travelled north and sometimes west, so I had no idea where we
were. All I could be sure of was that we were somewhere east
of the Western Railway. So far there was no sign of the British
army, which was not a good scenario for an escape.
At midday, we stopped at a drift and allowed the horses to
water, while biltong and mealies were produced. Where we
were was a typical plain, with the odd cone-shaped hill dotted
here and there, through which a small river zigzagged its way
in a swath across the landscape. Over the millennium it had cut
steep banks for itself, so the riverbed was twenty to thirty feet
below the general level of the land. Where we were, the river
doubled back on itself, forming a hairpin bend where the banks
were shallow in angle, providing a place where vehicles could
ford their way across.
On the other side was an isthmus of land nearly a mile long
in the shape of a narrow vee, bordered on both sides by the
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river that created it. Generally, the banks sloped into the river
on a forty-five degree angle, creating a perfect place for an
ambush. The commando seemed in no hurry to leave and it
occurred to me that de Wet could be waiting for something.
About an hour later, a group of scouts appeared on the
horizon, headed our way in a hurry. Within minutes of their
arrival there was a conference, then the commando split into
two roughly equal groups – one filtering upstream while the
other went the other way, both groups keeping to the river bed
so they could not be seen from above. I realised then that de
Wet was setting up an ambush, which could only mean that a
British column must be coming this way.
If they were foolish enough to enter this isthmus without
sending experienced flankguards to scout both banks in
advance, they would be caught in a crossfire and shot to
pieces. I could picture some idiot Colonel fresh out from
England, a career administrator who had never seen a real war.
His head full of textbook rubbish, he would scan the horizon
with his binoculars and seeing no Boers would blandly assume
there were none, never realising that they were lurking under
his nose all the while.
I followed Johan while leading my horse by the reins. We
wound our way along the riverbank for a good half a mile
before the commando fanned out along the crest of the bank.
Although there was little conversation, I could see that they
were all excited and no one was taking much notice of me.
Johan in particular was supposed to be keeping his eye on
me, but it was plain that he didn’t want to miss anything either.
An hour went by and I could feel tensions rising. Eventually,
Johan couldn’t stand it any longer and he rushed to the lip of
the bank to see what was happening. Unattended, I crept up
behind Ruan.
“Where are they?” I whispered so no other could hear.
His face was alive with excitement. “They are six hundred
yards and about to enter between the riverbanks.” I slithered
back down the slope and frowned. They must be warned; there
wasn’t a moment to lose, but what could I do.
“Johan look!” I called out, my voice barely above a
whisper. He swivelled his head around.
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“What is it?”
“Look.” I pointed to a spot behind his horse. “You’ve
dropped some ammo.” As I said it, I turned my head slightly in
the direction I was pointing so he wouldn’t quite hear what I
said. He frowned and stooping, he slid down the slope to stand
next to me.
“Look,” I pointed vaguely at the ground. “Your ammo.”
Frowning, he followed the direction of my arm. There was
nothing there to see. That’s when I hit him on the head with the
rock I had in my pocket. He groaned and slumped to the
ground, holding his head.
“Sorry ol’ boy. If I escape you will be in trouble. A lump on
your head will make things look better for you.” Then I
mounted my horse and spurred it viciously towards the rim of
the bank.
“Sorry Rachel, this wild colonial boy is about to do
something reckless!”
The horse and I accelerated and hit the level ground
running. I heard shouts and a shot fired. I folded myself down
low over the horse’s neck to make as small a target as possible
while continuing to spur the horse towards the oncoming
British column.
The Boers must have been surprised by my sudden
appearance and were slow to react, for I had almost gone a
hundred yards before the first barrage of shots. I felt hits in my
limbs and an acute pain in my hip but I could not stop. The
horse was hit and in its pain and bewilderment it ran even
faster. There was another barrage of shots and I felt another hit
somewhere on my back.
We were approaching one hundred and fifty yards when a
bullet hit the horse in the head. The poor beast died on the spot
and collapsed like a stone, slewing around as it did so, its body
landing between the Boers and me. Lying low over its neck, I
wasn’t able to react fast enough and the horse rolled on my leg.
I felt a sharp pain and something snap, but that wasn’t my only
worry. I hit my head on the ground. I saw stars and forced my
eyes open to try and see, but everything became a blur.
