There were also several pauses in the
conversation for "solos from the band," to wit, a flute and a fiddle.
After dismantling the marquee and dinnertable we started through the
darkness for Modder River. We had thoroughly enjoyed our Christmas fare,
and K----, a Scotchman, attempted with some success to perform a
sword-dance on two crossed sticks, and when we pulled up at some station
with a Dutch name his fervid patriotism broke loose in an attempt to
address the people on the platform, whom he apostrophised as "rebels"
and threatened with dire vengeance. Our cook was equal to the occasion.
He dragged K---- back and apologised to the aggrieved colonists,
explaining--by a pious fraud--that he was K----'s father and so
responsible for bringing him out that evening. Our gleemen now stepped
into the breach with "Ye Banks and Braes," and we left the station amid
cheers.
Another of my friends under the excitement of song and mirth frequently
clutched my arm and pointed to imaginary batches of Dutchmen standing
suspiciously near the line and presumably intent on wrecking the train.
These were usually prickly-pear bushes. When we approached Modder River
he exclaimed that we were now within range of the Boer guns, and
accordingly pulled up the windows as a sort of protection against shells
and bullets.
As we steamed into Modder River station the 4.
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