THE BOER WAR.

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, Volume X, Issue 499, 15 February 1900, Page 17

THE BOER WAR.

(From Our Special War Correspondent WITH General LORD Methuen.) (all Rights Reserved.) AFTER THE BATTLE OF MAGERSFONTEIN. THE “HEORIC FOLLY ” POLICY. THE .BURIAL OF MAJOR - GENERAL WAUCHOPE. Modder River, January 8. The Crown and Royal Hotel, when I returned from the battlefield to Modder River, had never before in the short 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 Motel Dieu, 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 ambulance carts, with their smart teams of six or ten mules, were trotting up with their sorry burdens till late at night. By 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 no 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 in groups nursing their maimed hands and arms, swathed in bandages, while they whispered over the terrible events of the morning, and 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 Wauohope since he dashed forward into the jaws of death at break of day. I never felt so proud of being a Britisher and claiming the same nationality as that brave warrior than 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 colored 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 cross-fire 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 Highlander dashed in, bayoneted the Boers, and dragged him out of the trench. One of his rescuers was shot down, whjlehe.and the remaining Highlanders crawled along the open. But the searching fire from the trenches found them out. A bullet seared his thigh, and he lay feigning death till the heat caused him to feel for his ln 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 bis nuttanned 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 came to the " First Aid,” and was at last forwarded down to Modder River. The Highland lad rested but little that night, for he was continually on 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. I 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, “ I have found one of those explosive bullets that smashed that poor fellow’s hand.” “ Oh,” said I, “ 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 discover my aerator and explained the usefulness and luxury of the sparklet. Anyway, it shows the popularity of this excellent invention ; tor even the supposed ignorant and uncivilised Boer has advanced so far as the comfort of terated water to quench his thirst in the trenches. Whatever the British soldier has to say regarding the way he has been sacrificed 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 de 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 dangerous, often impossible, so assist the seriously hurt till some

arrangement hae been made with the enemy to bring off the wounded, or till they can be moved under cover of night. At Magersfontein and elsewhere 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 inhumane and un-English to leave wounded comrades on the field, yet the wounded in this war have seen the necessity of being left—and prefer being left —alone till after the fight. 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 c uccour, 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 I may again use the expression—

HEROIC FOLLY IN SUCCOURING WOUNDED. Colonel Keith Falconer was killed as he lifted his head from cover when he heard that Bevan, of the sth, was hit. Beau Egar and Ray, both o the Sth, were hit in attempting to succour wounded. At Magersfontein, Milton, of the Mounted Infantry, though wounded, received a more severe injury, which caused his death, through the attentions of a comrade who would insist on succouring him in spite of his remonstrances. Captain Percy Probyn, attached to the Gordons, found that the second shot had passed through Milford’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, Archidald Forbes, LL.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 any risk being taken when the enemy is a savage and cruel one, and does not give quarter; but with a humane and generous foe like the Boer—who has treated, and will no doubt continue to treat our wounded within the immediate vicinity of h’s lines with consideration —this heroic folly of picking up the wounded should be discontinued. I came across an excellent colonial ambulance corps, the King Williamstown Volunteers, which, next to the Guards’ Ambulance, was doing the best work on the field. Wounded arriving at the ambulance were immediately seen to, given a cheering cup of beef tea, cocoa, or other stimulant, when they were lifted into the ambulance waggon and tiken 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. Woman kind 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 Flemming, 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 devote more space to in another letter. For three days the dead, the dying, and the wounded thronged the Crown and Royal Hotels, 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 Goff, 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

grave —I had been with him in many campaigns and loved him as one of the finest soldiers of the Empire. In a soldiers’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 believej was the only time he returned home without some visible and tangible sign of 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 the Russian soldiers loved Skobeloff, and would do his bidding unflinchingly. We feel there must have been some grave mistake at Magersfontein, 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 I 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 eons, 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 indifferent to the terrible scenes being enacted around them. To get into the little room in which our simple fare was laid, one had to step over 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 I 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 had ugly bayonet wounds. They were all dressed carefully by the surgeon, and eventually sent down in the ambulance train. One especially intelligent fellow, who who was wounded in the thigh, chatted with me in good English. He had been one of an advance post cut off from the main trenches at Magersfontein, and deplored the fact that he and his companions had COMMANDEERED THREE OF THE FINEST RACEHORSES in Johannesberg, and that these animals were all shot in the fray. Commandeering will soon "be 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 no particular owner, it is considered fair play to commandeer it. Frederic Villiers.