Old Cronjé's apparent object is to try and save Bloemfontein by delaying
us till reinforcements come up from the south and east. This is really
what we want, because the more of the enemy we get in front of this
great army of ours, the harder we shall be able to hit them. But
evidently Cronjé is ignorant of our strength.

Meantime we can make out in our break-of-day scoutings up the river that
bodies of men are approaching from the east. They have made a laager
about ten miles up, and evidently mean to dispute our passage to the
capital. The longer old Cronjé holds out, the more men from Colesberg
and Natal will come up, the more entrenchments will be cut, and the
harder will be our way to Bloemfontein. 'Tis the only way he sees to
save the town, for we should march straight in else. Perhaps, too, he
cherishes some hope of being relieved himself; of a determined attack
from without, which might enable him, by a sudden sally, to break
through; though, for dismounted men (and their horses are all dead by
this time), the chances of ultimate escape in a country like this must
be very small, one would think. Anyhow, he sticks to his work like a
glutton. The shells burst over them. The lyddite blows them up in smoke
and dust, the sun grills, the dead bodies reek, our infantry creep on
them day and night; foul food, putrid water, death above and around,
they grin and bear it day after day to gain the precious hours. And all
the time we on our side know perfectly well that no relief they could
possibly bring up would serve our army for rations for a day.




LETTER XII