Kaffirs, like other nations, see pictures in constellations.) We then feed horses—­if we have anything to feed them with, which is not often; light fires and boil coffee; saddle-up, and march off at 5.15.  We go on marching till about 9.30 or 10, when we off-saddle and lie up for the heat of the day, during which the horses are grazed, with a guard to look after them, and we go a-breakfasting, bathing, and in theory writing and sketching, but in practice sleeping, at least so far as the flies will allow.  At 3.30 saddle-up and march till 5.30; off-saddle and supper; then we march on again, as far as necessary, in the cool hours of the early night.  On arriving at the end of our march, we form our little laager; to do this we put our saddles down in a square, each man sleeping with his head in the saddle, and the horses inside the square, fastened in two lines on their ‘built up’ ropes.  To go to bed we dig a small hole for our hip-joints to rest in, roll ourselves up in our horse-blanket, with our heads comfortably ensconced in the inside of the saddle, and we would not then exchange our couch for anything that Maple could try and tempt us with.”

But after months of this hard work, the tireless B.-P. began to knock up.  Fever and dysentery attacked him, and he said unkind things to people who bothered him—­as witness the message sent to one of the patrolling columns:  “If you let the men smoke on a night march, you might as well let the band play too.”  The justness of the gibe!

B.-P. relates a good story, by the way, of smoking while on guard.  A Colonial volunteer officer, Captain Brown, in times of peace Butcher Brown, ordered a sentry found smoking to consider himself a prisoner.  “What!” exclaimed the volunteer soldier, “not smoke on sentry?  Then where the ——­ am I to smoke?” The dignified Captain only reiterated his first remark.  Then did the sentry take his pipe from his mouth and confidentially tap his officer upon the shoulder.  “Now, look here, Brown,” said he, “don’t go and make a ——­ fool of yourself.  If you do, I’ll go elsewhere for my meat.”

To return.  B.-P., having lived straight and hard, soon fought down the fever, and in little more than a week was back again at work.  It is nice to know that during the time of his being on the sick-list Sir Frederick Carrington went regularly to his bedside and sat for a long time, retailing all the cheerful news of the campaign.  Sir Frederick and Baden-Powell, by the bye, are probably the two Imperial officers who know most about South Africa.

During his illness Major Ridley had started off with a column to make war upon the Somabula, and when B.-P. got about again he was ordered to go in search of this force, with three troopers as an escort, and to take command of it.  “I could picture nothing more to my taste,” he says, “than a ride of from eighty to one hundred miles in a wild country, with three good men, and plenty of excitement