to me. The Kaffir drivers always have it, too, though there are no
visible trees. We always seem to sit up late, short though our nights
are. A chilly little group gathers sleepily round the embers, watching
mess-tins full of nondescript concoctions balanced cunningly in the
hot corners, and gossiping of small camp affairs or large strategical
movements of which we know nothing. The brigade camp-fires twinkle
faintly through the gloom. A line of veldt-fire is sure to be glowing
in the distance, looking like the lights of a sea-side town as seen
from the sea. The only sound is of mules shuffling and jingling round
the waggons.

The "cook-house" is still the source of rumours, which are wonderfully
varied. There is much vague talk now of General Clements and a brigade
being connected somehow with our operations. But we know as little of
the game we are playing as pawns on the chessboard. Our tea is strong,
milkless, and sugarless, but I always go to sleep the instant I lie
down, even if I am restless with the cold later.

_July 3._--Reveillé at 4.30. Our section, under Lieutenant Bailey,
started at once for a steep kopje looming dimly about three miles
away. The right section, with the Major and Captain, left us and went
to another one. We had a tough job getting our guns and waggons up.

_(8 A.M.)_--Just opening fire now. A Boer gun is searching the valley
on our left, but they can't see the limbers and waggons.

_(8.30.)_--The Boers seem to have some special dislike to our waggon.
They have just placed two shells, one fifty yards in front of it, and
the other fifty yards behind; one of them burst on impact, the other
didn't. The progress of a shell sounds far off like the hum of a