Then, there seemed to be a bright, yellow light. I dimly
remember thinking the angels must have come to take me. I
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couldn’t hear any more firing. I couldn’t hear much of
anything. I was unconscious.
I opened my eyes. I was staring at the sky, which was a
deep azure blue. A speck was moving up there, a large black
bird was drifting on the wind currents, round and round. Soon
there were three or four of them. Vultures; they were waiting
for me to die. The way I was feeling, they wouldn’t have very
long to wait. I was in pain, a lot of pain, so much so that I felt
vaguely numb. Then I heard voices and the sound of someone
approaching.
A head came into view; it was a Tommie with a Red Cross
band on his arm.
“Sir,” he said to someone I couldn’t see. “This one’s alive.”
More voices.
“Let’s get this ’ere ’orse off ’im then.” More heads came
into view and began to drag the horse off my leg. I felt more
pain and passed out.
The next thing I was conscious of was lying on a stretcher.
My body hurt but I could not lift my head to see to what extent
I was damaged. The trip in the ambulance was terrible. The
jolting aggravated my wounds and I passed in and out of
consciousness, only to discover a couple of days later that I
was in a field hospital in Kimberley. My leg had been set and
my wounds attended to. I was also awaiting my transfer by
hospital train to the army base hospital in Cape Town.
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Chapter Twenty-nine
Cape Military Hospital, Mid-March 1900
/> The train trip lasted for days and covered a thousand miles. I
don’t know exactly how long we travelled, for I constantly fell
asleep. Frequently, I woke up, sometimes realising after a
while that we had stopped moving, only to learn that the train
had stopped at a station to remove those that died. After
arrangements had been made for their burial we would be on
our way.
The army hospital in Cape Town was huge, with row after
row of large marquees and a thousand bell tents for the
hospital staff. It was said that this was the largest hospital
under canvas the world had ever seen and I believed it. I was
placed in a marquee with fifty other new patients, where I
would be re-examined and possibly operated on. What if they
cut off an arm or a leg? What would I say to Rachel?
That afternoon, two doctors came. My wounds were
unstrapped one by one and their condition noted.
“Hmm,” said one after looking at my head. “Nasty bump,
but should heal all right.” Then he looked into my eyes. “Still
concussed, but you’ll get over that.”
They unwound the dressings on my left arm.
“Clean holes,” said the other. “No broken bone, should be
okay.”
Next was my broken leg, which they checked for
straightness.
“Looks like the field medics have set it right. Don’t need to
play with it.” Then they moved to my right leg. There was a
wound in my hip and another through the calf muscle.
“Same as the arm,” piped the larger one, looking at the calf
muscle, “only tissue damage here.” Then they moved to the
wound in my hip.
“Lucky boy,” murmured the smaller one. “Straight through
and missed the joint. Should probably open this one up and
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check for bone fragments.” He made a note of it. My upper
right arm was next; it was also a flesh wound of minor interest.
Last was my back. They partly rolled me over and
laboriously unwrapped the bandages.
“Hmm,” said one doctor. “This one’s odd, looks like it
nicked the lower edge of the shoulder blade, skidded along
under the skin and exited further up; nothing here but normal
tissue damage. Unusual wound, you must have been lying flat
for it to be like that. The other one is only a crease, just broke
the skin. Lucky though, an inch lower and it would have
severed your spine and killed you.”
That was it then. No talk about amputation. That was
something to cling to.
The doctors moved on and two nurses with male aides
stepped in to bind me. The nurses were about my age and wore
white smocks over pale blue uniforms, with Wellington boots
on their feet. The brown-haired one kept smiling and looking
at me.
“Are you a New Zealander?”
“Yes.” Her face creased into a grin.
“I’m from New Zealand too,” she said brightly. “I’m from
Napier. Where do you come from?”
“I’m from Patea, though more recently from Whanganui.”
“Oh that’s lovely, I have cousins in Whanganui.” There was
silence for a minute or two as they worked on my hip. They
had to lift me with assistance from the male aides to pass the
bandages around my waist without causing anything to bleed,
which would have been difficult, given the number of wounds
I had. This was hurting me and I could feel myself tiring. Due
to the difficulty of adequately binding my hip and shoulders I
was naked with the exception of my bandages, so when they
finished they propped me up and covered me with a sheet
before moving to the next patient.
