red, that have
occurred and will occur in every war and in the ranks of every army
--our officers and men have a genuine respect and admiration for their
enemy. No one looked upon death at their hands as anything but
honourable. And as one's admiration and sympathy were stirred for one's
own fellow-countrymen, who so unflinchingly performed their duties,
could one withhold it from that other army five miles away across the
plain--citizen soldiers fighting for their country and their homes? For
the soldier politics do not exist; he fights and dies for an idea. This
is mere sentiment, you may say, instead of fact about arms and battles;
yet the hardest fact that rings beneath your stamp is no more real than
poor, flimsy sentiment, which is a living force in the world, and will
remain to be reckoned with when pom-poms and Creusots are rusting in
archaeological museums--monuments only to the mechanical and political
clumsiness of the nineteenth century.

XIV

THE CAPTURE OF BOERS AT TWEEFONTEIN

Lord Methuen had not long to wait for occupation. As soon as he arrived
at Boshof he posted his pickets on every possible point of vantage, and
patrolled the neighbourhood of Boshof over a wide circumference; and he
was rewarded. The little engagement at Tweefontein was, we all hoped, an
auspicious beginning for Lord Methuen's advance. If one might apply the
word to military tactics, it was as artistic a piece of work as could
be. I do not remember a single mistake or an instance of anything less
well or less quickly done than was possible. The result was a raising of
everyone's spirits, and I thought that Lord Methuen himself had the air
of a man emerging from depression. Certainly no general was better liked
by those around him, and, in spite of all mischievous gossip to the
contrary, he was perfectly trusted by his officers and men.

[Illustration: LIEUT.-GEN. LORD METHUEN, K.C.V.O., C.B., C.M.G.]

On Friday morning, April 6th, a native guide came in with information
that the enemy had a laager at a farm called Tweefontein, nine miles
south-east of Boshof. In ten minutes Major Streatfeild had his horse
packed and saddled and was off to the Yeomanry camp. Now the Yeomanry
horses were out on the plain grazing a good mile away; yet from the time
when the order was given until the moment of starting exactly
thirty-five minutes elapsed--a performance that would not have disgraced
veterans. The artillery and the Kimberley