From Capetown to Ladysmith: An Unfinished Record of the South African War

RINGING DOWN THE WOUNDED-A HARD-WORKED DOCTOR-BOER PR

ith, O

ly we realised that it was night. A mob of unassorted soldiers st

"Over here!" "Over where?" Then a trip and a heavy stumble and an oath. "Doctor wanted 'ere! 'Elp for a wound

ness moving showed a unit that

whither, crossing and recrossing, circling, stopping and returning on their stumbles, slipping on s

feel below-firm rock. Stop-and the firm rock spun and the leg shot into an ankle-wrenching hole. Scramble out and feel again; here is a flat face-forward! And then a tug that jerks you on to your back again: you forgot you had a horse to lead, and he does not like the look of this b

lock. At the bottom were half-a-dozen tents, a couple of lanterns, and a dozen waggons-huge, heavy veldt-ships lum

portunate cries. "Wounded man here! Doctor wanted! Three of 'em here! A stretcher, for God's s

man bent over-and suddenly it was dark. "Here, bring back that lantern!" But the lantern was staggering up-hill again to fetch the next. "Oh, do straighten out my arm," wailed the voice from the ground. "And cover me up. I'm perishing with cold." "Here's matches!" "And 'ere; I've got a bit of candle." "Where?" "Oh, do straighten out my arm!" "'Ere, 'old out your 'and." "Got it," and the light flickered up again round the bro

ores; there were blankets to carry men in and mattresses whereon to lay them. They came down with sprawling bearers, with jolts and groans, with "Oh, put me down; I can't stand it! I'm done anyhow; let me di

s; others they laid on mattresses on the ground. In the rain-blurred light of the lantern-could it not cease, that piercing drizzle to-night of all nights at least? The doctor, the one doctor, toiled buoyantly on. Cuttin

strength, the last drop of comfort he could wring out of his seared, gallant soul. In war, they say,-and it is true,-men grow callous: an afternoon of shooting and the loss of your brother hurts you less than a week before did a thorn in your dog's foot. But it is only compassion for the dead that dries up; and as it dries, the spring wells u

-bearded patriarch, in a black frock-coat and trousers. With simple dignity, with the right of a dying man to command, he said in his strong voice, "Take me down the hill and lay me in a tent; I am wounded by three bullets." It was a bad day for the Kok family: four were on the field, and all were hit. They found Commandant Schiel, too, the

friendly, and naturally congratulated each other on having done so well. These Boers were neither sullen nor complaisant. They had fought their best, and lost; they were neither ashamed nor angry. They were manly and courteous, and through their untrim

herewith; one got his fingers into a case and ate cooking raisins. Once, when a few were as near sleep as any were that night, there was a rattle and there was a clash that brought a hundred men springing up and reaching for their rifles. On the ground lay a bucket, a cooking-pot, a couple of tin plates, and knives and forks-all emptied out of a sack. On top of them descended from the waggon on high a flame-coloured s