But yet probably as years pass they will tend to lapse once more
into Dutch hands, for it is difficult to believe that men of our race
will ever submit to such a life of absolute stagnation. In dealing with
the future of the country, it will always be a point that will have to
be borne in mind, that the natural conditions of life outside the towns
are such as favour the Dutch character very much more than they do the
English.
LETTER XXIII
WRITTEN FROM HOSPITAL
HOSPITAL, KRONSTADT, _September 6_, 1900.
It is only a bad attack of influenza. I lie here in a dim, brown holland
coloured twilight. A large marquee of double folded canvas keeps out the
sun; a few shafts of light twinkle through here and there. Through three
entrance gaps I catch glimpses, crossed by a web of tent ropes, of other
surrounding tents, each neatly enclosed by a border of whitened stones,
the purpose of which is to prevent people at night from tripping over
the ropes. Everything is scrupulously neat and clean. Orderlies run from
tent to tent minding their patients. Every now and then a pretty little
nursing sister, with white cuffs and scarlet pelisse, trips across the
open spaces between the straight lines of marquees, or stops to have a
moment's chat and a little quiet bit of a flirt (they can always find
time for that, I notice) with one of the officers or doctors.
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