’But I was struck most of all by the number of noble-looking Canadians among this big batch of wounded soldiers, all of them proudly glorying in being permitted to serve and suffer in the name of so great a Queen and in defence of so glorious an Empire.  Among them I found Colour-Sergeant Thompson, the son of one of our American Methodist ministers, Rev. James Thompson.  Resting against the inner side of a waggon-wheel was a most gentlemanly Canadian, shot through the throat, and quite unable to swallow any solids.  To him, as to several others, I was privileged to carry a large cup of life-renewing milk.  Lying on another waggon was a middle-aged Canadian, shot through the mouth, and apparently unable at present to swallow anything without pain; but he begged me, if possible, to buy for him some cigarettes, that he might have the solace of a smoke.  But there is nothing of any kind on sale within miles of this camp.  Yet the cigarette, however, was not long sought in vain; and a word of Christian greeting was made none the less welcome by the gift.  Lying by this man’s side was a wounded French-Canadian, who could scarcely speak in English, but had come from far to defend the Empire which claimed him also as its loyal son; and yet another sufferer told me that he had come from Vancouver, a distance of 11,000 miles, to risk, or, if needs be, to lay down his life for her who is his Queen as well as ours.  As in the name of the Motherland I thanked these men for thus rallying around our common flag in the hour of peril, and tenderly urged them to be as loyal to the Christ as to their Queen, the meaning look and hearty hand-grip spoke more eloquently to me than any words.  In almost every case the responsive heart was there.  Of these Canadians—­the first contingent—­our generals speak in terms of highest praise; but already some twenty have been killed and nearly seventy severely wounded.  The Dominion mourns to-day her heroic dead as we mourn ours.  They sleep side by side beneath these burning sands; but thus are forged the more than golden chains which bind the hearts of a widely-sundered race to the common throne around which we all are rallying.’[8]

The scene here depicted is one which must be imagined not once but many times during that terrible march from the Modder to Bloemfontein.  It tells in simple but eloquent language how Christian kindliness tried to assuage human woe.

[Footnote 8:  Methodist Times.]

Chapter IX

KIMBERLEY DURING THE SIEGE AND AFTER

The siege of Kimberley began on Sunday, October 15, 1899, and continued until Thursday, February 15, 1900.  It was somewhat unexpected, for although so near the border it was hardly expected that the Boers would invade British territory.  In fact, so little did the military authorities at Cape Town anticipate a siege that it was with great difficulty the Kimberley inhabitants secured any military assistance.  On September 21, however, a detachment of 500 men of the Loyal Lancashires, Royal Artillery, and Royal Engineers, under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Kekewich, put in an appearance.  These were the only regular troops in the town, and but a handful in face of the Boers gathering on the frontier.