[Illustration: _Photo by Arthur Weston, 16, Poultry, London._]




IN THE RANKS OF THE C.I.V.

A NARRATIVE AND DIARY OF PERSONAL EXPERIENCES WITH THE C.I.V. BATTERY
(HONOURABLE ARTILLERY COMPANY) IN SOUTH AFRICA

BY DRIVER
ERSKINE CHILDERS
CLERK IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS

_WITH A FRONTISPIECE_

1900



DEDICATED
TO
MY FRIEND AND COMRADE
GUNNER BASIL WILLIAMS




CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

I. THE "MONTFORT"

II. CAPETOWN AND STELLENBOSCH

III. PIQUETBERG ROAD

IV. BLOEMFONTEIN

V. LINDLEY

VI. BETHLEHEM

VII. BULTFONTEIN

VIII. SLABBERT'S NEK AND FOURIESBERG

IX. TO PRETORIA

X. WARMBAD

XI. HOSPITAL

XII. A DETAIL

XIII. SOUTH AGAIN

XIV. CONCLUSION




IN THE RANKS OF THE C.I.V.




CHAPTER I.

THE "MONTFORT."

A wintry ride--Retrospect--Embarkation--A typical day--"Stables" in
rough weather--Las Palmas--The tropics--Inoculation--Journalism--
Fashions--"Intelligent anticipation"--Stable-guard--Arrival.


With some who left for the War it was "roses, roses, all the way." For
us, the scene was the square of St. John's Wood Barracks at 2 A.M. on
the 3rd of February, a stormy winter's morning, with three inches of
snow on the ground, and driving gusts of melting flakes lashing our
faces. In utter silence the long lines of horses and cloaked riders
filed out through the dimly-lit gateway and into the empty streets,
and we were off at last on this long, strange journey to distant
Africa. Six crowded weeks were behind us since the disastrous one of
Colenso, and with it the news of the formation of the C.I.V., and the
incorporation in that regiment of a battery to be supplied by the
Honourable Artillery Company, with four quick-firing Vickers-Maxim
guns. Then came the hurried run over from Ireland, the application for
service, as a driver, the week of suspense, the joy of success, the
brilliant scene of enlistment before the Lord Mayor, and the abrupt
change one raw January morning from the ease and freedom of civilian
life, to the rigours and serfdom of a soldier's. There followed a
month of constant hard work, riding-drill, gun-drill, stable work, and
every sort of manual labour, until the last details of the
mobilization were complete, uniforms and kit received, the guns packed
and despatched; and all that remained was to ride our horses to the
Albert Docks; for our ship, the _Montfort_, was to sail at mid-day.

Hardships had begun in earnest, for we had thirteen miles to ride in
the falling snow, and our hands and feet were frozen. As we filed
through the silent streets, an occasional knot of night-birds gave us
a thin cheer, and once a policeman rushed at me, and wrung my hand,
with a fervent "Safe home again!" Whitechapel was reached soon enough,
but the Commercial Road, and the line of docks, seemed infinite.

