War's Brighter Side Part 22

Don't "steal" a horse at all, but let it "wander into your lines."

Don't drive a flock of sheep across the pond of the Headquarter Staff; they might delay the Commander-in-Chief and make him angry.

Don't wear a bunch of false hair in your hat; it was never served out to you.

Don't carry ladies' silk stockings in your wallets; they won't fit you.

Don't shout out in camp, "Who's stolen my silk umbrella?" People might ask you where you got it from.

Don't avoid ostentatiously the Provost Marshal as he rides along; greet him kindly and openly and perhaps he will not suspect you.

SMALL AMMUNITION.

At Colesberg, in one of the numerous cavalry fights, an old Boer was held at mercy by a lancer who had his lance ready to strike. "Moe nie!

Moe nie!" cried the old man, which, being translated, means "Don't, don't!" The lancer, however, didn't understand Dutch, and replied, "I don't want your money, I want your life," but the renewed appeal was too piteous, and the old man was taken prisoner.

CHAPTER XII

"VIVE LA COMPAGNIE"

_Four Correspondents Dine the General, the Governor, and Rudyard Kipling, and Produce_ THE FRIEND _as well_.

"Alles zal recht komen" were the words of the late President Brand, true friend of the English, which were graven on the pedestal of his statue before the doors of the Residency. We repeated them in new "tabs" beside the heading of our paper on March 28th, with an amended English translation facing them: "All has come right."

"All shall come right," we said, in our editorial, "was the motto of the late Orange Free State. What a prophet was he who conceived it, and how quickly has come the fruition of his prophecy! All has come right."

We published an appreciative editorial upon Sir Alfred Milner, who had come on the previous day upon a visit to Lord Roberts. It was written by Mr. Landon. Mr. Kipling contributed more "Kopje-Book Maxims," and bore a heavy hand in the production of an amusing column, ent.i.tled, "The Military Letter Writer."

This was the way that column came into being. Mr. Landon, Mr. Kipling, and I were in the poet's bedroom when Mr. Landon produced a model letter-writer which he had found somewhere. I take great credit for the phrase "found somewhere"; it might, with any other man than Mr.

Landon, be so full and rich in meaning. The book professed to be a sober guide to the young and the ignorant in the paths of epistolary literature; therefore it was bound to be supremely funny. We screamed over what Landon read to us out of it.

Said Mr. Kipling: "Let's write some model military letters," and, as was his wont, he seized a pencil and paper and began to write No. 1, reading as he wrote. He urged us both to contribute, and Mr. Landon tried with much good intent, while I wished to do so, but could not begin to keep pace with the poet. Instant collaboration is almost always impossible, especially where the inspiration comes to one man who is seized by it, and begins to give it expression before his companions can match their minds with his. Therefore Mr. Kipling went on and on, and Mr. Landon took the block and pencil and wrote as Mr.

Kipling talked. Thus were produced letter No. 1 and the italicised introduction to No. 2; the rest Mr. Landon arranged and edited out of his book.

The column was pieced out at the end with No. 3 of Mr. Kipling's "Fables for the Staff," which was, therefore, hidden in a bottom corner of the page--a stroke of genius on the part of those whom we anathematised collectively in the singular number as "The Dutch Compositor."

Mr. Buxton had been called away to Capetown just after Mr. Kipling's arrival, and my a.s.sociates, hag-ridden by the confusion and annoyances consequent upon the lack of a practised head to the little inst.i.tution, had thrust upon me the honour and hard work of what may be called the managing editor's place. Thenceforth it was my duty to deal with the gnomes in the dust hall, the retiring and reticent cas.h.i.+er in another building, and the inmates of the Home for Boer Compositors, otherwise known as the office of the late unlamented _Express_. When I saw the genius of the Master thrust to the bottom corner of the paper, or made grotesque by mis-spelling and exhibitions of "pi," I felt that I alone was to blame, and hid myself and vowed to produce better results if I had to set up the type myself.

