Thither I
also went.
British ambulance men were busy collecting corpses. It was a mournful
sight; it seemed to me as if war really meant nothing else than
butchering men like sheep, quietly, methodically, and without any pomp
or circumstance.
"A sad sight!" I remarked to the British chaplain.
"They only did their duty," was his unfeeling reply. Duty! Is it any
man's duty to kill and be killed without knowing why? For what did these
poor Lancashire lads know or care about the merits of the war?
"What do you think the confounded English have had the cheek to do?"
asked a friend. "You know they always keep our wounded as prisoners when
they get the chance. Well, this morning their ambulance came here and
coolly carted away all their wounded! Louis Botha says they might have
asked permission first. I should have turned a Maxim on them!"
We went down to the laager, found the line in order, and wired the news
of the victory to Pretoria. I had not been able to get into
communication the day before because the chief had taken a hand in the
fighting instead of attending to the instrument.
Believing that Warren would make another attempt, this time more to our
right, we shifted the office a few miles in that direction and pitched
our tent next to a farmhouse, which was being utilised as a hospital.
GLORIOUS WAR
Late that evening I heard someone outside the tent asking where the
hospital was.
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