One thing that makes a great difference is that campaigning has become
routine. One doesn't worry over little things, as one did in early
days, when one dreamt of nose-bags, bridoons, muzzles, etc., and the
awful prospect of losing something important or unimportant, and when
one harnessed-up in a fever of anxiety, dreading that the order "hook
in" would find one still fumbling for a strap in the dark, in oblivion
of the hot coffee which would be missed cruelly later. In a score of
little ways one learns to simplify things, save time, and increase
comfort. Not that one ever gets rid of a strong sense of
responsibility. Entire charge, day and night, of two horses and two
sets of harness, is no light thing.

_July 22._--_Sunday._--Reveillé at six. Boot and saddle at 7.30;
started at 8.30--a lovely day. Marched out about three miles with the
brigade, and are now halted. An officer has just explained to the
non-coms, what is going to happen. The Boer forces are in the
mountains east of us, whence there are only three outlets, that is,
passes (or neks, as the Dutch call them), one at each corner of a
rough triangle. British columns are watching all these, Hunter, Paget,
Clements, and Bruce Hamilton. Ours is called Slabbert's Nek, and
to-day's move is a reconnaissance in force towards it, without
likelihood of fighting. The delay here has been to allow every column
to get into position, so that when an attack is made there may be no
escape from the trap. The trap, of course, is a very big one, one
corner, I believe, being at the Basuto border. Something like a whole
army corps is engaged. It is most novel and unusual to know anything
about what one is doing. It makes a marvellous difference to one's
interest in everything, and I have often wondered why we are not told
more. But I suppose the fact is that very few people know.