igh up in power. Don't let some wretched underling
be made the scapegoat of this criminal state of affairs, for the taint of
this shameful thing rests upon you, upon every Briton whose homes,
privileges, and prosperity are being safeguarded by these famishing men.
The folk in authority will probably tell you that General Rundle and his
splendid fellows are so isolated that food cannot be obtained for them. I
say that is false, for recently I, in company with another correspondent,
left General Rundle's camp without an escort. We made our way in the
saddle, taking our two Cape carts with us, to Winburg railway station;
leaving our horseflesh there, we took train for East London. Then back to
the junction, and trained it down to Capetown, where we remained for
forty-eight hours, and then made our way back to Winburg, and from Winburg
we came without escort to rejoin General Rundle at Hammonia. If two
innocent, incompetent (?) war correspondents could traverse that country
and get through with winter supplies for themselves, why cannot the
transport people manage to do the same? These transport people affect to
look with contempt upon a war correspondent and his opinions on things
military; but if we could not manage transport business better than they
do, most of us would willingly stand up and allow ourselves to be shot. We
are no burden upon the Army; we carry for ourselves, we buy for ourselves,
and we look for news for ourselves; and we take our fair share of risks in
the doing of our duty, as the long list of dead and disabled journalists
will amply prove.

It is not, in my estimation, the whole duty of a war correspondent to go
around the earth making friends for himself, or looking after his personal
comfort, or booming himself for a seat in Parliament on a cheap patriotic
ticket. It is rather his duty to give praise where praise is due, censure
where censure has been earned, regardless of consequences to himself. Such
was the motto of England's two greatest correspondents--Forbes and
Steevens--both of whom have passed into the shadowland, and I would to God
that either of them were here to-day, for England knew them well, and they
would have roused your indignation as I, an unknown man, dare not hope to
do. But though what I have written does not bear the magical name of
Steevens or of Forbes, it bears the hallmark of the eternal truth. Our men
on the fields of war are famishing whilst millions worth of food lies
r