August 15.—­I had gone to sleep in splendid isolation under the verandah of an empty house, but awoke among some Munsters, who greeted dawn with ribald songs.  Harnessed up after breakfast, and marched off through the town, past the head-quarters, where Roberts reviewed us and the 38th.  He was standing with a large Staff at the foot of the steps.  The order “eyes right” gave us a good view of him, and very small, fit, and alert he looked.

 “’E’s little, but ’e’s wise,
  ’E’s a terror for ’is size.”

I liked what we saw of the town, broad boulevards edged with trees, and houses set back deep in gardens; the men all in khaki uniforms, or niggers, but a good many English ladies and nurses.  We marched to a camp on the top of a hill outside the town, and joined the rest of the brigade.  A lovely view of the town from here, in a hollow of encircling hills, half-buried in trees, looking something like Florence in the distance.  I can hardly believe we are really here when I think of the hopeless depression of June and May at Bloemfontein.  Much to our disgust, we weren’t allowed to go down to the town in the afternoon.  However, we visited a reservoir instead, where a pipe took away the overflow, and here we got a real cold bath in limpid water, on a shingly bottom, a delicious experience.  After evening stables Williams and I got leave to go down to town.  We passed through broad tree-bordered streets, the central ones having fine shops and buildings, but all looking dark and dead, and came to the Central Square, where we made for the Grand Hotel, and soon found ourselves dining like gentlemen at tables with table-cloths and glasses and forks, and clean plates for every course.  The complexity of civilized paraphernalia after the simplicity of a pocket-knife and mess-tin, was quite bewildering.  The room was full of men in khaki.  Heavens! how hungry that dinner made me!  We ordered a bottle of claret, the cheapest being seven shillings.  The waiter when he brought it up paused mysteriously, and then, in a discreet whisper to Williams, said he supposed we were sergeant-majors, as none under that rank could be served with wine.  Gunner Williams smilingly reassured him, and Driver Childers did his best to look like a sergeant-major, with, I fear, indifferent success.  Anyway the waiter was easily satisfied, and left us the claret, which, as there were three officers at the table, was creditable to him.  We walked home about 8.30, the streets all silent as death, till we were challenged by a sentry near the outskirts of the town, and asked for the countersign, which we didn’t know.  There were muttered objections, into which a bottle of whisky mysteriously entered, and we bluffed it out.  I have never found ignorance of a countersign a serious obstacle.