The sad, dumb testimony of this
lamented misfortune was to be seen in the shape of thousands of
mutilated envelopes and torn letters which covered the rails and the
ground beyond--letters which would have brought joy to many a lonely
heart at the front. It was really heart-breaking to behold this
melancholy remnant of 1,500 mail-bags, and, a little farther on, to see
three skeleton trucks charred by fire, which told how the warm clothing
destined for the troops perished when De Wet and his burghers had taken
all they needed. Many yarns were related to me about the chivalry of
this farmer-General, especially respecting the mail-bags, and how he
said that his burghers should not make fun of the English officers'
letters, and therefore that he burnt them with his own hands. Another
anecdote was remarkable--namely, that of an officer searching sadly
among the heap of debris for some eagerly expected letter, and who came
across an uninjured envelope directed to himself, containing his
bank-book from Messrs. Cox and Sons, absolutely intact and untouched. It
can only be conjectured whether he would as soon have known it in ashes.
On arriving in the vicinity of Kroonstadt, the most risky part of the
journey was over, and then a wonderfully novel scene unfolded itself as
we crawled over a rise from the desolate, barren country we had been
traversing, and a tented city lay in front of us.
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