d for wheelers. In the ordinary way all artillery horses are so
harnessed that they can be used as wheelers at any moment. The off
horse is now very light therefore, having only collar, traces, and
crupper, with an improvised strap across the back to support the
traces. Of course there are always "spare wheelers," ready-harnessed,
following each subdivision in case of casualties. As far back as
Bethlehem we discarded big bits also and side-reins, which are quite
useless, and waste time in taking in and out when you want to water
rapidly, or graze for a few moments. The harness is much simplified
now, and takes half the time to put on. The mystery is why it is ever
considered necessary to have so much on active service, or even at
home, unless to keep drivers from getting too much leisure. Several
houses in this place have been wrecked, and many fellows slept under
the shells. In one of them a man was selling hot coffee in the
evening, at 6d. a cup. It was a striking scene, which I shall always
remember--a large building, floorless and gutted inside, and full of
heaps of rubble, very dimly lit by a couple of lanterns, in the light
of which cloaked and helmeted figures moved. I thought of sleeping in
a house, for it was the coldest night I remember; but habit prevailed,
and I turned in as usual by my harness. The horses have got a
head-rope-eating epidemic, and seemed to be loose all night.

_August 12._--_Sunday._--Reveille at six. Harnessed up, and waited for
orders to entrain for Pretoria. The 38th Battery have gone already,
and the Wilts Yeomanry. A draft of twenty new men from England came in
by train. They looked strangely pale and clean and tidy beside our
patched and soiled and sunburnt selves. Marched down to station, and
were entraining guns, waggons, horses, etc., till about four. The
usual exciting scenes with mules, but it all seems routine now. Our
subdivision of thirty men were packed like herrings into an open
truck, also occupied by a gun and limber.

_August 13._--I write sitting wedged among my comrades on the floor of
the truck, warm sun bathing us after an Arctic night, and up to my
knees in kit, letters, newspapers, parcels, boxes of cigarettes,
chocolate, etc., for all our over-due mails have been caught up in a
lump somewhere, and the result of months of affection and thoughtful
care in distant England are heaped on us all at once. I have about
thirty letters. It is an orgie, and I feel drunk with