Virtual
War Memorial
Australia

By permission of the Warden, Mr W. Lambden Owen, we are able to publish a most interesting letter received by him from Mr H. A. Johns, who is one of the Menzies representatives with the Imperial Bushmen in South Africa. The letter, which is -dated the 28th July, was written at Vredefort, a small town in the Orange River Colony, situated a few miles south of the Transvaal border."

"Here I am," writes Sergeant-Major Johns—"my office being the finest stretch of undulating grassy veldt I have seen in my life—the grassy South African turf for my peat, and the back of a boiler lid for a desk. It is 7 o'clock a.m., and the news has spread that a mail closes at 11 o'clock, hence my early attention to my office work. I see men writing in all conceivable conditions, but time will not permit of descriptions being given now. We were up at 3 this morning, sending 50 of our men to hold a kopje two miles north. While I write I can see the enemy moving from kopje to kopje, with sniping and cannonading going on all round.

We landed at Port Elizabeth, trained to Kroonstad, and in five days we’re under heavy fire.

We drove the indomitable General Piet de Wet on his way to Bethlehem, where (so we heard last night) his force of 5000 surrendered to General Hunter unconditionally. We followed him to Bethlehem, relieving: Lindley on' our way (we were now 1500 strong all told). At Bethlehem we joined General Clements with 7000 men, and partly surrounded Piet De Wet, but he escaped through a pass 'in the hills', taking with him about 3000 men. We followed to Senekal, and back to Lindley; then to Rhenoster Spruit, on the line, where he blew up a bridge. Here at Vredefort we have got the 3000 men - who are joined by about 3000 more - surrounded. Piet De Wet had in the course of his journey apparently handed over most of his force, to his brother Christian, and had gone in the direction of Kroonstad, where we now hear he has surrendered.

We had a fight every day, losing an average of, say 20 men a day (I mean British). Major Moor, of W.A., was one of the killed. It was a hot fire, and it is a wonder so many escaped death. The escapes are simply miraculous. Some were shot through the field caps, coat sleeves, ammunition pouches, etc. One South Australian had just the tip of his nose (curiously enough it was a long one) skinned. Last Wednesday we had a very hot battle here. We seized five wagons and 18 prisoners, at a cost of four lives and 19 wounded. Amongst the killed was James Kay, who, three years ago had the Sportsman's Aries wine and beer saloon in Reid-street, Menzies. Our major was wounded by a shell. Altogether we have had only one killed and six bounded. The loss sustained by the enemy last Wednesday was over 50 killed and 120 wounded, and the Australian Bushmen's fire accounts for these. We have been in the thick of the battle from the start. I wonder I am not shot, as last Wednesday I went back and got, a wounded man on my horse, and led him away. The bullets fell thick, but curiously enough none struck the horse, the man, nor me.

"Talk of daring deeds, why acts worthy of the V.C. are done hourly, but unfortunately for the daring men the right men do not happen to be on the spot to see it. Mad, senseless acts are seen daily. Some "turn up trumps," and make the difference between a daring hero and a brainless idiot. "It is often asked why our boys cannot move as smartly as the Boers?" It is easy to explain. Our convoy consists of 170 wagons, which with the spare mules and wagons means an unbroken line of about four miles. And this has to be amply guarded - at the front, rear and sides. The Boers have 'light wagons, not heavily loaded : they get their feed from sympathisers on the road ; and every man knows the country, passes and drifts. John Bull moves very effectively, but necessarily at a slow pace. If he gets his circle round the Boers it's a fixture, but it invariably happens that while he moves his cumbersome body about, the wily, light-handed Boer slips through his legs (though it's always at a loss to the Boer, as John's kick backwards is almost as effective as the forward stroke.)

As to the state of affairs generally, you will know more than I, as we are absolutely ignorant of even our own movements. But apparently the war is on a fast decline. "You will be naturally wondering how I like the job?" Well, looking at it from a sporting side it is splendid. The experience is really well worth going through by anyone if there were any guarantee of coming out with a whole skin; but, Lord, there are hardships that are damnable ! Two biscuits a day, a dying horse, wet clothing, and a sleepless week or so, constantly relentless—this is not the sort of calling to choose for life. But I am very pleased I entered on it, seeing, as I do, that it is not likely to last much longer. If I had known before I left what it meant, I would not have come, but having gone through it I am pleased I am here. . . . "What with sending away prisoners under escort, sick men and lost men, we are reduced from 126 to 85 men all told, and fit horses from 180 to 42. Horses have "a terrible time of it". Though miles and miles of beautiful grass country is traversed daily, the poor brutes have not time to pick a blade ; and at night man sleep with the rein tied to their foot, or the horses are linked together with ropes on a ration of 5 lbs of oats. A five mile gallop on this results in scores falling dead and dying. I never saw horses ridden actually to death before.

Even this has its funny side. The other day three of our scouts were fired at by the Boers, in ambush. The scouts turned round, and off they came down a hill, each one for dear life, and the Boers in hot pursuit. The last horse fell, whereupon the rider took the saddle off, put it on his shoulder, and ran for about 100 yards; He looked back, saw that his horse had got up, dropped his saddle, ran and mounted bare back, and got a fine gallop out of the old horse till within three-quarters of a mile of support, where the horse dropped dead. This time the rider got off, and in a desperate rage shot the horse. (By this time the Boers had retired.) He walked back for his saddle, and came into camp, where his language was simply lurid, imputing criminal neglect to Britain for putting men on such horses, and we all roared. It was serious, but very funny " The writer concludes his interesting letter with regards to his old friends in Menzies.