War's Brighter Side Part 39

"Action front!"--And the guns are round, Teams go back with the chains a-clink.

We're reaping the storm that the scouts have sown (The sun gets red and the clouds are pink).

"Show for the lyddite, that's all"--you think (Frenchmen would shrug, with a _sacre nom_), When out in the dusk, in the half of a jink, Suddenly singeth the brisk Pom-pom.

"Pom-pom-pom"--and the sh.e.l.ls have flown; "Bang-bang-bang"--without rise or sink-- Accurate sameness to half a tone-- Whizzing one-pounders--don't stop to think-- Open the ranks like a "spieler's" wink.

This is a speedy and frolicsome bomb, Do not despise it, but do not shrink, This is a nerve-test, this swift Pom-pom.

ENVOI.

Oom, when you sit in the dark and think, After the war, and your nights are long, Bitterness sweeten of cups you drink With a memory sad of your sweet Pom-pom.

HOW THE CALF WAS AVENGED.

BY LEONARDITE, 82ND BTY., R.F.A.

It happened about the time of the Paardeberg affair, or, to be exact, at 12.10 a.m. on the 22nd of February, 1900, our battery (the 82nd R.F.A.) had throughout the day catered diligently and well for the tastes of Cronje and his followers. They had breakfast betimes in the shape of shrapnel (unboiled), liberally and impartially distributed to all and sundry within the laager; luncheon, tea, and supper followed in due succession, each consisting princ.i.p.ally of the same palatable diet, flavoured at intervals with the celebrated Lyddite sauce. This same is noted for its piquancy and marvellous power of imparting elasticity to the lower extremities (gouty and dropsical people please copy).

We returned to camp that night pretty well tired out, and hungry enough to eat "beef" (troop horse, isn't it?), and wondering what our good Poulter, the battery _chef_, had prepared in the shape of grub--we had fought all day on a couple of "Spratt's gum-hardeners."

As we neared the camp a most appetising odour smote our olfactory nerves. "Beef stew," says our No. 1, who has a wonderful nose for odours. "Garn," retorts Driver Jones, who loves a joke; "more likely an old goat that's 'scorfed' the inside of one of 'Redfern's trenches'

(this is a battery joke); too strong for beef." Well, by this time we had arrived, and some one who knew said it was veal, and that Mason, our Mason, Mason the mighty hunter and what-not, had commandeered it.

Presently arrived the cooks and camp kettles, and we settled down to a good "buster." When nothing was left but empty pots and vain longings, we lit our pipes, and the aromatic fumes of our Boer's Head _cabbagio_ were wafted heavenwards, our veracious raconteur related how he had captured the calf. How our pulses throbbed and our blood rose to fever heat as he told how he tore away his game from under the very horns of its enraged mother; and how, with the calf on his back, he had been chased five miles and over a big kopje strewn with boulders as big as an A.S.C. waggon, and finally, seeing no other mode of escape, had hurled the animal (the calf, not its maternal relative) from the top of the kopje, and in sheer desperation had leaped down after it, breaking his fall by alighting on its body.

Bidding us good-night, he left us to imagine what he would have broken had he alighted off its body.

Feeling the spirit of contentment hovering o'er us, we prepared to turn in. The guns had previously been unlimbered and were ready for action, with their muzzles pointing to the enemy. Formed up in rear were the six gun limbers and six ammunition waggons, each with its team of six horses still hooked in in case of any emergency. In addition were the horses of the single riders, tied by their headropes to different parts of the carriages, making a total of somewhere about a hundred horses.

Well, we had comfortably settled down and were enjoying our first sleep when the sentries were startled by a most unearthly noise from the vicinity of the camp. It sounded like a dyspeptic groan from a more than ordinarily cavernous stomach. The horses p.r.i.c.ked up their ears and the sentries clutched their carbines tighter as they peered into the darkness. Suddenly came the sound again--a mournful, melancholy, hair-raising sound. Like a flash the whole battery of horses, as though acting on a signal, stampeded into the night, taking the waggons with them; over sleeping men they went, stopping for no obstacles, overturning guns in their mad career, and heading straight for the enemy's trenches. The outposts, thinking the Boers were trying to break through the lines, opened fire at nothing. The Boers, thinking they were attacked, did ditto. It was a perfect pandemonium for a few minutes. The spiteful spit-puff of the Mauser and sharp crack of the Lee-Metford, the whole blending with the cries of the injured and the shouts of the men who were trying to stop the runaways, made an impression that few who witnessed the scene will ever forget.

We had several more or less severely injured, lost about thirty horses and one waggon, besides several that were overturned and smashed.

All this damage was caused by the lowing of an old cow who had wandered through the camp seeking her lost offspring.

MORAL.--Hanker ye after the fleshpots, commandeer ye not, but buy!

buy! buy!