However, at six we had reached the ship, and lined up into a great
shed, where we took off and gave up saddles and head-collars, put on
canvas head-stalls, and then enjoyed an excellent breakfast, provided
by some unknown benefactor. Next we embarked the horses by matted
gangways (it took six men to heave my roan on board), and ranged them
down below in their narrow stalls on the stable-deck. Thence we
crowded still further down to the troop-deck--one large low-roofed
room, edged with rows of mess-tables. My entire personal accommodation
was a single iron hook in a beam. This was my wardrobe, chest of
drawers, and an integral part of my bed; for from it swung the
hammock. We were packed almost as thickly as the horses; and that is
saying a great deal. The morning was spent in fatigue duties of all
sorts, from which we snatched furtive moments with our friends on the
crowded quay. For hours a stream of horses and mules poured up the
gangways; for two other corps were to share the ship with us, the
Oxfordshire Yeomanry and the Irish Hospital. At two the last farewells
had been said, and we narrowed our thoughts once more to all the
minutiæ of routine. As it turned out, we missed that tide, and did not
start till two in the next morning; but I was oblivious of such a
detail, having been made one of the two "stablemen" of my
sub-division, a post which was to last for a week, and kept me in
constant attendance on the horses down below; so that I might just as
well have been in a very stuffy stable on shore, for all I saw of the
run down Channel. My duty was to draw forage from the forward hold (a
gloomy, giddy operation), be responsible with my mate for the watering
of all the horses in my sub-division--thirty in number, for preparing
their feeds and "haying up" three times a day, and for keeping our
section of the stable-deck swept and clean. We started with very fine
weather, and soon fell into our new life, with, for me at least, a
strange absence of any sense of transition. The sea-life joined
naturally on to the barrack-life. Both are a constant round of
engrossing duties, in which one has no time to feel new departures.
The transition had come earlier, with the first day in barracks, and,
indeed, was as great and sudden a change, mentally and physically, as
one could possibly conceive. On the material side it was sharp enough;
but the mental change was stranger still. There was no perspective
left; no planning of the future, no questioning of the present; none
of that free play of mind and will with which we order our lives at
home; instead, utter abandonment to superior wills, one's only concern
the present point of time and the moment's duty, whatever it might be.

This is how we spent the day.

The trumpet blew reveillé at six, and called us to early "stables,"
when the horses were fed and watered, and forage drawn. Breakfast was
at seven: the food rough, but generally good. We were split up into
messes of about fourteen, each of which elected two "mess orderlies,"
who drew the rations, washed up, swept the troop-deck, and were
excused all other duties. I, and my friend Gunner Basil Williams, a
colleague in my office at home, were together in the same mess.
Coffee, bread and butter, and something of a dubious, hashy nature,
were generally the fare at breakfast. I, as stableman, was constantly
with the horses, but for the rest the next event was morning stables,
about nine o'clock, which was a long and tedious business. The horses
would be taken out of their stalls, and half of us would lead them
round the stable-deck for exercise, while the rest took out the
partitions and cleaned the stalls. Then ensued exciting scenes in
getting them back again, an operation that most would not agree to
without violent compulsion--and small blame to the poor brutes. It
used to take our whole sub-division to shove my roan in. Each driver
has two horses. My dun was a peaceful beast, but the roan was a
by-word in the sub-division. When all was finished, and the horses fed
and watered, it would be near 12.30, which was the dinner-hour. Some
afternoons were free, but generally there would be more exercising and
stall-cleaning, followed by the afternoon feeds and watering. At six
came tea, and then all hands, including us stablemen, were free.

Hammocks were slung about seven, and it was one of the nightly
problems to secure a place. I generally found under the hatchway,
where it was airy, but in rainy weather moist. Then we were free to
talk and smoke on deck till any hour. Before going to bed, I used to
write my diary, down below, at a mess-table, where the lights shot dim
rays through vistas of serried hammocks, while overhead the horses
fidgeted and trampled in their stalls, making a distracting thunder on
the iron decks. It was often writing under difficulties, crouching
down with a hammock pressing on the top of one's head--the occupant
protesting at the head with no excess of civility; a quality which, by
the way, was very rare with us.

Soon after leaving the Bay, we had some rough weather. "Stables" used
to be a comical function. My diary for the first rough day
says:--"About six of us were there out of about thirty in my
sub-division; our sergeant, usually an awesome personage to me,
helpless as a babe, and white as a corpse, standing rigid. The
lieutenant feebly told me to report when all horses were watered and
feeds made up. It was a long job, and at the end I found him leaning
limply against a stall. 'Horses all watered, and feeds ready, sir.' He
turned on me a glazed eye, which saw nothing; then a glimmer of
recollection flickered, and the lips framed the word 'feed,' no doubt
through habit; but to pronounce that word at all under the
circumstances was an effort of heroism for which I respected him.
Rather a lonely day. My co-stableman curled in a pathetic ball all
day, among the hay, in our forage recess. My only view of the outer
world is from a big port in this recess, which frames a square of
heaving blue sea; but now and then one can get breathing-spaces on
deck. In the afternoon--the ship rolling heavily--I went, by an order
of the day before, to be vaccinated. Found the doctor on the saloon
deck, in a long chair, very still. Thought he was dead, but saluted,
and said what I had come for. With marvellous presence of mind, he
collected himself, and said: 'I ordered six to come; it is waste of
lymph to do one only: get the other five.' After a short absence, I
was back, reporting the other five not in a condition to do anything,
even to be vaccinated. The ghost of a weary smile lit up the wan face.
I saluted and left."

