Was It Possible That It
Stretched Already Into The Beleaguered City?
Were we, after all, to
be cheated of the first and freshest impressions?
The tall lancers
turned at the sound of the horses' hoofs and stared, infantry
officers on foot smiled up at us sadly, they were dirty and dusty and
sweating, they carried rifles and cross belts like the Tommies; and
they knew that we outsiders who were not under orders would see the
chosen city before them. Some of them shouted to us, but we only
nodded and galloped on. We wanted to get rid of them all, but they
were interminable. When we thought we had shaken them off, and that
we were at last in advance, we would come upon a group of them
resting on the same ground their shells had torn up during the battle
the day before.
We passed Boer laagers marked by empty cans and broken saddles and
black, cold campfires. At Pieter's Station the blood was still fresh
on the grass where two hours before some of the South African Light
Horse had been wounded.
The Boers were still on Bulwana then? Perhaps, after all, we had
better turn back and try to find that press-censor. But we rode on
and saw Pieter's Station, as we passed it, as an absurd relic of by-
gone days when bridges were intact and trains ran on schedule time.
One door seen over the shoulder as we galloped past read, "Station
Master's Office - Private," and in contempt of that stern injunction,
which would make even the first-class passenger hesitate, one of our
shells had knocked away the half of the door and made its privacy a
mockery.
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