I took off my streaming
garments, and turned into my warm bed. At midnight the flap of the tent
was opened, and I was ordered to turn out and stand guard. Our effects
were still at Volksrust. Drawing on a soaking wet pair of heavy corduroy
breeches in the middle of the night is one of the least delicious
experiences possible, as I found to my cost, to say nothing of sitting
in them on an antheap for a couple of hours with a chilly rain falling.
In the morning came the news that the enemy had again surprised and
blown up one of our guns--none other than the howitzer visited by me the
previous evening. Presently the young cadets themselves came riding into
camp, bringing with them pieces of guncotton, and showing by the state
of their ragged uniforms the hand-to-hand nature of the struggle that
had taken place.
One of them said in answer to my inquiries--
"We heard someone climbing the hill in the night, and challenged. It was
the British. They shouted 'Rule Britannia!' and rushed up to the top. We
fired into them. We were too few. By sheer weight of numbers they
forced us aside. One of the artillerymen was dragged by the leg from his
sleeping-place. He shook himself free, and bolted. The soldiers formed a
square round the gun, charged it with guncotton, shouted 'Stand back!'
and the next moment our gun was crashing through the sky.
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