ain. Plumer had diverted the invasion west, Crabbe and
Henniker and the armoured trains had kicked it over the railway-line.
Kitchener was content. If De Wet followed his jackal Hertzog into the
south-western areas, the columns on the line from De Aar downwards
were to move west as parallel forces and tackle the invader in turn.
Each would run him till exhausted, with a fresh parallel to take up
the running from them as soon as they were done; while at the end,
when the last parallel was played out, De Lisle as a stop stood at
Carnarvon, ready to catch the ripe plum after the tree had been well
shaken. Admirable plan--on paper. Admirable plan if De Wet had only
done what he ought to have done--if he had only allowed himself to be
kicked by each parallel in turn, churned by relays of pom-poms, until
ready to be presented to De Lisle. But De Wet did not do the right
thing. He was no cub to trust to winning an earth by a direct and
obvious line, where pace alone would have killed him. He was an old
grey fox, suspicious even of his own shadow, and he doubled and
twisted: in the meanwhile Plumer ran himself "stone-cold" on his
heels, and the majority of the parallel columns, played by his screen
of "red herrings," countermarched themselves to a standstill. The old,
old story, which needs no expansion here. Admirable plan, if only the
British columns had been as complete at their rendezvous as they
appeared on paper. We were the New Cavalry Brigade--the 21st King's
Dragoon Guards and the 20th Dragoon Guards, just out from home; the
Mount Nelson Light Horse, newly raised in Cape Town; a battery of
R.H.A., and a pom-pom. But where were we. We were due to march out of
Richmond Road at daybreak on the morrow. Two squadrons of the 21st
King's Dragoons and one of the Mount Nelson's were with
Plumer--Providence only knows where--learning the law of the veldt.
The rest of the Mount Nelson's and one squadron of the 21st King's
Dragoons were at Hanover Road. One squadron of the 20th Dragoon Guards
was at Richmond Road; two squadrons were in the train on the way up
from Cape Town. The guns at least had arrived. Yet we were about the
value of a "castle" on the chess-board designed to mate De Wet.

* * * * *

"Now we shall have to take our coats off."

The brigadier was right. It was no mean affair to arrive at sundown at
a miserable siding in the Karoo, called by courtesy a station, to find
its two paral