The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1900-04-09

has it at last beneath him he begins to
turn over, as slowly as he has done all
else. He lifts his foot a few inches to
balance himself, and the next instant
there is spit of dust from the sand
beside him, not much more than an
arms length away. He keeps his eyes
on the mark the bullet has made and
remains for some moments as if it had
turned him to stone. Then with a more
laboriOus patience he resumes his
movement, until at last he is on his
back and has the bottle above him. 1t
holds only a few hot drops, but he
thought he had drained even them an
hour ago, and his tongue is like a piece
of fur in his mouth. He got with a
rush to the place he occupies about
8 o'clock in the morning, when a sud
den crackle from the river in front
of him laid the whole line on its face,
where it has remained with occasional
wriggling forward, ever since. He is
on the right of his company, and alone,
for the man next to him, after chatting
the Beers shooting for half an hour,
began suddenly to Whimper and has
been still ever since''
He failed himself to take the bullets
humOrously, but he grew used to Them
ground and struck his belt buckle. Then
he cursed them and was afraid. till he
of thirst
HE knows the action is still going on;
for he can hear the steady pounding of
battery from the hill behind him and
sudden scurries of rifle fire beyond the
river to the left. He knows, too, from
those hateful splits of dust that the Boer
is still behind the bushes in front of him,
but the Boer is always behind something,
and he is tired of trying to shoot and
being shot at by a man whom he never
sees. Besides, if he lifts his rifle the dust
begins to jump again and the rifle bar
rel is sca1ding hot, the varnish is siz-
Zling on the stock as though it stood be-
fore fire and to touch it seems to quick
en- his unbearable thirst. He tries to
guess at the hour as the sun goes over,
and falls on his left He writes words
them out, beWnders an ant which runs
with its bundle of food in front of him;
does anything he can to keep from think
ing of the maddening drOuth within him.
What he really thinks of, God knows.
80 lay there blarsting them Beers as
long as 1 can remember, said one who
had lost consciousness after eight hours
of that kind of fighting and his attitude
was probably characteristic But cursing
is not cool work, and dries man al
ready drouthy, while still the crackle of
fire comes from the river and death
stands before a drink. At last, while
there are still some three hours of day
light the patter of rifles along the dongas
on the further bank grows more and
more hurried till 1t runs into continue
Gus roll. A last determined, disastrous
attempt IS being made 70 push PACK the
enemy's right. The Seaforths, CornWaIs
and Canadians, mixed together, are
clambering, leaping. laundering forward
across the deep intricate channels of the
Donga beds. But the man on the other
side of the river only knows what is go
ing forward by the swell and spread Of
the fire Five minutes and it has sunk
again to the snap, snap of solitary rifles.
/ What has happened, whose are the bod
/ les in those pits of death. Where is the
/ enemy and where the friend? He has
not the least idea If things have. gone
well there will be fresh orders probably,
but no orders come.
cat 6 o'clock, he has been twelve hours
under fire; his last meal was biscuit,
/ fifteen hours back, when he had fallen in
at in the morning, after marching all
/ the day before. But he is aware neither
| of WEAKNESS, nor of hunger, in the fever
| ed walnut brown by the sun, has dry,
| twisted look like the parched stem of a
| scrub, though all the moisture had
been wrung from it. One grows to know
that lookout here. Ills fingers never leave
| his water bottle r his eyes the green
fringe of bush along the rivec. Another
| ing and a new fight seems to be begin
ming far away on the right The sun
is going down, and he can see nothing
to the left of him but a hot gold glare
of dust
a dash forward toward the river. There
is a sharp ring of an order to stop him
and almost with it the quick stammer OF
a dozen shot and the man swings arouno
and pitches forward on his back. The
battle grows louder on the right, a How
itzer battery has come into action, brown
ish puffs of lyddite are bursting along tht
kopje. But the man lying IN the scrut
pays no heed to it. His ears are spreae
out fat his fingers dug into the sand
He is pulling himself slowly forward. his
ewes glaring ahead through the scrub
When a bullet strikes near him. he stop:
a moment, but goes on again. So IN hal
an hour he covers about fifty yards Ht
can see the cool hollow of the river, bu
| there is only brown Grass along its banks
and his one chance lies in dash lie l
on all tours for a spring but he gets NJ
| further \ rifle has been following th'
| faint trail of dust above him and h
sinks down in lump with bulle
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