slowness. And the reverse of this was equally true, for a man in black clothing mounted on a grey horse had all the appearance of a supernatural bird. The rider's body cut the horse's form across, leaving two whitish ends visible, and when the horse galloped these parts of the animal rose and fell like wings.

The surface of the veldt looked level, yet it was so far from that as to cause a body of our troops at one time, and at another time a railway train, to disappear suddenly, though the surface seemed flat all around them. They vanished at a few miles' distance, and though we imagined ourselves able to look down upon the whole plain, their further progress entirely was hidden from our view.

Night began to fall, and we returned to the town. The trains presently came back with the men. From the first one was lifted the body of Lieut.-Colonel Keith Falconer, and then the dying form of Captain Wood. Four more wounded men-two privates and two officers-were in the throng, and a hush fell upon the post. Thus we had our first taste of war on this side of the enemy's country, our first sight of the shedding of heroic blood. Here, as elsewhere, we found that the Boers were indulging in illicit, savage warfare, singling out officers in order to cripple us.

"They will not play the game fairly," said a soldier, when the news came in that three officers and only two privates were shot.

In the camp during the next day much that was interesting was said about the means which must be taken to give our officers a reasonable measure of protection. Look at any reproduction of a photograph of British officers in khaki uniform which has been published in the London weeklies, and you will see that their buttons, and golden insignia of rank, gleam like diamonds against their uniforms. As you see them in the pictures, the Boers see them in the blazing sunshine on the veldt.

"Tommy" has but few such points of metal, and these he is forbidden to polish. He must keep them dim. He must paint the sheath of his bayonet brown, and he may not even polish his boots. His rifle is his protection, just as the absence of a rifle marks an officer before the enemy.

It came under discussion to have all officers who march with their men provided with light carbines. In that case the swords, whose silver handles now gleam like electric lights on the field of battle, would be discarded, and so would the coloured collar bands and shoulder ornaments, which make such shining marks. Matters of this sort the Boer does not have to consider. He fights behind rocks, and except in the case of his blue-clad artillery he fights in his civilian dress.

The engagement near Belmont on November 10th was but a trifling skirmish, and will only figure in

history as the first collision of opposing troops on this side of the Dutch Republics. The purpose of the patrol was to discover the whereabouts and strength of the enemy in the region where they long ago blew up the railway. This was accomplished with bloodshed, only because the Boers disclosed their retreat by attacking our force.

CHAPTER XII

DUST AND KHAKI

IT sounds gruesome to liken the sending out of an army to the return of “dust to dust," and yet if the reader could see an army, or any number of soldiers, in khaki out on the veldt, he would at once think of the simile.

South Africa looks as if it were the dustbin of creation. Its ground is loose dust. Its air is flying dust. Its vegetation, animals, and insects nearly all take differing shades of dust colour.

On November 14th in the train from De Aar to Orange River I passed five miles of transports bringing up forage, food, and ammunition for Lord Methuen's advance column of ten thousand menwhich it was hoped would sweep its way to the relief of Kimberley like a witch's broom.

All these waggons, mules, and negroes raised one long, high, dense cloud of reddish-brown dust, through which we saw the canvas that covered the carts, the black faces of the natives, and such of the horses as were white or black. The waggons, which are all painted

dust-colour, were lost to sight, and the half battalion of troops guarding the host we could not distinguish at all until we were almost beside them.

Like all the troops we have in the field, they began in uniforms of dirt-colour, and are constantly getting dirtier and dirtier. This does not sound like a proud or a pretty thing to say of her Majesty's valorous soldiers, but it is true; it is so ordered, and it is good.

We were all getting dirtier and dirtier-inside and out. We breathed dust, drank dust, and ate dust. Very often we are out of sorts, because our internal arrangements suffer, and rebel against this new order of things; but the dust persists, our systems bow to it, and we go ahead fitter than before.

Some of the natives, I believe, live on certain kinds of dirt, and have no bother about cooking and killing, and mowing and reaping. Perhaps if this war lasts long enough we shall simplify our affairs in the same way, for we are making great strides in that direction. I sat in my dusty tent with my boots buried in dust, writing with a solution of dust by means of a dusty brown pen, and every line was dusted and dried as soon as written as our grandfathers dried their manuscript with sand.

A dust-coloured cat strayed out on the veldt, and was watching a hole in the dust in order to catch a dust-coloured mouse. The air outside was as full of