They Had Lashed A
Great Red Cross Flag To The Chimney And Filled The Clean Shelves Of
The Generously Built Kitchen With Bottles Of Antiseptics And Bitter-
Smelling Drugs And Surgeons' Cutlery.
President Steyn gave me a
letter to Dr. Rodgers Reid, who was in charge, and he offered us our
choice of the deserted bedrooms.
It was a most welcome shelter, and
in comparison to the cold veldt the hospital was a haven of comfort.
Hundreds of cooing doves, stumbling over the roof of the barn, helped
to fill the air with their peaceful murmur. It was a strange
overture to a battle, but in time I learned to not listen for any
more martial prelude. The Boer does not make a business of war, and
when he is not actually fighting he pretends that he is camping out
for pleasure. In his laager there are no warlike sounds, no sentries
challenge, no bugles call. He has no duties to perform, for his
Kaffir boys care for his pony, gather his wood, and build his fire.
He has nothing to do but to wait for the next fight, and to make the
time pass as best he can. In camp the burghers are like a party of
children. They play games with each other, and play tricks upon each
other, and engage in numerous wrestling bouts, a form of contest of
which they seem particularly fond. They are like children also in
that they are direct and simple, and as courteous as the ideal child
should be.
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