A Wet Night
Commando Nek,
Sunday, October 7th, 1900.
As you can see by the above, we are still here, but expect to move to-morrow.
Yesterday was hot and windy, but, beyond one incident, uneventful. Late in the day indigo, watery-looking clouds in the west caused some of us to erect blanket shelters for the coming night, and when the evening having come, a flash of lightning and a distant peal of thunder, followed by a few spatters of rain, heralded what was to come, we wise virgins (pardon the simile) huddled in our booby hutches (unfortunately without lamps) and congratulated ourselves on our astuteness. Soon it came, the lightning flashing, the thunder crashing, the rain pouring, and lastly the wind blowing a perfect tornado. The various jerry-built domiciles stood it well for some time, then the hutch behind us was blown down, and we in ours roared with glee; then another went, and finally the wind, not being able to get at us by a frontal attack, took us on the flank, and up blew one blanket, and the rifles at the ends wavered. Then, with cries of “Close the water-tight compartments,” “Man the pumps,” “Launch the lifeboat,” “Where’s the rocket apparatus?” and such-like remarks, as used by those in peril on the sea, we came out and joined in the fun. The horses, seeing us all about, thought it must be reveillé, and started neighing and pawing the ground, expecting their grub. We were soon inside again under jury-rigging, and went off to sleep to the shouts of “Stable guard, here’s a horse loose!” “Stable guard, here are three horses walking over us!” and the reply, “All right, I’m coming round in the captain’s dinghy,” or some such rejoinder. I could not help smiling when one of our fellows, in response to a cry of “Buck up, boys of the bull-dog breed!” remarked, “Hang it, they don’t even give us kennels.” In the small hours of the morning our hutch collapsed again, and with the blanket on my side supported mainly on my nose, I heedlessly slumbered on. At reveillé the greeting we gave one another was “Oh, what a night!” The Roughs were in a particularly happy frame of mind, though they had slept in the open, for their officers’ tent had come down, also their sergeants’, and the remarks of the former, “Aw, Frisby, have you got that wope?” “Where’s that beastly peg?” “Heah, give me the hammah,” “Isn’t it awful?” had been most soothing to them. Although I did my best to protect my few remaining envelopes, I have just discovered three of them to be well gummed down. One thing must be said to the credit of the rain, it has laid the dust, and that is no small matter.
Monday, October 8th. Having had no mails, we sallied forth with Mr. Clements in the direction of Krugersdorp, with four days’ rations. My last charger being done, I’ve got another ’oss, and he seems rather a good one, though not up to my weight. Last night it came to my ears that the Border Regiment had got their dry canteen up from Pretoria, and it would be open for an hour or so, and that chocolate, jam, cocoa paste, tobacco and other coveted commodities would be on sale. So I was soon mingling with the crowd of would-be purchasers; several of our fellows also joined the crowd, but when it came to their turn to buy were turned away because they belonged not to the Border Regiment. I, however, had not my hat or tunic on, and as there was nothing about my shirt or general appearance to distinguish me from Mr. Thomas Atkins of the Border Regiment, I succeeded in buying four packets of chocolate and several tins of potted meats and jams; then, handing my purchases over to a friend, I again took up my position at the end of the queue and bought some more stuff. The prices were what is commonly known as popular prices, being extraordinarily low for this benighted land. As our four days’ rations simply consist of four of the least popular brand of biscuits imaginable per diem and horrible stewed trek ox, these little purchases are coming in very handy. We camped early in the afternoon on the high veldt. The night was bitterly cold.