallant Lieutenant Colonel (loff, of the Argyle and Sutherlands, who fell near him on the fatal morning. I could not refrain from stepping up to look at Wauchope's graye — I had been with him in many campaigns and loved him as one of the finest soldiers of the Empire. In a soldier's shroud — a blanket — lay the great Highland chief and hero of many campaigns, with a rough wreath of flowers upon his breast. Wauchope seldom faced the foe without being wounded. The last Soudan Campaign, I believe, was the only time he returned home without some visible and tangible sign of his pluck and endurance. With a heart as tender and as sweet as a woman's, he had the courage of a lion. His men adored him as the Russian soldiers loved Skobeloff, and would do his bidding unflinchingly. We feel there must have been some grave mistake at Magersfonteiu, for Wauchope was the first in the trenches, and the first to fall, and those trenches were not taken. So poignant was the grief of his men as they pressed forward that many choked with their dry, heart-broken sobbing. Some anxious to get a glimpse of the body before the earth was filled in nearly slipped me into the chasm. It was some time before I could get out of the crowd, but from what 1 heard in sullen tones from those surging around me, I know there is a fixed resolve to avenge their fallen chief when the next chance comes Mr. Glover and his sons, the proprietors of the Crown and Royal, still tried to keep up the appearance of an hotel by kindly preparing food for odd war correspondents and others stranded at Modder River. Two smart young women busied about in the kitchen, and tried to make tasty things out of tinned salmon and bully beef. It must have been a trying experience for these girls, suddenly confronted with the most terrible phase of warfare, for the wounded and dying were thronging every passage and sideway of the building. These girls were the only refreshing touches of light to the gruesome picture. They seemed to go about their work absolutely indif-

ferent to the terrible scones being enacted around them. To get into the little room in which our simple fare was laid, one had to step o\ r er the poor maimed creatures who lay without the threshold. Two were Boer wounded, and one was unconscious but of one thing, his feverish thirst, and would, whilst we drank our modest tea, querulously ask for an iced lemon squash. The piteous cry startled us considerably. An iced lemon squash ! Ye gods ! what a thing to ask for when sparklets and tepid water with a dash of angostura bitters in it — the only liquor left in the hotel, and which the sweet tooth of the Boers could not stomach — were priceless luxuries. There were some fifteen Boer wounded, the majority of whom were cheerful fellows, anxious to talk and show their

appreciation of the way the hospital orderlies tended to their wants. Several. of them hud \ii ly bayonet wounds. They were all dressed carefully by the surgeon, and eventually sent down in the ambulance train. Ono especially intelligent fellow, who was wounded in the thi»h, chatted with me in j>ood English. He had been one of an advance pout cut off from the main trenches at Ma^ersfontoin, and deplored the fact; that he and his companions had commandeered three of the finest racehorses in Johannei-sbertf, and that these animals were all shot in the fray. Commandeering will soon he an accepted word in the soldier's vocabulary. It sounds better than looting, or pinching, or even stealing. If one finds a thing straying about, with ih> particular owner, it; is considered fair play to commandeer it.