Our busy days passed quickly, and on the ninth of the month a lovely,
still blue day, I ran up to look at the Grand Canary in sight on the
starboard bow, and far to the westward the Peak of Teneriffe, its
snowy cone flushed pink in the morning sun, above a bank of cloud. All
was blotted out in two hours of stable squalors, but at midday we were
anchored off Las Palmas (white houses backed by arid hills), the
ill-fated _Denton Grange_ lying stranded on the rocks, coal barges
alongside, donkey engines chattering on deck, and a swarm of bum-boats
round our sides, filled with tempting heaps of fruit, cigars, and
tobacco. Baskets were slung up on deck, and they drove a roaring
trade. A little vague news filtered down to the troop-deck; Ladysmith
unrelieved, but Buller across the Tugela, and some foggy rumour about
120,000 more men being wanted. The Battery also received a four-footed
recruit in the shape of a little grey monkey, the gift of the
Oxfordshire Yeomanry. He was at once invested with the rank of
Bombardier, and followed all our fortunes in camp and march and action
till our return home. That day was a pleasant break in the monotony,
and also signalized my release from the office of stableman. We were
off again at six; an exquisite night it was, a big moon in the zenith,
the evening star burning steadily over the dim, receding island. We
finished with a sing-song on deck, a crooning, desultory performance,
with sleepy choruses, and a homely beer-bottle passing from mouth to
mouth.

Then came the tropics and the heat, and the steamy doldrums, when the
stable-deck was an "Inferno," and exercising the horses like a
tread-mill in a Turkish bath, and stall-cleaning an unspeakable
business. Yet the hard work kept us in fit condition, and gave zest to
the intervals of rest.

At this time many of us used to sling our hammocks on deck, for down
in the teeming troop-deck it was suffocating. It was delicious to lie
in the cool night air, with only the stars above, and your feet almost
overhanging the heaving sea, where it rustled away from the vessel's
sides. At dawn you would see through sleepy eyes an exquisite sky,
colouring for sunrise, and just at reveillé the golden rim would rise
out of a still sea swimming and shimmering in pink and opal.

Here is the diary of a Sunday:--

"_February 11._--Reveillé at six. Delicious bathe in the sail-bath.
Church parade at ten; great cleaning and brushing up for it. Short
service, read by the Major, and two hymns. Then a long lazy lie on
deck with Williams, learning Dutch from a distracting grammar by a
pompous old pedant. Pronunciation maddening, and the explanations made
it worse. Long afternoon, too, doing the same. No exercising; just
water, feed, and a little grooming at 4.30, then work over for the
day. Kept the ship lively combing my roan's mane; thought he would
jump into the engine-room. By the way, yesterday, when waiting for his
hay coming down the line, his impatience caused him to jump half over
the breast-bar, bursting one head rope; an extraordinary feat in view
of the narrowness and lowness of his stall. He hung in a nasty
position for a minute, and then we got him to struggle back. Another
horse died in the night, and another very sick.

"Inoculation for enteric began to-day with a dozen fellows. Results
rather alarming, as they all are collapsed already in hammocks, and
one fainted on deck. It certainly is no trifle, and I shall watch
their progress carefully. I can't be done myself for some days, as I
was vaccinated two days ago (after the first unsuccessful attempt), in
company with Williams. We went to the doctor's cabin on the upper
deck, and afterwards sat on the deck in the sun to let our arms dry.
After some consultation we decided to light a furtive cigarette, but
were ignominiously caught by the doctor and rebuked. 'Back at school
again,' I thought; 'caught smoking!' It seemed very funny, and we had
a good laugh at it.

