The Irish standard., 1901-06-08
dozens have no boots at all, and are

sole. Clothing! Go and ask the Stat
fords about the clothing. Ask that
man with the hole in his trousers
large enough for church window.
There are seven devils in that mans
stomach, and they will answer for
him and make his tongue red hot
with oaths. Ask that man with the
tattered sack around his loins. Cloth
ing, forsooth! Ask yet another! That
poor devil trailing along in the dust
and the binding glare of monday
sun. He is good enough. He wears
thick army cloak all the way, be-
cause he has no trousers at all. Kind
gentle, pious, civilized British public
our sons are down in Africa tramping
the red leagues with bleeding feet,
and clothed like an Italian organ
grinders monkey in prehistoric times.
Well might great man sheer at your
unctuous rectitude. But the little rag
ged yellow men are dumb and silent
through it all.
These men have had nothing to
drink so far Four hours marching
and no water! Six hours, and still no
water! Not because there was none
in the land. Oh, no! Two hours ago
the convoy crossed clear, limpid
stream; but the commanding officer,
crop full with good breakfast, did
not think it wise to halt. No one was
allowed to fall out. The officer had
whisky and water in his bottle. The
private's tongue was dry and swollen,
| his lips cracked, too cracked for
speech. And so he still tramps on,
dumb and silent through it all.
Here is a yeoman struggling to keep
in his saddle. The days march has it's
troubles and trials for him also. He
has lost a lot of blood lately; ne suf-
fers from dysentery. Yesterday he
went to the yeomanry medico, who adj
vised the yeoman to take brandy and
milk.
Brandy and milk! The doctor knew
1
very well that there was q drop of
neither in the land save in the officers
mess. And so the yeoman went back
to his mess to lose more blood-a fresh
offering to the great, pious British pub
lie. But he, too, has learned to be
dumb and silent. Poor Tommy Atkins
has taught him how to suffer, and
Tommy has no horse.
They are going to catch De Wet
slim De Wet-whO can travel eight
miles an hour il he wishes to. Here
a bullock has fallen out; he is dragged
to the side of the trek to die. Tho
last of the convoy passes; His poor
CLASSY eyes look piteously after thu
wagons--hs mouth is half open. as il
asking for help. Those CLASSY eyes
follow you! But the poor bullock mus
lie there, and die of thirst. his hid,
Scared with thousand lashes. Tina
beast has toilcd in the yoke for 81,
months. dragging the white NAH,
burden over countless leagues Of dust,
veldts and dongas. He has struggled
along in the rear of hundred otlle
wagons, the dust half binding hi.
bloodshot eyes. His life mas beer
spent in trailing along with the whit,
mans burden. and logged and curse'
all the way by a black imp. Before
all life is gone. and while his eyes cal
still see, great, ungainly, uncouth gra,
vultures, crcling round tire noonda.
sun, will sight his carcass lying help
less by the trek. But many more bull
ocks and many more men must yet b.
offered up OH the shrine of war befor
the Boer leader will be trapped.
Then comes the halt, and the littl
ragged men drop down on the burning
veldt like weary cattle. BY and by
80 yards from the camp, the haltin,
place is dotted with bare backs ben
over blue shirts. Continuous inspec
ton of ones garments OH active scr
vice is the only way to keep them OF
your back. Biscuit and water is tn
midday feast OH the march, the regll
lar sacrament to the war god.
But the Manchester man does no
complain. He is on quarter ration
now. When he gets back to the grea
manufacturing city it will be full Ia
tons. And then the Manchester MAJ
| looks down info his cantpnn and If,
dirty, muddy water. Who knows bu
that he, too, may fall victim thi.
very day to the spiteful NIauser.
The brigade must-be on the move
again. On the march, at two miles Al
hour, to catch De Wet-slim De Wet
How the willy Boer commandant mus
smile at the mighty tortoise creeping
over the burning veldt, while he him
self is sleeping comfortably in feath
err bed at a friendly farmhouse. AND
then tomorrow the numbering tortoise
will come down the road to the farm
house, and out of spite set fire to it
but not De Wet And 50 the lone
convoy trails along like a serpent down
the kopje side, Its sinuous, dusty
course splendid guide to the enemy
Here in the quiet little valley the con
voy halts; darkness creeps over ths
land. Soon the veldt is lighted ur
with countless little fires. Around
these the little ragged yellow men arc