be pontoons—­strange articles to perceive at a railway-station.  Then we passed a vast concourse of red-cross tents of every description, proclaiming a hospital.  As far as outward appearances went, it looked most beautifully arranged in symmetrically laid-out streets, while many of the marquees had their sides thrown back, and showed the patients within, either in bed or sitting about and enjoying the breeze and the rays of a sun never too hot at that time of year.  “How happy and comfortable they look!” was my remark as we left them behind.  Someone who knew Kroonstadt said:  “Yes, they are all right; but the Scotch Hospital is the one to see if you are staying long enough—­spring-beds, writing-tables, and every luxury.”  I was sorry time admitted of no visit to this establishment or to the magnificent Yeomanry Hospital at Deelfontein, farther south, to which I shall have occasion to allude in a later chapter.  This last establishment was, even at that early stage of the war, a household word among the soldiers at the front, a dearly longed-for Mecca amongst the sick and wounded.

Our train had come to an abrupt standstill, and, on looking out, the line appeared so hopelessly blocked that the only way of reaching the station and lunch appeared to be on foot.  We walked, therefore, upwards of half a mile, undergoing many perils from shunting engines, trains undecided whether to go on or to go back, and general confusion.  It certainly did not look as if our train could be extricated for hours, but it proved there was method in this apparent muddle, and we suffered no delay worth speaking of.  The station was densely packed with Staff officers and soldiers.  Presently someone elbowed a way through the crowd to make way for the General, just arrived from Bloemfontein.  A momentary interest was roused as an elderly, soldierly gentleman, with white hair and a slight figure, passed out of sight into one of the officials’ rooms, and then we joined the throng trying to get food in the overtaxed refreshment-room.  We had some interesting conversation with the officer in command of the station, and learnt how the Kroonstadt garrison were even then living in the midst of daily alarms from De Wet or his followers; added to these excitements, there was a colossal amount of work to be got through in the way of supplying Pretoria with food, by a line liable to be interrupted, and in coping with the task of receiving and unloading remounts, which were arriving from the South in large numbers.  I saw some of these poor animals packed nine in a truck, marvellously quiet, and unmindful of strange sights and sounds, and of being hurled against each other when the locomotive jerked on or came to a stop.  They were in good condition, but their eyes were sad and their tails were woefully rubbed.  After seeing Kroonstadt Railway-station, I realized that the work of a Staff officer on the lines of communication was no sinecure.