"It is a gorgeous, tropical night, not a cloud or feather of one; a
big moon, and dead-calm sea; just a slight, even roll; we have sat
over pipes after tea, chatting of old days, and present things, and
the mysterious future, sitting right aft on the poop, with the moonlit
wake creaming astern."

Inoculation was general, and I was turned off one morning with a
joyous band of comrades, retired to hammocks, and awaited the worst
with firmness. It was nothing more than a splitting headache and
shivering for about an hour, during which time I wished Kruger,
Roberts, and the war at the bottom of the sea. A painful stiffness
then ensued, and that was all. My only grievance was that two dying
horses were brought up and tied just below me, and dosed--lucky
beasts--with champagne by their officer-owners! Also we had the hose
turned on us by some sailors, who were washing the boat-bridge above,
and jeered at our impotent remonstrances. In two days we were fit for
duty, and took our turn in ministering to other sufferers.

We were a merry ship, for the men of our three corps got on capitally
together, and concerts and amusements were frequent. They were held
_al fresco_ on the forward deck, with the hammocks of inoculates
swinging above and around, so that these unfortunates, some of whom
were pretty bad, had to take this strange musical medicine whether
they liked it or no, and the mouth-organ band which attended on these
occasions was by no means calculated to act as an opiate. Of course we
had sports, both aquatic and athletic, and on the 18th Williams and I
conceived the idea of publishing a newspaper; and without delay wrote,
and posted up, an extravagant prospectus of the same. Helpers came,
and ideas were plentiful. A most prolific poet knocked off poems
"while you wait," and we soon had plenty of "copy." The difficulty lay
in printing our paper. All we could do was to make four copies in
manuscript, and that was labour enough. I am sure no paper ever went
to press under such distracting conditions. The editorial room was a
donkey engine, and the last sheets were copied one night among
overhanging hammocks, card-parties, supper-parties, and a braying
concert by the Irish just overhead, by the light of an inch of candle.
We pasted up two copies on deck, sent one bound copy to the officers,
and the _Montfort Express_ was a great success. It was afterwards
printed at Capetown. Here is an extract which will throw some light on
our dress on board in the tropics:--

THE FEBRUARY FASHIONS.

_By our Lady Correspondent._

"DEAR MAUDE,

"I don't often write to you about gentlemen's fashions, because, as a
rule, they are monstrously dull, but this season the stronger sex seem
really to be developing some originality. Here are a few notes taken
on the troopship _Montfort_, where of course you know every one is
smart. (_Tout ce qu'il y a de plus Montfort_ has become quite a
proverb, dear.) Generally speaking, piquancy and coolness are the main
features. For instance, a neat costume for stables is a pair of strong
boots. To make this rather more dressy for the dinner-table, a pair of
close-fitting pants may be added, but this is optional. Shirts, if
worn, are neutral in tint; white ones are quite _démodé_. Vests are
cut low in the neck and with merely a suggestion of sleeve. Trousers
(I blush to write it, dear) are worn baggy at the knee and very varied
in pattern and colour, according to the tastes and occupation of the
wearer. Caps _à la convict_ are _de rigueur_. I believe this to spring
from a delicate sense of sympathy with the many members of the
aristocracy now in prison. The same chivalrous instinct shows itself
in the fashion of close-cropped hair.

"There is a great latitude for individual taste; one tall, handsome
man (known to his friends, I believe, under the sobriquet of 'Kipper')
is always seen in a delicious confection of some gauzy pink and blue
material, which enhances rather than conceals the Apollo-like grace of
his lissome limbs.

"At the Gymkhana the other day (a _very_ smart affair), I saw Mr.
'Pat' Duffy, looking charmingly fresh and cool in a suit of blue
tattooing, which I hear was made for him in Japan by a native lady.

"In Yeomanry circles, a single gold-rimmed eye-glass is excessively
_chic_, and, by the way, in the same set a pleasant folly is to wear a
different coat every day.

