Ardnish by Angus MacDonald

Author:Angus MacDonald
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Birlinn

Chapter 17

Captain Willie MacDonald, South Africa, 1901

At Aliwal North, where the Orange Free State garrison was, we had a hut which served as the officers’ mess, an improvement on the canvas sail strung between two wagons that made do while we were on trek. The food was good, although rations had to be expensively supplemented by purchases of milk, bread and fresh meat whenever they could be had. My mess bill worked out at about one pound and nine shillings every fortnight.

There were sulphur springs which had been turned into a bathhouse in the town, and we also had access to the Royal Hotel, which we treated rather like a club, a place to write letters and meet officers from other regiments.

Despite these welcome comforts, the men were ready to go home, myself as much as the next man. My brother’s letters were growing increasingly desperate and I was concerned for him. We had all signed up as volunteers and had been there almost a year. Lovat had been sent home to raise a Second Contingent and we were told that we could go as soon as they arrived to replace us. General Hector MacDonald had been sent to India. He thought very highly of us and made his views know to the other generals before his departure. But that said, we felt considerable unease at the fact that our champion had left us.

We heard news of a farm being burned down nearby; British troops had caught a Boer man and were beating him hard. Lieutenant Grant went out to have a try for him but was too late. Strong winds had fanned the flames across the veld and a huge tranche of land had caught fire. There was nothing anyone could do except gallop ahead and see if there were convoys or others in its course. The night sky was lit up by the flames, with gum trees flaring a good hundred feet into the air and exploding like fireworks. Gazelles and other wild beasts scattered to safety. The fire only stopped when it reached a river.

In early June one of our messengers arrived with the news that there was a large Boer gathering near Burgersdorp. I told him that if he could get me on a hill within half a mile of them without being seen, I’d give him a guinea. Donald John, the messenger and I headed off.

It was a typical African winter morning, cool and dry with low, rolling mist on the distant hills, rather like a pleasant spring morning at home. The messenger knew the area well and we covered the ground quickly until we got into the hills. There, the thorn bushes were impenetrable and our horses refused go any further. It would be dark within the hour, so my plan was to creep up as close as we could on foot. When daylight came, we would have a good view down into the valley, assuming there were no sentries on the kopje. We tethered the horses and set off.

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