One would think
that such an air would breed an exceptional race, and that the men, and
horses too, for that matter, of this country would show something of the
Arab character, sensitive, fiery, and high strung. Yet nothing can be
conceived less Arab like than your stolid but practical Dutchman and the
underbred screw he rides.
Left and right of you, your two or three flankers, half a mile off, have
halted, in obedience to your halting, and are standing by their horses'
heads scanning the country. Under the kopje your main body are sitting
about, while their ponies, with bridles thrown over their heads, graze.
Far back, two or three miles, the bits of dark kilt showing behind their
khaki aprons, a company of the Camerons comes into view, the brown
colour so exactly matching the plain that they are first visible only by
their motion. Here come the flank guards, sprinkled far out over the
country. And now, at the point where the distant kopjes slope to the
plain, the air grows heavy with dust-wreaths, rising like steam from a
cauldron, and underneath, slowly emerging, comes something dark and
solid. It is the head of the column. The great caterpillar is crawling
forward. You must push on--"Stand to your horses!"
LETTER XX
PRINSLOO'S SURRENDER--I
CAMP, NEAR FOURIESBERG, _July 26_, 1900.
We have a whole day of peace and rest before us--very welcome after the
hard fighting we have been doing lately.
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