They have a rest after a few hours, and fall out by the wayside, fling
off the heavy accoutrements, light pipes, and fall a-yarning, stretched
on the grass, or pull out scraps of old newspapers to read."
That was written the day we left Bloemfontein, just a month ago, and 250
miles away. We have come along well, have we not?
Brandfort is a little town on the railway some forty miles north of
Bloemfontein, overlooked by a big rocky kopje on the north. Here we find
our dear friends once more assembled to meet us after this long
interval, and we have a little battle with them, of which I will spare
you the description. An incident of some interest was the appearance of
the "Irish Brigade" from the Natal side, who held the hill above the
town. Rimington got leave from Hutton to turn them out, which he did so
cleverly, and taking us at them at such a pace that we did the business
without loss, except, indeed, in horses, of which several were hit. I
don't know if the two or three prisoners we took (and that we had some
thought of shooting out of hand) were a fair sample of the brigade, but
fouler-mouthed scoundrels I think I never set eyes on.
Our plan of advance has been all along very simple and effective. Our
centre keeps the railway, while our wings, composed largely of mounted
troops, are spread wide on each side, and threaten by an enclosing
movement to envelop the enemy if he attempts to make a stand.
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