"The saloon-deck is less interesting, because less variegated; but
here is a note or too. Caps are usually _cerise_, trimmed with blue
_passementerie_. To be really smart, the moustache must be waxed and
curled upwards in corkscrew fashion. In the best Irish circles beards
are occasionally worn, but it requires much individual distinction to
carry off this daring innovation. And now, dear, I must say good-bye;
but before I close my letter, here is a novel and piquant recipe for
_Breakfast curry_: Catch some of yesterday's Irish stew, thoroughly
disinfect, and dye to a warm khaki colour. Smoke slowly for six hours,
and serve to taste.

"Your affectionate,

"NESTA."

*       *       *       *       *

Here is Williams on the wings of prophecy:--

OUR ARRIVAL IN CAPETOWN.

_(With Apologies to "Ouida.")_

"It was sunset in Table Bay--Phoebus' last lingering rays were
empurpling the beetling crags of Table Mountain's snowy peak--the
great ship _Montfort_, big with the hopes of an Empire (on which the
sun never sets), was gliding majestically to her moorings. Countless
craft, manned by lissome blacks or tawny Hottentots, instantly shot
forth from the crowded quays, and surged in picturesque disorder round
the great hull, scarred by the ordure of ten score pure Arab chargers.
'Who goes there?' cried the ever-watchful sentry on the ship, as he
ran out the ready-primed Vickers-Maxim from the port-hole. 'Speak, or
I fire ten shots a minute.' 'God save the Queen,' was the ready
response sent up from a thousand throats. 'Pass, friends,' said the
sentry, as he unhitched the port companion-ladder. In a twinkling the
snowy deck of the great transport was swarming with the dusky figures
of the native bearers, who swiftly transferred the cargo from the
groaning hold into the nimble bum-boats, and carried the large-limbed
Anglo-Saxon heroes into luxurious barges, stuffed with cushions soft
enough to satisfy the most jaded voluptuary. At shore, a sight awaited
them calculated to stir every instinct of patriotism in their noble
bosoms. On a richly chased ebon throne sat the viceroy in person, clad
in all the panoply of power. A delicate edge of starched white linen,
a sight which had not met their eyes for many a weary week, peeped
from beneath his gaudier accoutrements; the vice-regal diadem, blazing
with the recovered Kimberley diamond, encircled his brow, while his
finely chiselled hand grasped the great sword of state. Around him
were gathered a dazzling bevy of all the wit and beauty of South
Africa; great chieftains from the fabled East, Zulus, Matabeles,
Limpopos and Umslopogaas, clad in gorgeous scarlet feathers gave
piquancy to the proud throng. Most of England's wit and manhood
scintillated in the sunlight, while British matrons and England's
fairest maids lit up with looks of proud affection; bosoms heaved in
sympathetic unison with the measured tramp of the ammunition boots;
bright eyes caught a sympathetic fire from the clanking spurs of the
corporal rough-rider, while the bombardier in command of the composite
squadron of artillery, horse-marines, and ambulance, could hardly pick
his way through the heaps of rose leaves scattered before him by
lily-white hands. But the scene was quickly changed, as if by
enchantment. At a touch of the button by the viceroy's youngest child,
an urchin of three, thousands of Boer prisoners, heavily laden with
chains, brought forward tables groaning with every conceivable dainty.
The heroes set to with famished jaws, and after the coffee, each
negligently lit up his priceless cigar with a bank-note, with the
careless and open-handed improvidence so charming and so
characteristic of their profession. But suddenly their ease was rudely
broken. A single drum-tap made known to all that the enemy was at the
gates. In a moment the commander had thrown away three parts of his
costly cigar, had sprung to his feet, and with the heart of a lion and
the voice of a dove, had shouted the magical battle-cry, 'Attention!'
Then with a yell of stern resolve, and the answering cry of 'Stand
easy, boys,' the whole squadron, gunners and adjutants, ambulance and
bombardiers, yeomen and gentlemen farmers, marched forth into the
night.

"That very night the bloody battle was fought which sealed the fate of
the Transvaal--and the dashing colour-sergeant nailed England's proud
banner on the citadel of Pretoria."

