uck the ground only a few yards away
on our right. That day several men were killed and wounded, but none of
our crowd, though one got a bullet in his rear pack, another had his
bandolier struck, and another his hand grazed. The annoying part of our
work was that we were repeatedly sniped at, but never had a chance to
retaliate, even when we saw the enemy, as we did on several occasions.
Certainly once we prepared a pretty little surprise for them in the way
of an ambush formed of our troop dismounted, but they did not come.
However, two or three of our fellows saw somebody by a Kaffir kraal, and
thinking it was a Boer, opened fire, and whoever it was dropped. It
proved only Kaffirs were there, and two men in our troop are still
quarrelling as to which bagged the inoffensive nigger, if bagged he was.

Monday, the eighth day out, the entire force rested, which means in
plain English that they washed, mended their clothes and performed
other domestic duties. Like the man in "The Mikado," I am a thing of
shreds and patches, though there is not much dreamy lullaby for me,
or any of us. The next day we marched on without opposition to
Bronkhorst Spruit, of fateful memory. We reached there at mid-day,
and camped, as we had to wait for our convoy to come up. As soon as
we had got our lines down we went to get wood--we like to have our
own fires when we can. Corrugated iron buildings there were, but
untenanted. Bronkhorst Spruit, of hated memory, was a deserted
village. Smash!--bang!--crash!--crack! "Far flashed the red
artillery," aye? No, it is merely Mr. Thomas Atkins and his brethren
of the Colonies and Imperial Yeomanry, who are overcoming
difficulties in the wood fatigue line. Considering that the average
Transvaal house is constructed with wood and corrugated iron, it can
be easily understood that neither its erection or demolition takes
much time. "So mind yer eye, there--crash!--bang! That door belongs
to the Sussex! Smash! Look out, the roof's coming down," etc.

The convoy came in during the night, so we were up and off at an early
hour, bound for Balmoral, the next station on the line towards
Middelburg. The country we had to traverse was very rough, and on our
left were ranges of suspicious-looking kopjes. Soon after we started my
horse funked a narrow dyke at about half-a-dozen places, and finally, on
my insisting and exhorting him with my one remaining spur, plunged
sideways in at the deepest part. He came out f