dark I found myself in a second-class carriage, one of a merry party
of eight, sitting knee-deep in belts, haversacks, blankets, cloaks,
and water-bottles. We travelled on till midnight, and then stopped
somewhere, posted guards, and slept in the carriages till dawn.




CHAPTER III.

PIQUETBERG ROAD.

Piquetberg Road--A fire--Kitless--A typical day--A bed--"Stableman"--
Picket--A rebel--Orders for the front, with a proviso--Rain--An
ungrateful patient--"Bazing"--Swimming horses--My work--The weather--A
blue letter.


When I woke up on the morning of the 22nd of March, the legend
"Piquetberg Road" was just visible on a big white board opposite the
carriage. So this was our destination. There was a chill sense in
every one of not having got very far towards the seat of war--indeed,
we were scarcely eighty miles from Capetown; but our spirits were soon
raised by the advent of some Tommies of the Middlesex Militia, who
spoke largely of formidable bodies of rebels in the neighbourhood, of
an important pass to guard, and of mysterious strategical movements in
the near future; so that we felt cheerful enough as we detrained our
guns and horses, harnessed up, and marched over a mile and a half of
scrub-clothed _veldt_, to the base of some steep hills, where we
pitched our camp, and set to work to clear the ground of undergrowth.