an R.A.M.C. orderly on Tommy, or perhaps rather on his own status and grievances in general.  Inside the tent Tommy was free and unequivocal about the whole tribe of orderlies, the criticism culminating in a ghoulish story from my right-hand neighbour, told in broadest Yorkshire, about one in Malta, “who stole the ——­ boots off the ——­ corpse in the ——­ dead-’ouse.”  Outside the tent a communicative orderly poured into my ear the tale of Paardeberg, and its unspeakable horrors, the overwork and exhaustion of a short-handed medical corps, the disease and death in the corps itself, etc.  I conclude that in such times of stress the orderly has a very bad time, but that with a column having few casualties and little enteric, like this, he is uncommonly well off.  His class has done some splendid work, which Tommy sometimes forgets, but it must be remembered that it had to be suddenly and hurriedly recruited with untrained men from many outside sources, some of them not too suitable.  My impression is that they want more supervision by the officers.  The latter, in this hospital, are, when we see them, very kind, and certainly show the utmost indulgence in keeping off duty men who are not feeling fit for work.

CHAPTER XI.

HOSPITAL.

August 29.—­Suddenly told we were all to go to Pretoria by train, railway being just open, it seems.  I am disgusted with the slowness of my foot, and at being separated from the Battery.  It goes to-morrow back to Pynaar’s River, and then joins a flying column of some sort.

August 30.—­I write lying luxuriously on a real spring-mattress bed, between real sheets, having just had my fill of real bread and real butter, besides every comfort, in a large marquee tent, with a wooden floor, belonging to the Imperial Yeomanry Hospital, Pretoria.  I landed in this haven at four o’clock this morning, after a nightmare of a journey from Warm Baths.  We left there about 2.30 P.M. yesterday, after long delays, and then a sudden rush.  Williams came over to say good-bye, and the Captain, Lieutenant Bailey and Dr. Thorne; also other fellows with letters, and four of our empty cartridges as presents for officers of the Irish Hospital in Pretoria.  We were put into a truck already full of miscellaneous baggage, and wedged ourselves into crannies.  It was rather a lively scene, as the General was going down by the same train, and also Baden-Powell on his way home to England.  The latter first had a farewell muster of his men, and we heard their cheers.  Then he came up to the officers’ carriage with the General.  I had not seen him before, and was chiefly struck by his walk, which had a sort of boyish devil-may-care swing in it, while in dress he looked like an ordinary trooper, a homely-looking service jersey showing below his tunic.  As the train steamed out we passed his troops, drawn up in three sides of a square facing inwards, in their shirt-sleeves.  They sent up