t
could be heard very plainly. The Frankfort telegraphist was busy calling
Heilbron, not knowing that the town had again changed masters. As his
was an ordinary Morse instrument I could not communicate with him, but I
did the next best thing by cutting the wire. The presence of the enemy
in Heilbron was a check for us. We did not expect Colville to come
forward so rapidly. It was necessary to modify our plan of campaign, and
De Wet and several of the commandants rode to a farm some six miles away
to consult with the President, who had pitched his tent at that spot.
Scheepers was still away scouting. His men made no effort to prepare any
food, and as I was beginning to suffer from hunger the situation was
anything but pleasant for me. It is hard to realise the amount of
selfishness which generally prevails in a laager or commando. It is a
case of everyone for himself. There is no regular distribution of
rations every day, as in other armies. The commando is divided into
messes of about ten men each. To this mess is given every now and then a
live ox and a bag of meal. The ox is killed and cut into biltong, and
the meal baked into stormjagers, a kind of dumpling fried in dripping.
Now Scheepers' little corps, which consisted of half a dozen men, was
probably not very well off itself in the matter of provisions--in any
case, they offered me none. The commissariat consisted of nothing but
oxen and meal, cold comfort for me. I rode back a couple of miles to a
spot where a field telegraph office had been opened. Standing in the
open veld under the telegraph line was a Cape cart, under the cart a
telegraph instrument. This was the office.

"Can you give me anything to eat?" I asked the telegraphist, one of our
most capable men.

"Very sorry," he answered; "I've been here for a week, and no one has
troubled to send me any food. I've managed to get a loaf of bread from
that farm yonder now and then, but their supply is exhausted, and I
don't know what to do next."

"Why don't you ask the President's party for food? We all know they fare
well enough."

"I've sent them message after message, but can get no satisfaction. All
they think about is the amount of work they can get out of me. Little
they care what my troubles are!"

This was really a shameful state of affairs, and I began to grow
disgusted with the whole business. Not satisfied with refusing to supply
him with food, a passing commando had stolen his cart-horses, so