these fellows. I am
told the first contingent has got a name among the regulars.

Three weeks later he writes:

April 10th, 1900.

We certainly shall have done a good march when we get to the railroad,
478 miles through a country desolate of forage carrying our own
transport and one-half rations of forage, and frequently the men's
rations. For two days running we had nine hours in the saddle without
food. My throat was sore and swollen for a day or two, and I felt
so sorry for myself at times that I laughed to think how I must have
looked: sitting on a stone, drinking a pan of tea without trimmings,
that had got cold, and eating a shapeless lump of brown bread; my one
"hank" drawn around my neck, serving as hank and bandage alternately. It
is miserable to have to climb up on one's horse with a head like a
buzz saw, the sun very hot, and "gargle" in one's water bottle. It is
surprising how I can go without water if I have to on a short stretch,
that is, of ten hours in the sun. It is after nightfall that the thirst
really seems to attack one and actually gnaws. One thinks of all the
cool drinks and good things one would like to eat. Please understand
that this is not for one instant in any spirit of growling.

The detail was now established at Victoria Road. Three entries appear*:

* I only count two. . . . A. L., 1995.

April 23rd, 1900.

We are still here in camp hoping for orders to move, but they have not
yet come. Most of the other troops have gone. A squadron of the M.C.R.,
my messmates for the past five weeks, have gone and I am left an orphan.
I was very sorry to see them go. They, in the kindness of their hearts,
say, if I get stranded, they will do the best they can to get a troop
for me in the squadron or some such employment. Impracticable, but kind.
I have no wish to cease to be a gunner.

Victoria Road, May 20th, 1900.

The horses are doing as well as one can expect, for the rations are
insufficient. Our men have been helping to get ready a rest camp near
us, and have been filling mattresses with hay. Every fatigue party comes
back from the hospital, their jackets bulging with hay for the horses.
Two bales were condemned as too musty to put into the mattresses, and we
were allowed to take them for the horses. They didn't leave a spear of
it. Isn't it pitiful? Everything that the heart of man and woman can
devise has been sent out for the "Tommies", but no one thinks of