*       *       *       *       *

About once every week, it was my turn for stable-guard at night,
consisting of two-hour spells, separated by four hours' rest. The
drivers did this duty, while the gunners mounted guard over the
magazines. On this subject I quote some nocturnal reflections from my
diary:--"Horses at night get very hungry, and have an annoying habit
of eating one another's head-ropes reciprocally. When this happens you
find chains if you can, and then they eat the framework of the stall.
If you come up to protest, they pretend to be asleep, and eat your arm
as you pass. They also have a playful way of untying their breast-pads
and standing on them, and if you are conscientious, you can amuse
yourself by rescuing these articles from under their hind feet."

The days were never very monotonous; variety was given by revolver
practice, harness cleaning, and lectures on first aid to the wounded.
At the same time it came as a great relief to hear that we were at
last close to the Cape.

From my diary:--

"_February 26._--Heavy day at stables. Land reported at eleven; saw
through forage-port a distant line of mountains on port beam, edged by
a dazzling line of what looked like chalk cliffs, but I suppose is
sand. I am on stable-guard for the night (writing this in the
guard-room), so when stables were over at four I had to pack hard, and
only got up for a glimpse of things at five, then approaching Table
Bay, guarded by the splendid Table Mountain, with the tablecloth of
white clouds spread on it in the otherwise cloudless sky. I always
imagined it a smooth, dull mountain, but in fact it rises in
precipitous crags and ravines. A lovely scene as we steamed up through
a crowd of shipping--transports, I suppose--and anchored some way from
shore. Blowing hard to-night. I have been on deck for a few minutes.
The sea is like molten silver with phosphorescence under the lash of
the wind.

"_February 27._--Tiresome day of waiting. Gradually got known that we
shan't land to-day, though it is possible still we may to-night.
Torrid, windless day, and very hot work 'mucking out' and tramping
round with the horses, which we did all the morning, and some of the
afternoon. News sent round that we had captured Cronje and 5000
prisoners; all the ships dressed with flags, and whistles blowing;
rockets in evening, banging off over my head now, and horses jumping
in unison. Shall we be wanted? is the great question. We are packed
ready to land any minute."




CHAPTER II.

CAPETOWN AND STELLENBOSCH.

Landing--Green Point Camp--Getting into trim--My horses--Interlude--
Orders to march--Sorrows of a spare driver--March to Stellenbosch--
First bivouac--A week of dust and drill--The road to water--Off again.


"_March 4._--_Sunday._--_Green Point Camp._--This is the first moment
I have had to write in since last Tuesday. I am on picket, and writing
in the guard-tent by a guttery lantern.

"To go back:--On Wednesday morning, the 28th of February, we steamed
slowly up to a great deserted quay. The silence struck me curiously. I
had imagined a scene of tumult and bustle on the spot where troops in
thousands had been landing continuously for so long. We soon realized
that _we_ were to supply all the bustle, and that practical work had
at last begun, civilian assistance dispensed with, and the Battery a
self-sufficient unit. There was not even a crane to help us, and we
spent the day in shoving, levering, and lifting on to trucks and
waggons our guns, carriages, limbers, ammunition, and other stores,
all packed as they were in huge wooden cases. It was splendid exercise
as a change from stable-work. Weather melting hot; but every one was
in the highest spirits; though we blundered tediously through the job,
for we had no experience in the fine art of moving heavy weights by
hand. I forgot to take note of my sensations on first setting foot on
African soil, as I was groaning under a case of something terribly
heavy at the time.

"We worked till long after dark, slept like logs in the dismantled
troop-deck, rose early, and went on until the afternoon of the next
day, when we landed the horses--of which, by the way, we had only lost
four on the voyage--harnessed up some waggons to carry stores, and
were ready. While waiting to start, some charming damsels in white
muslin brought us grapes. At about four we started for Green Point
Camp, which is on a big plain, between the sea and Table Mountain, and
is composed of soft white sand, from which the grass has long
disappeared.

"Directly we reached it, the horses all flung themselves down, and
rolled in it. We passed through several camps, and halted at our
allotted site, where we formed our lines and picketed our horses heel
and head. Then the fun began, as they went wild, and tied themselves
in strangulation knots, and kept it up all night, as the sleepless
pickets reported.