NOTE.--Wanted to know--_vide_ the Press report of Paardeberg action--Since when has the 82nd Battery, R.F.A., become a mule battery?

'ORSE OR FUT?

BY MARK THYME.

(_A Song of the Household Brigade._)

I.

It ain't a fatigue to see him, 'E's a taller than usual man, As 'e struts down the road 'e's as smart as be blowed, And 'is swagger would stop Big Ben, 'E's a fair take-in for the ladies, For of course it's a maxim trite When a cove's in the Guards, why it's just on the cards 'E's a bit of the best All-Right.

CHORUS.

Whether 'e wears a 'elmet, Or 'airy 'at on 'is nut, When all's done and said, 'E is 'Ousehold Brigade, Whether 'e's 'Orse or Fut.

(_Shouted ad lib._): THAT'S RIGHT Whether 'e's 'Orse or Fut.

II.

O' course 'e's fond of 'is lady, 'Is lady she doats on 'im, And it's princip'ly that what's the cause of 'er 'at, With its feathers and twisted brim.

When 'e takes 'er out of a Sunday She says, "What a lovely sight!

"Oh! there isn't a doubt, But I'm walking about "With a bit of the best All-Right."

CHORUS.

And when 'e looks in promisc'ous 'Taint often the door is shut, For she's fond of a mash, with a curly moustache, Whether 'e's 'Orse or Fut.

(_As before_): That's Right Whether 'e's 'Orse or Fut.

III.

And then, when the war-clouds gather, On Service 'e goes away; And it's "Goodbye, Sal, G.o.d bless you, my gal!"

And the woman is left to pray.

Then whether it's toil and 'ards.h.i.+p, Or whether it's march and fight, 'E's a joker, we know, As is certain to show 'E's a bit of the best All-Right.

CHORUS.

Whether it's sword or bayonet, Whether it's lance or b.u.t.t, 'E's bound to go large When they're sounding the Charge, Whether 'e's 'Orse or Fut.

(_As before--only more so_): That's Right!

Whether 'e's 'Orse or Fut.

HAS THE WAR JUST BEGUN?

The Cradock Dutch newspaper, the _Middellandsche Afrikaander_, says: "Our English contemporaries are greatly mistaken in thinking that the war has now virtually ended. The Republicans are now going to act on the defensive, and now one can expect a deathly struggle. The war has now lasted nearly six months, and, however much we desire it, there is no prospect of peace as yet."

CHAPTER XXII

IN THE SHADOW OF SANNA'S POST

_We try to Name the New Colony, and describe the Kornespruit Fight._

Our ten thousand readers had been invited to send in their suggestions for a new name for the Free State, and then to express their opinions upon the names thus suggested. The first person to have sent in the name preferred by the greater number of readers was to receive five guineas, and perhaps the honour of naming a new colony of the greater Empire. The names suggested by the Army and the Bloemfontein readers of THE FRIEND were as follows:--

Alexandra, Adamantia, Albertia, Altruria, Atkinsdom, Aurania, Brand State, Brandesia, British South Africa, Britannia, British Colonia, Brandsland, Buckland, Burghers'

State, Central Colony, Centuria, Campania, Carnatia, Cameraria, Chamberlainia, Cecilia, Cruc.i.p.atria, Colonia, Cisvaal, Closer Union, Conquered Territories, Crown State, Centralia, Capricornia, Cilionia, Concordia, Diamond Colony, Diadem State, Empire State, Esicia, Empressland, Frere State, Fonteinland, Fonteinia, Freer State, Frereland, Federalia, Filia State, Federaldom, Gra.s.sland, Gariep Sovereignty, Guelfland, Helenia, Immigratia, Imperial Orange Colony, Imperia, Jubileeland, Kandaharia, Khaki State, Khakiland, Kopjesia, Lanceria, Leonida, Marchland, Mimosaland, Malaria, Milneria, Midland, Middle Colony, Mid-South Africa, Modrieta, New Ireland, New Alexandria, New Victoria, North Cape Colony, New Albion, New Era, New Canada, New Colony, New Rietana, Northern Province, New Gualia, New Victoria, New Edward's Land, New Egypt, Orange State, Orange, Orangia, Orangeland, Orange Colony, Orange Sovereignty, Provincia, Pasturia, Pastoria, Queen's Free State, Robertsland, Rietania, Robertesia, Robertsin, Robertina, Robertonia, Roberts.h.i.+re, Roberterre, Roberton, Robertsdale, Robertsia, Robiana, Robermain, Reconquered Land, Regina Land, Stellaland, Stellarland, Sylvania, Suzerainia, Steyn's Folly, Salisbury, Tableland, Trans Garep, Transgarepian Territory, Trans Orange, Uitland, Union Era, United British Empire, Union State, U.S. South Africa, Victory, Victorialand, Victoria Robertsia, Victoriafontein, Veldtland, Veldt.