thing more bellicose than a lean and hungry boar-hound or two. And
yet for two long years to come this very country, over which the
battalion trekked so peacefully, fifes and drums playing, officers out
on the flanks shooting, mess-president cantering miles away in quest
of eggs and their producers, was to be the scene of many a hard-fought
fight and many weary nights of outposts. Indeed, it never really
succumbed to the very end; the happy hunting-ground of the gallant De
la Rey, it was a thorn in the side of our leaders up to the day the
Delegates came in.

One day's march varied little from another. Up at dawn, and off after
the scantiest of scrappy breakfasts. Good marching while the dew was
on the grass, and the sun a welcome ally after the clear, crisp,
frosty nights; soon, however, to get hot enough, until the welcome
mid-day halt and meal, after which tighten up belts once more and on,
and on, one horizon following another with wearisome regularity, and
never a sign of the long-looked-for water, till at last, as the sun
set behind our backs, its last rays would glint on the miserable 'pan'
by whose side we were to halt for the night. And then what bitter
feelings of depression and disgust when sometimes the fiat would go
forth 'Water for cooking purposes only,' and one had to turn into
one's blankets grimy, dusty, clammy, and miserable.

On May 31st, the regiment, having arrived at the railway, was told
they would halt there next day. But on the morning of June 1st, the
order was given for the column[8] to march at 2 p.m. to Marigobo Pan,
a distance of eight miles only, but quite ten by the route taken. The
evenings soon close in at this time of year in South Africa, and it
was almost dark when the column arrived. As it was a fine mild night,
every one hoped to be allowed to bivouac, but tents were pitched after
all, and naturally enough pitched anyhow.

[Footnote 8: Border Regiment, Royal Dublin Fusiliers, Bearer
Company, and Supply Detachment.]

In this matter of pitching tents, the battalion particularly prided
itself. On arrival at the selected site of the camp the Sergeant-Major
blew a whistle, when all those whose duty it was to assist ran towards
him, the men to mark the tent-poles, bayonets in hand, and two others
with the mekometer, to ensure a true right-angle. Every one knew his
particular job, so no time was wasted, while the symmetrical lines
obtained by the use of the instrume