“That very night the bloody battle was fought which sealed the fate of the Transvaal—­and the dashing colour-sergeant nailed England’s proud banner on the citadel of Pretoria.”

* * * * *

About once every week, it was my turn for stable-guard at night, consisting of two-hour spells, separated by four hours’ rest.  The drivers did this duty, while the gunners mounted guard over the magazines.  On this subject I quote some nocturnal reflections from my diary:—­“Horses at night get very hungry, and have an annoying habit of eating one another’s head-ropes reciprocally.  When this happens you find chains if you can, and then they eat the framework of the stall.  If you come up to protest, they pretend to be asleep, and eat your arm as you pass.  They also have a playful way of untying their breast-pads and standing on them, and if you are conscientious, you can amuse yourself by rescuing these articles from under their hind feet.”

The days were never very monotonous; variety was given by revolver practice, harness cleaning, and lectures on first aid to the wounded.  At the same time it came as a great relief to hear that we were at last close to the Cape.

From my diary:—­

“February 26.—­Heavy day at stables.  Land reported at eleven; saw through forage-port a distant line of mountains on port beam, edged by a dazzling line of what looked like chalk cliffs, but I suppose is sand.  I am on stable-guard for the night (writing this in the guard-room), so when stables were over at four I had to pack hard, and only got up for a glimpse of things at five, then approaching Table Bay, guarded by the splendid Table Mountain, with the tablecloth of white clouds spread on it in the otherwise cloudless sky.  I always imagined it a smooth, dull mountain, but in fact it rises in precipitous crags and ravines.  A lovely scene as we steamed up through a crowd of shipping—­transports, I suppose—­and anchored some way from shore.  Blowing hard to-night.  I have been on deck for a few minutes.  The sea is like molten silver with phosphorescence under the lash of the wind.

“February 27.—­Tiresome day of waiting.  Gradually got known that we shan’t land to-day, though it is possible still we may to-night.  Torrid, windless day, and very hot work ‘mucking out’ and tramping round with the horses, which we did all the morning, and some of the afternoon.  News sent round that we had captured Cronje and 5000 prisoners; all the ships dressed with flags, and whistles blowing; rockets in evening, banging off over my head now, and horses jumping in unison.  Shall we be wanted? is the great question.  We are packed ready to land any minute.”

CHAPTER II.

CAPETOWN AND STELLENBOSCH.

Landing—­Green Point Camp—­Getting into trim—­My horses—­Interlude—­ Orders to march—­Sorrows of a spare driver—­March to Stellenbosch—­ First bivouac—­A week of dust and drill—­The road to water—­Off again.