From an able major of Engineers we received for this number a confident and well-studied reply to Mr. Gwynne's articles on the effects of the war upon military science.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Dinner of the 28th of March 1900 At Bloemfontein.

_1st page of Menu._]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _2nd page of Menu._]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MENU.

Tomato Soup.

Boiled Salmon.

Parsley Sauce.

Frica.s.see of Chicken.

Braized Ox Tail.

Roast Sirloin of Beef.

Roast Turkey.

Salad.

Potatoes.

French Beans.

Cabinet Pudding.

Blanc Mange.

Jellies.

Anges a Cheral.

Cheese. Coffee.

_3rd page of Menu._]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Alles zal recht komen.

_4th page of Menu._]

This was the day upon which Mr. Landon, Mr. Gwynne, Mr. James Barnes, and myself were to entertain at dinner Sir Alfred Milner, Lord Roberts, and Rudyard Kipling. The _menus_ had been printed under the eye of Mr. Landon, and were very distinguished examples of plain typography. As twenty-four were to be used, we gave twelve each to Mr.

W. B. Wollen, R.I., and to Mr. Lester Ralph, war artists with the army, requesting these able friends to do their best to produce on each guest's _menu_ a picture ill.u.s.trative of some exploit or leading characteristic of the recipient. A very notable series of drawings resulted--so notable that the Field-Marshal, whose own card showed him in the act of receiving the Keys of Bloemfontein, asked to see them all. When, toward the end of the repast, each man wrote his name on every _menu_, you may be certain those bits of pasteboard bearing the simple words, "The Dinner of the 28th of March, Bloemfontein, 1900," leaped high in value, and in the jealous pride of every man who had one.

That was a dinner! An affair as unique and as singular an episode of war as--as, let us say, THE FRIEND itself. Beside the great General, the High Commissioner, and the Poet of the Empire, we had with us General Pretyman, Military Governor of the town; General Forestier-Walker, the courtly commander of the Lines of Communication; the gallant, debonair Pole-Carew; the redoubtable flas.h.i.+ng-eyed Hector Macdonald; the polished Sir Henry Colvile; Colonel Otter, the leader of the men with the maple-leaf; Lord Stanley, diplomat and censor; Lord Kerry; Colonel Girourd, binder of new Empire-fractions with threads of steel; Colonel Hanbury Williams, the High Commissioner's right hand; Colonel Neville Chamberlain, veteran at Empire building--and then our comrade-historians of the pen and pencil, W. B.

Wollen, R.I., Lester Ralph, H. F. P. Battersby, A. B. Paterson, H. C.

Sh.e.l.ley, and W. Blelock. We had invited Lord Kitchener, but he was away at Prieska. On his return he expressed his regret that he had not partic.i.p.ated in this historic gathering. Excepting Lord Kitchener, whose field of endeavour was so ably represented, only Mr.

Chamberlain, of all the great empire builders of the day, was missing.

We dined at the railway station, because it had the largest room and best cook in the new colony.

I hear the band outside. I see a carriage roll up, and Sir Alfred Milner springs out, spare-framed and visaged like an eagle. The Field-Marshal follows him, precise in movement, gentle of mien but erect and firm as steel, with long usage of command resting as light and firm upon him as if he was born with it. I see the two leaders halt and urge one another to take the lead, but Lord Roberts is the firmer and will not go first. Again at the door of the dining-hall the two great men halt and dispute with pantomimic gestures, each anxious to honour the other. When the toasts came, and Mr. Landon told Sir Alfred Milner that he was to be toasted first, the High Commissioner exclaimed, "It's absolutely wrong." Mr. Landon replied, "I am under orders. I must obey Lord Roberts," for the Field-Marshal had already been consulted. All the others are in the room, under the flaming flag and the huge paper roses. We dine--better than at the Residency--upon several courses and with good wine a-plenty.