“We sat up late last night, and then Williams and I slept in great comfort, though it felt quite odd to have something between one and the stars.  It’s true there was a slight break, caused by the door being flung open, and sacks of bread being hustled in from the outside.  But a soldier’s training takes no account of these things, and you instinctively jump out half-dressed, and help to shovel more sacks in, you don’t know why, or what they are.  Being woken up, we got on to the platform over an intervening train, and sent cables home from an office standing invitingly open.  Then to bed again.  Later, in my dreams, I was aware of a sergeant and an irascible little station-master coming into the carriage with lanterns and throwing most of the sacks out again, which it seemed had been annexed feloniously by our Captain, at the last station, in his zeal to keep our ‘stomachs full.’  I was glad to get rid of the sacks, as they filled our carriage up completely.  The train has to stop for about three-quarters of an hour or less, three times a day, for feeding and watering the horses.  The first stop to-day was about 6.30 A.M.  We tumbled out in the delicious fresh air, and formed into pre-arranged feeding and watering parties.  I am on the feed party of our subdivision, and we climbed like beetles up the sides of the trucks, which are open, and strap on the nose-bags.  Then we washed at a friendly tap, and had our own breakfast which the cooks had cooked—­coffee and porridge.  Then we climbed back and took off nose-bags, and then the train went on.  At this station we ‘commandeered’ a splendid table in the shape of a large square tin advertisement of a certain Scotch whisky, and played whist on it after breakfast.  The train wound slowly through a barren stretch of brown plain and rocky wild.  Stations happened now and then, little silent spots in the wilderness, their raison d’etre a mystery, no houses, roads, or living things near, except a white tent or two, and some sunburnt men in khaki looking curiously at us.  There are troops in small bodies all up the line in this ‘loyal’ colony.  At one station the Kimberley mail caught us up, and the people threw us magazines and biscuits from the windows.  All engines and stations were decorated with flags in honour of the relief of Mafeking, the news of which came through yesterday.  A hospital train bound to Capetown also passed, with some pale faces and bandaged limbs in evidence.

“At 1.30 we stopped again for feed and water, and when we went on our mess sat down to the following lunch, which I think does credit to our catering powers.

  MENU.

  R.B.S. 
  Emergency Soup. 
  Cold Roast Fowl, with Stuffing. 
  Bully Beef, with Mustard. 
  Whiskied Biscuits. 
  Desserts Varies.  Chocolate.  Ginger.  Bonbons.  Oranges. 
  German Beer. 
  Cigars.  Cigarettes.

“I wrote the menu out in French first, but it seemed not to suit.