pure air, the carelessness, the comradeship, and the freedom. Old
Gordon has a good verse that I find sometimes running in my head--

"It was merry in the morning
Among the gleaming grass,
To wander as we've wandered many a mile,
And blow the cool tobacco cloud
And watch the white wreaths pass,
Sitting loosely in the saddle all the while."

And then the secret bivouacs and lurking-places along the river or in
among the deserted hills. The lookout from the tall pyramid, where I
have kept watch so many hours day and night, in heat of sun or with
stars glittering overhead.

It was from this kopje that we got notice to quit, by the way. Our
notice taking the shape of several little brown-backed Boers galloping
about and spying at us from a hill one and a half miles to the north.
That night we drew out in the plain after dark and camped (no fires)
among the bushes, and at grey dawn stole back to have another look. Back
dashes one of our advance scouts to tell us that a big force of Boers
was just rounding the point. Next minute we were swinging out into the
plain, through the low scrub and thorn bush, and as we did so the Boers
came through the Nek. They must have known exactly where our usual camp
was, and crept up overnight to cut us off. It wasn't by much that they
missed. Three or four loiterers, as it was, had a warm minute or two.
The first single shots grew to a sudden fierce crackle, like the crackle
of a dry thorn branch on the fire, as they came through the bush. But
they came on nevertheless, one horse hit only, and joined us, and we
formed up and started at a steady gallop for the hills beyond the plain,