The railway north—­Yesterday’s start—­Travelling made easy—­Feeding horses—­A menu—­De Aar—­A new climate—­Naauwport—­Over the frontier—­ Bloemfontein—­A fiasco—­To camp again—­The right section—­Diary days—­ Riding exercise—­A bit of history—­Longman’s Hospital—­The watering-place—­Artillery at drill—­A review—­A camp rumour—­A taste of freedom—­A tent scene.

From my diary:—­

“May 20.—­Sunday.—­I write this on the train, on the way up north, somewhere near Beaufort West; for the long-wished day has come at last, and we are being sent to Kroonstadt, which anyway is pretty near to, if not actually at, the front.  Our only fear is now that it will be too late.  All day the train has been traversing the Karoo, a desert seamed by bare rocky mountains, and without a sign of life on it, only vast stretches of pebbly soil, dotted sparsely with dusty-green dwarf scrub.  But to go back.  We started yesterday.  All went smoothly and simply.  At eight, kit was inspected; in the morning, bareback exercise; at twelve, tents struck; at 12.30 dinner; at one, ’boot and saddle.’  When we were hooked in and mounted, the Captain made a splendid little speech in the incisive forcible voice we had learned to know so well, saying we had had for long the most trying experience that can befall a soldier, that of standing fast, while he sees his comrades passing him up to the front.  He congratulated us on the way we had met that experience.  There had been no complaining or slackness in our work on that account.  He hoped we would have the luck to go into action, and his last advice to us was ’to keep our stomachs full and our bellies warm!’

“Then we marched to the station, unharnessed, packed harness, boxed the horses, put the guns and waggons on the trucks, and were ready.  But the train didn’t start till about eight o’clock in the evening.  One box was reserved for kickers, and you should have seen their disgust when they found nothing to bully!  We had, and have, a vague idea that the journey was to last about a week, so Williams and I bought a large box of provisions and a small paraffin stove.  Accustomed to delays, we quite expected no engine to turn up or something like that, but finally a whistle blew and we were off, and a delirious shout went up, and then we all sighed with relief, and then got doubly merry, shouting vain things over a long untasted beverage, whisky and water.  One hears so much about the horrors of war that I scarcely dare to describe the men’s accommodation on board this train.  It is strange, but true, that I have never travelled more comfortably in my life, and probably never shall.  Most compartments have only four men to them, and by great good luck, and a little diplomacy, Williams and I have one to ourselves, though we form our mess with the four chaps in the next one.  Now the beauty of it is that no one can get into our train, so, if you get out at a station, you need have no fear of finding a nurse with twins in your special corner seat.  You live without these terrors, and have room to stretch, and sleep, and read, and have meals, with no one to ask you to show your ticket.  In fact, things are reversed; we are not herded and led, and snubbed by porters and officials, but the train belongs to us, and we ignore them.