We Stumbled Around Pieces Of Artillery,
Slid In Between Dripping Water-Carts, Dodged The Horns Of Weary Oxen,
Scattered Companies Of Straggling Tommies, And Ducked Under
Protruding Tent-Poles On The Baggage-Wagons, And At Last Came Out
Together Again In Advance Of The Dusty Column.
"Besides, we don't know where the press-censor is, do we?" No, of
course we had no idea where the press-censor was, and unless he said
that Ladysmith was relieved, the fact that twenty-five thousand other
soldiers said so counted for idle gossip.
Our papers could not
expect us to go riding over mountains the day Ladysmith was relieved,
hunting for a press-censor. "That press-censor," gasped Hartland,
"never - is - where he - ought to be." The words were bumped out of him
as he was shot up and down in the saddle. That was it. It was the
press-censor's fault. Our consciences were clear now. If our papers
worried themselves or us because they did not receive the great news
until every one else knew of it, it was all because of that press-
censor. We smiled again and spurred the horses forward. We abused
the press-censor roundly - we were extremely indignant with him. It
was so like him to lose himself the day Ladysmith was relieved.
"Confound him," we muttered, and grinned guiltily. We felt as we
used to feel when we were playing truant from school.
We were nearing Pieter's Station now, and were half-way to Ladysmith.
But the van of the army was still about us.
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