Alcohol is also a good antidote, provided one takes it immediately and
in such quantities that it goes to the head. I would recommend everyone
always to take a small quantity of brandy with him on commando, if
experience had not taught me that some take even a mosquito-bite as an
excuse to 'take a drop,' and I am against that on principle.

Often while loading my horse the thought struck me whether the poor
brute ever had a wish to protest, 'Surely this is becoming too bad!' and
that reminds me that one must be very careful not to overload. The
knapsack must not be filled with kaboe mealies (roasted maize) for one's
self, while the nosebag of the poor horse remains empty.

More than one prisoner of war has bitterly regretted that he did not
take his horse's power of endurance into greater consideration. Now I
must take up the thread of my tale.

The following morning the lager would start at three o'clock, and, as
my horse was in good condition, the owner of the horse that had been
left behind asked me to fetch it before the lager left. He explained to
me where I would find it tied to a tree about half an hour's ride from
the lager, so I started with a friend at about two o'clock at night. On
the way we came across a mule that had wandered away while grazing,
ignorant of all the danger he was exposing himself to in the uninhabited
Boschveld. The creature gave us much trouble by refusing to be caught
and constantly dodging behind a tree, so we lost a great deal of time.
On our way back, close to the lager, we heard the whine of the wild-dog,
the well-known feared wolf. We thought it very interesting to come
across a wild animal of which we had no fear just then. But when we
reached the camping-ground of the lager, where only the trolley stood to
which the wandering mule belonged, we found to our surprise that both