Molly was her name and she adopted me for want of a
better word. One day when she was going about her rounds I
asked her how she came to be there. She told me she had read
in the paper that a group of nurses in Christchurch had gone to
England and volunteered to serve in South Africa. That got her
thinking and a few days later, she’d decided she would like to
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do the same. Since our government had no intention of
recruiting nurses, she made her way to London at her own
expense, where she joined the Imperial Army Nursing Reserve.
She was attached to a hospital ship with two hundred other
nurses and now here she was. I found that amazing. I couldn’t
help admiring her conviction and resourcefulness, for she had
probably never travelled further than twenty miles from her
home in her life. To have left New Zealand on her own and
travelled halfway around the world to serve the Empire was
truly admirable and I told her so. To see her smiling face
coming towards me always brightened my day and she knew it
did.
It was about this time that I had an unexpected visitor.
“Hello Wilson. I see you’re in the news again.” It was
Major Anderson Watermeyer.
“Can’t salute Major, my arms are all banged up.”
He laughed.
“You are a mug for punishment. Heroics seem to be your
forte.”
“One does what one must.”
“You do, don’t you? There’s a story going around Cape
Town faster than a cat with a tin tied to its tail and it’s all about
you.”
“Yeah and look where it’s got me.”
He laughed again.
“You realise of course, that after your little escapade in
Duntroon, there isn’t much more in the medal line we can give
you. You’ll have to take pot luck with what you get.”
I smirked. “Are you hinting I may be in for another gong?”
“Could be, my boy, you never know your luck.”
Next day, one of the doctors who’d examined me came by
to check on my progress. He was tall, fiftyish, tired-looking
and sported a large handlebar moustache.
“I heard what happened to you and you’re an incredibly
lucky young man. There is talk that you saved hundreds of
lives and that you managed to acquire seven bullet holes
without one being fatal; which, I am qualified to say, has to be
the wonder of the modern age. I heard there were dozens of
bullet holes in the carcass of the horse they dragged off you
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and if it hadn’t landed the way it did and pinned your leg, you
would have surely been killed.”
He wandered off to look at another patient and I thought
about Rachel. How was I to let the folks at home know I was
here? Also, there was One Company; did they realise I was
still alive? It must be four weeks since I was last seen at Riet
River, so what if they had already sent the family a letter that I
was missing? I could imagine the distress that would cause.
Molly was the answer; I was sure she would write for me.
Next day an officer from army group headquarters arrived
to see me.
“Are you the Richard Wilson who averted a massacre at
Sands Drift?”
That was new, I had no idea the place had a name.
“Yes sir, that’s me.”
“Congratulations my man, I am
Staff Sergeant Wallace
Hillman. I have pleasure in informing you that Colonel
Peregrine Smith has made a report about your actions at Sands
Drift and has recommended you for a medal. Headquarters
considers his judgment correct on this occasion, so in due
course an award will come to you. In the meantime, is there
anything I can do for you?”
“Yes sir. Can you fast track any mail that is undelivered to
me and can you tell me what happened afterwards at Sands
Drift?”
“Well, yes. The column was heading towards the drift
when you made your little dash. Half of the advance party
were subsequently killed or wounded, although the main
column fared pretty well; forewarned by all the shooting
instigated by you, they went to ground and returned fire. There
was another of our columns on a converging course some six
or seven miles away that the Boers were obviously aware of
and once they realised that surprise was lost, they immediately
withdrew and escaped as they always do. Major Robins at New
Zealand headquarters has been informed of your circumstances
and your appearance here in Cape Town. I will contact his
aides and instruct them to forward all outstanding mail to army
group headquarters, where I will forward them on to you.”
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Hillman left and as I watched him disappear, Molly turned
up.
“Who was that?” she whispered, pretending to fuss over
me.
“Oh, no one. Just some aide from army group
headquarters.”
“Really! Don’t keep me in suspense, what did he want?”
“Ooh nothing. He wanted to know if I would like my mail
forwarded quickly.”
“Richard! You are a devil! Even I know there must be more
to it than that – you are teasing me aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I grinned. “He said I’d been mentioned in
dispatches and I was in line for a gong.”
“I knew it! You should get a V.C. you know, nothing less.
After what you have endured you deserve it.”
“Oh come now Molly, they won’t give me one of those.”
“Well if it was up to me they would.” She walked off
smiling and I watched her wispy form disappear. There wasn’t
a plump nurse to be seen around here. The poor things are so
constantly on the run it’s a wonder they are ever allowed to eat
and sleep.
Five days later, a letter arrived via army group
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