"After feeding and watering, we unloaded the trucks which had begun to
come in, ate some bully-beef and bread, and then fell asleep anyhow,
in a confused heap in our tents. Mine had thirteen in it, and once we
were packed no movement was possible."

For two more days we were busily employed in unpacking stores, and
putting the _materiel_ of battery into shape, while, at the same time,
we were receiving our complement of mules and Kaffir drivers for our
transport waggons. Then came our first parades and drills. Rough we
were no doubt at first. The mobilization of a volunteer battery cannot
be carried out in an instant, and presents numberless difficulties
from which infantry are free. Our horses were new to the work, and a
few of us men, including my humble self, were only recent recruits.

The guns, too, were of a new pattern. The H.A.C. at home is armed with
the 15-pounder guns in use in the Regular Field Artillery. But for the
campaign, as the C.I.V. Battery, we had taken out new weapons
(presented by the City of London), in the shape of four 12-1/2-pounder
Vickers-Maxim field guns, taking fixed ammunition, having practically
no recoil, and with a much improved breech-mechanism. They turned out
very good, but of course, being experimental, required practice in
handling, which could not have been obtained in the few weeks in the
London barracks.

On the other hand, the large majority of us were old hands, our senior
officers and N.C.O.'s were from the Regular Horse Artillery, and all
ranks were animated by an intense desire to reach the utmost
efficiency at the earliest possible moment.

My impressions of the next ten days are of grooming, feeding, and
exercising in the cool twilight of dawn, sweltering dusty drills,
often in sand-storms, under a blazing mid-day sun, of "fatigues" of
all sorts, when we harnessed ourselves in teams to things, or made and
un-made mountains of ammunition boxes--a constant round of sultry
work, tempered by cool bathes on white sand, grapes from peripatetic
baskets, and brief intervals of languid leisure, with _al fresco_
meals of bully-beef and dry bread outside our tents.

Time was marked by the three daily stable hours, each with their
triple duty of grooming, feeding, and watering, the "trivial round"
which makes up so much of the life of a driver. As a very humble
representative of that class, my horses were two "spares," that is,
not allotted to any team. Much to my disgust, I was not even provided
with a saddle, and had to do my work bareback, which filled me with
indignation at the time, but only makes me smile now. My roan was
always a sort of a pariah among the sub-division horses, an
incorrigible kicker and outcast, having to be picketed on a peg
outside the lines for his misdeeds. Many a kick did I get from him;
and yet I always had a certain affection for him in all his troubled,
unloved life, till the day when, nine months later, he trotted off to
the re-mount depot at Pretoria, to vex some strange driver in a
strange battery. My other horse, a dun, was soon taken as a sergeant's
mount, and I had to take on an Argentine re-mount, a rough, stupid
little mare, with kicking and biting propensities which quite threw
the roan's into the shade. She also had a peg of ignominy, and three
times a day I had to dance perilously round my precious pair with a
tentative body-brush and hoof-pick. The scene generally ended in the
pegs coming away from the loose sand, and a perspiring chase through
the lines. I had some practice, too, in driving in a team, for one of
our drivers "went sick," and I took his place in the team of an
ammunition-waggon for several days.

Abrupt contrasts to the rough camp life were some evenings spent with
Williams in Capetown, where it already felt very strange to be dining
at a table, and sitting on a chair, and using more than one plate.
Once it was at the invitation of Amery of the _Times_, in the palatial
splendour of the Mount Nelson Hotel, where I felt strangely
incongruous in my by no means immaculate driver's uniform. But _how_ I
enjoyed that dinner! Had there been many drivers present, the
management would have been seriously embarrassed that evening.

Wildly varying rumours of our future used to abound, but on March 14,
a sudden order came to raise camp, and march to Stellenbosch. Teams
were harnessed and hooked in, stores packed in the buck waggons, tents
struck, and at twelve we were ready. Before starting Major McMicking
addressed us, and said we were going to a disaffected district, and
must be very careful. We took ourselves very seriously in those days,
and instantly felt a sense of heightened importance. Then we started
on the road which by slow, _very_ slow, degrees was to bring us to
Pretoria in August.

