Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1900-04-21

along. Mr.. Labouchere won't be pleased a
you"
But the sergeant was nightly pleased,
save that his prisoners had not washed for
some time He said 1T
The Sirdar Inspectfna.
Then we drew to the home Of lies which
Is De Aar-a junction. the pivot Of many Of
our maneuvers and a telegraph center.
II smelled like Umballa platform in the
hot weather. and they kept a he'll there OF
fifty naked telegraph operators. sweating
under the blazing kerosene lamps. each man
with two pairs of hands and some extra
ears.
Outside was thick darkness, and tho
shunting Of trucks-thousands of trucks
but the steady boom Of the racing instru-
ments beat through all other noises like
the noise Of hiving bees
There was some need TO work. and at
least, one very good reason in the shape OF
big saloon that gIided past us in the
night, lit window revealing just chair
and a neat empty table.
The Sirdar was on the move: going down
to NaauHpoOrt to arrange surprises, and II
Is not at all healthy TO be idle when Kitch-
ener passes by.
Therefore, and before this war is over.
you will hear ali sorts of baseess tales
from certain type of officer who has been
made to work; and you must not believs
them.
After De Aar time tables ceased.
We were cut adrift on the Sargasso sea
of accumula led rolling stock between that
place and Orange River.
Here the rumors begin
There has been klling-a big killing
the first satisfactory killng-at Paardeberg,
up the Modder. Roberts held Cronje in a
ring of fire burning day and night. That
was none of our concern.
We had some news that many wounded
waited for at Modder-thirty officers at
least. and twice as many men-all more or
less had cases.
Here and there one could catch the name
of dead man, and the sisters lips tight
ensd.
Was So-and-so alive? Well. he was a
week ago-some one had seen him.
And Such-another2 Oh, Such-another
had been buried week back.
Along the Line.
Could Number Three go ahead7 Oh. yes;
but there was a block at the Modder, and
Kimberley was sending down a train full.
Number Three whistled madly. Her bust
ness was to get up. load and get away
again. Belmont with the bullet holes
through the station name board. interested
her not nor Graspan either. She had been
that road too often-hot on the heels of the
very fight itself She oh ecked despairingly,
fifth in line of long trains on the red smear
of Modder Plain. The old bridge, wrecked
by the Beers. was now all but repaired.
At present Number Three would go over
the trestle. but as to when Number Three
would get across authority could not say,
and whistling was just waste Of steam.
Merctful rain had laid the dust, which
normally lies ten inches thick and one
could look all across the brick red land.
BY this time you probably know more
about Modder than l. will have seen a hun
dred photographs of the naked, coverless
plain that tits to the thin line of trees and
the dirty little river; lifting again north
ward, as slow wave of the Atlantic lifts
toward Shooters Hill, where the naval gun
played.
North of this again. BLUSH lump in the
morning light. rises Magersfontein
At that precise moment, but the camp
nils and empties swiftly as the river,
most of our men were out with Roberts
nearly thirty miles to thu west ward. Vast
empty acreages showed where their ac-
commodation had stood. Men. horses and
wheels had wiped out every trace of herb
age. and the diminishing prospective of
their patient single files attested how far
afeld the camp oxen must go to Craze
Horsemen by twos and threes wandered
forth attacking interminable distances in
which they were swallowed up. Sidings
solid with trucks spurred left and right
across the plain. and the trucks on the
main line backed up to the very shoulders
OF the resetters repairing the bridge.