On the same day (April 30), Lieutenant Crane, with a small detachment of my corps, was sent by Colonel Ross, our commanding officer, to occupy a low-lying kopje on our left front. They were attacked by an overwhelming number of the enemy, and nearly the whole of the little lot were either killed, wounded, or taken prisoners, as they maintained their position to the last. Lieutenant Crane himself, being badly shot in the groin, was lying in an exposed position unseen by us, and under fire of our own Maxim gun, which was playing on the kopje now occupied by the Boers, and in imminent risk of being killed by our own fire. Suddenly one of the Boers came forward amidst a hail of bullets, lifted up Lieutenant Crane, and carried him to a place of safety. Many a V.C. has been gained by doing a similar action. This story was subsequently corroborated by Lieutenant Crane, who told me that the man who behaved so gallantly towards him was named Meyers.
Strange to relate, in the following September when that ideal Cavalry leader, General French, made his brilliant dash on Barberton—a feature of the campaign on which I think too little has been said, and not sufficient credit given to the leadership and pluck of the gallant General—Lumsden’s Horse comprised his rearguard, under the command of General Mahon, of Mafeking fame. As we rode up the heights prior to following General French’s force into the Barberton Valley, we came across several Boer families living in tents and grazing their cattle on the veldt. I rode up to one of the tents and was chatting with a stalwart Boer and his family. He immediately spotted what corps we were and said, ‘Oh, we fought against you at Houtnek.’ I asked his name, and he said Meyers. I then shook hands with him gratefully and said, ‘You are the man who carried my subaltern, Crane, at the risk of your life into a place of safety on that day.’ He brought me a cup of coffee, and while I was chatting pleasantly with his wife and family he said, ‘Have you got a man with you of the name of McGillivray? I remember him well, a big Scotchman. We took him prisoner that day, and on our way to Pretoria I had the pleasure of dividing a couple of bottles of whisky between him and one or two of his comrades also in our hands.’ As this Boer was living quietly on the veldt, and not in the fighting line, I had the pleasure of getting a pass for himself and his family by way of showing some practical gratitude for his kind and plucky treatment of my comrades.