ord Roberts!" but, alas, they had
none, "I'kona," signifying the negative. One enterprising youth,
however, called to me as I was riding off and brought me four, for which
I paid him sixpence. Then once again as we were going away, he called to
us--evidently the pay, pay, pay of the absent-minded foreign devil has
touched his savage heart--for lo and behold his neighbours had some for
sale, and came forward with a dozen in a tin, then their neighbours came
to the front with about a score, and yet another lot appeared with
more--in all, we got fifty eggs, of which I pocketed three dozen, and
carried the remainder in a handkerchief and surrendered them to our
major, saying I had got them for him (he was in want of some), and thus
appeased him. Had I carried them all in my _mouchoir_ I might have lost
the lot, but we simple Yeomen "know a thing or three," as the ancient
ballad goes.

We have just drawn rations for fourteen days and been joined by some
more M.I., so it looks as if

"Troops may come and troops may go,
But we go on for ever."

"Go hon!" seems to be our call and counter cry.

COMMANDO NEK, _Friday, October 12th, 1900_.
_Excerpt from proposed Christmas Panto._
Place--The Transvaal. Period--Victorian.

_Officers' Tent._

First Officer: "I heah the men are gwousing about their gwub."

Second Officer: "Er--I think they get their wations wegularly."

Third Officer: "Oh, dem! They're alwight. Anyhow, what do they want with
gwub? A little more turkey and peas, and--er pass the whisky, Fwed."

_The Waggon._

Quartermaster-Sergeant (to kindred spirit): "Look 'ere; twelve tins of
bacon, sixteen of jam, biscuits, and a jar of rum. Lemme see; there's
twelve of us, and twenty of them. 'Umph, that's eight tins of bacon and
eleven of jam for us, and four of bacon and five of jam for them. Let
'em 'ave four biscuits a man; save the best for us--don't forget--"

Kindred Spirit: "And the rum?"

Quartermaster-Sergeant: "Confound it; I nearly forgot that.
Oh--er--er--take 'em a cupful, and--er--say we're on half rations."

_Chorus from minor waggonites from round cook-house fire._

"We don't want to fight,
And, by Jingo, if--we--do,
We've got the rum, we've got the tea,
And we've got the sugar, too."

_The Yeomen's Lines. Men just in from patrol._

Man with bullet hole in hat: "Is tea up?"

Enter orde