Started at nine; marched as far as the inward end of the Nek, and camped.  I got a splendid wash, almost a bath, in a large pond, in the company of many Boer prisoners, who, I am bound to say, seemed as anxious for cleanliness as we were.  I talked to two most charming young men, who discussed the war with me with perfect freedom and urbanity.  They dated their debacle from Roberts’s arrival, and the use of flanking movements with large numbers of mounted men.  They made very light of lyddite, and laughed at the legend that the fumes are dangerous.  In action they leave all their horses in the rear, unwatched, or with a man or two. (Our mounted infantry leave a man to every four horses.) I asked if a small boy, who was sitting near, fought.  They said, “Yes:  a very small stone suffices to shelter him.”  They talked very good English.

The right section have turned up and, I hear, are camped about two miles away.  They have been a fortnight away doing convoy work, to Senekal, Winberg, and back.  They brought us no mails, to our great disappointment.  We have had no letters now since June 15th.  Strange rumours come in about 40,000 troops going to China.  A very cold night; I should say 15 degrees of frost.

August 4.—­Did a rapid five hours’ march through the Nek, and back to Bultfontein, as part of the advance-guard.  On the way we picked up the right section, and exchanged our experiences.  They had had no fighting, but a very good time.  They had distractingly luscious stones of duff, rum, and jam at Winberg, and all looked very fat and well.  We camped, unharnessed, and watered at the same old muddy pool, muddier than ever.  I visited an interesting trio of guns which were near us, in charge of Brabant’s Horse; one was German, one French, one British.  The German was a Boer gun captured the other day, a 9-pr.  Krupp, whose bark we have often heard.  It has a very long range, 8000 yards, but otherwise seemed clumsy compared with ours, with a cumbersome breech action and elevating gear.  The French one was a Hotchkiss, made by the French company, belonging to Brabant’s Horse—­a smart little weapon, but not so handy, I should say, as ours.  The British one was a 15-pr. field gun, of the 77th Field Battery, lost at Stormberg and recaptured the other day.  It had evidently had hard and incessant use, and was much worn.  Brabant’s Horse were our escort to-day, a fine, seasoned body of rough, wild-looking fellows, wearing a very noticeable red puggaree round their slouch hats.  They are fine scouts, and accomplished marauders, for which the Boers hate them.  Jam for tea, and milk in the tea—­long unknown luxuries, which the right section brought with them.  In the evening I went to a sing-song the 38th gave round their camp fire.  It was very pleasant, and they were most hospitable to us.