My preparations had been very simple, merely the securing of a blanket
over the roan's distressingly bony spine, and putting a bit in his
refractory mouth. As I anticipated, there had been a crisis over my
lack of a saddle at the last moment, various officers and N.C.O.'s
laying the blame, first on me (of all people), and then on each other,
but chiefly on me, because it was safest. Not having yet learnt the
unquestioning attitude of a soldier, I felt a great martyr at the
time. The infinite insignificance of the comfort on horseback of one
spare driver had not yet dawned upon me; later on, I learnt that
indispensable philosophy whose gist is, "Take what comes, and don't
worry."

We passed through Capetown and its interminable suburbs, came out on
to open rolling country, mostly covered with green scrub, and, in the
afternoon, formed our first regular marching camp, on a bit of green
sward, which was a delicious contrast after Green Point Sand. Guns and
waggons were marshalled, picket-ropes stretched between them, the
horses tied up, and the routine of "stables" begun again.

It was our first bivouac in the open, and very well I slept, with my
blanket and waterproof sheet, though it turned very cold about two
with a heavy dew. A bare-backed ride of thirteen miles had made me
pretty tired.

The next day we were up at five, for a march of eighteen miles to
Stellenbosch. At mid-day we passed hundreds of re-mount ponies,
travelling in droves, with Indian drivers in turbans and loose white
linen. Half-way we watered our horses and had a fearful jostle with a
Yeomanry corps (who were on the march with us), the Indians, and a
whole tribe of mules which turned up from somewhere. In the afternoon
we arrived at our camp, a bare, dusty hill, parching under the sun.

We passed a week here, drilling and harness cleaning, in an atmosphere
of dust and never-ending rumours.

Here are two days from my diary:--

"_March 18._--Still here. Yesterday we rose early, struck tents,
harnessed horses, and waited for orders to go to the station. Nothing
happened: the day wore on, and in the evening we bivouacked as we were
in the open. The night before we had great excitement about some
mysterious signalling on the hills: supposed to be rebels, and the
Yeomanry detachment (who are our escort) sent out patrols, who found
nothing. To-day we are still awaiting orders, ready to start in half
an hour, but they let us have a fine slack day, and we had a great
bathe in the afternoon. Ostriches roam about this camp, eating empty
soda-water bottles and any bridoon bits they can find. Three times a
day we ride bareback to water horses at the re-mount depot, passing
picturesque Indian camps. Williams and I are sitting under our
ammunition waggon, where we are going to sleep: it is sunset and the
hills are violet. A most gorgeous range of them fronts this camp.

"_March 19._--Worse than ever. No orders to start, but orders to
re-pitch tents. Delays seem hopeless, and now we may be any time here.
Cooler weather and some rain to-day: much pleasanter. Only two tents
to a sub-division, and there are sixteen in mine, a frightful squash.
Long bareback ride for the whole battery before breakfast; enjoyed it
very much. Marching-order parade later. Argentine very troublesome:
bites like a mad dog and kicks like a cow: can't be groomed. To-day
she tried to bite me in the stomach, but as I had on a vest, shirt,
body belt, money belt, and waistcoat, she didn't do much damage, and
only got a waistcoat button and a bit of pocket!"

We were uncommonly glad to receive definite orders on the 20th to move
up country. The Battery was to be divided. The right section to go to
Matjesfontein, and the left section, which was mine, to Piquetberg
Road. Nobody knew where these places were, but we vaguely gathered
that they were somewhere on the line of communications, which, rightly
or wrongly, we thought very disappointing. For two more days we stood
in readiness to start, chafing under countermanding orders, and
pitching and re-pitching of tents, so little did we know then of the
common lot of a soldier on active service.

We were to go by train, and the right section under the Major started
about midnight on the 20th, and we on the next day, at four o'clock.

Guns, horses, and waggons were entrained very quickly, and just at