the
poor horses. They get the worst of it all the time. Even now we blush to
see the handful of hay that each horse gets at a feed.

The Boer War is so far off in time and space that a few further detached
references must suffice:

When riding into Bloemfontein met Lord----'s funeral at the cemetery
gates,--band, firing party, Union Jack, and about three companies. A
few yards farther on a "Tommy" covered only by his blanket, escorted
by thirteen men all told, the last class distinction that the world can
ever make.

We had our baptism of fire yesterday. They opened on us from the left
flank. Their first shell was about 150 yards in front--direction good.
The next was 100 yards over; and we thought we were bracketed. Some
shrapnel burst over us and scattered on all sides. I felt as if a hail
storm was coming down, and wanted to turn my back, but it was over in
an instant. The whistle of a shell is unpleasant. You hear it begin
to scream; the scream grows louder and louder; it seems to be coming
exactly your way; then you realize that it has gone over. Most of them
fell between our guns and wagons. Our position was quite in the open.

With Ian Hamilton's column near Balmoral.

The day was cold, much like a December day at home, and by my kit going
astray I had only light clothing. The rain was fearfully chilly. When we
got in about dark we found that the transport could not come up, and it
had all our blankets and coats. I had my cape and a rubber sheet for
the saddle, both soaking wet. Being on duty I held to camp, the others
making for the house nearby where they got poor quarters. I bunked out,
supperless like every one else, under an ammunition wagon. It rained
most of the night and was bitterly cold. I slept at intervals, keeping
the same position all night, both legs in a puddle and my feet being
rained on: it was a long night from dark at 5.30 to morning. Ten men
in the infantry regiment next us died during the night from exposure.
Altogether I never knew such a night, and with decent luck hope never to
see such another.

As we passed we saw the Connaughts looking at the graves of their
comrades of twenty years ago. The Battery rode at attention and gave
"Eyes right": the first time for twenty years that the roll of a British
gun has broken in on the silence of those unnamed graves.

We were inspected by Lord Roberts. The battery turned out very smart,
and Lord Roberts complimented the Maj