The station and train were burned down, the
great-coats looted, the big shells exploded, and the mails burned.
The latter was the one unsportsmanlike action which can up to that
date be laid to De Wet's charge. Forty thousand men to the north of
him could forego their coats and their food, but they yearned
greatly for those home letters, charred fragments of which are
still blowing about the veld. [Footnote: Fragments continually met
the eye which must have afforded curious reading for the victors.
'I hope you have killed all those Boers by now,' was the beginning
of one letter which I could not help observing.]
For three days De Wet held the line, and during all that time he
worked his wicked will upon it. For miles and miles it was wrecked
with most scientific completeness. The Rhenoster bridge was
destroyed. So, for the second time, was the Roodeval bridge. The
rails were blown upwards with dynamite until they looked like an
unfinished line to heaven. De Wet's heavy hand was everywhere. Not
a telegraph-post remained standing within ten miles. His
headquarters continued to be the kopje at Roodeval.
On June 10th two British forces were converging upon the point of
danger. One was Methuen's, from Heilbron. The other was a small
force consisting of the Shropshires, the South Wales Borderers, and
a battery which had come south with Lord Kitchener.
