t not, he was the true
herald of the Guards' Brigade, and sundry others, that after many days
crossed the Sand River to make an end for ever of all that the Sand
River Convention involved.

The year following that in which the Convention was signed, another
step was taken in the same direction and independence was forced on
the Orange Free State. The people protested, and pleaded for
permission to still live under the protection of the British flag; but
their prayers were as unavailing as "the groans of the Britons,"
which, as recorded in the early pages of our own island story,
followed the retiring swords of Rome. Now, after nearly forty years of
uttermost neighbourliness, the Orange Free State, with machine gun and
mauser hurls back the gift once so reluctantly accepted, and forces us
to recall what now they still more reluctantly surrender. How
bewildering are the ways of Fate!

[Illustration: _From a photograph by Mr Westerman_

Broken Bridge at Modder River.]

[Sidenote: _Railway wrecking and repairing._]

The crossing of the drifts at the two rivers was almost as difficult a
task as the overtaking of our ever retreating foes. The railway
bridges over both these streams had been blown up by dynamite: some
of the stone piers were shattered, and some of the iron girders hurled
all atwist into the watery depths beneath; here and there culverts had
similarly been destroyed, and at many a point the very rails had been
torn by explosives till they looked like a pair of upturned arms
imploring help from heaven. We noticed, however, when we got into the
Transvaal that the Transvaalers took pity on their own portion of the
line, and studiously refrained from shattering it. Some of them were
probably shareholders. The less serious damages the Railway Pioneers
and the Royal Engineers repaired with a speed that amazed us; and our
supply trains never seemed to linger long in the rear of us, except
when a massive river bridge was broken. Then a deviation line and a
low level trestle bridge had to be constructed. At that fatigue work I
have seen whole companies of once smart-looking Guardsmen toiling with
spade and pick like Kaffirs, whilst some of their aristocratic
officers, bearing lordly titles, played the part of gangers over these
soldier-navvies. It was a new version and a more useful one of Ruskin
and his collegiate road-makers.

[Sidenote: _The tale, and tails, of a singed overcoat._]

Bridge or no bridge, many