with a fervour almost amounting to ferocity upon the reality of “conversion,” and was opposed by another whose tendencies were more Pelagian, and who went so far as to maintain that no one would employ the services of a “converted” man if he could secure one who was “unconverted”.  The amount of bad language evoked in the course of this theological argument was extraordinary.  Such acrimonious discussions as these acted, however, as a mere foil to our general harmony, and a common practice on an evening when we had no wounded on our hands was to start a “sing-song”.  The general tone of these concerts was decidedly patriotic.  “God save the Queen” and “Rule Britannia” were thrown in every now and then, but seldom, if ever, I am glad to say, that wearisome doggerel “The Absent-Minded Beggar”.  It is quite a mistake, by the way, to suppose that Mr. Kipling’s poetry is widely appreciated by the rank and file of the army.  From what I have noticed, the less intelligent soldiers know nothing at all about Mr. Kipling’s verses, while the more intelligent of them heartily dislike the manner in which they are represented in his poems—­as foul-mouthed, godless and utterly careless of their duties to wives and children.  I remember a sergeant exclaiming:  “Kipling’s works, sir! why, we wouldn’t have ’em in our depot library at any price!” Of course it would be ridiculous to maintain that many soldiers do not use offensive language, but the habit is largely the outcome of their social surroundings in earlier life and is also very infectious; it requires quite an effort to refrain from swearing when other people about one are continually doing this, and when such behaviour is no longer viewed as a serious social offence.  As to Mr. Atkins’ absent-mindedness I shall have a word to say later on.

In addition to the National Anthem and “Rule Britannia,” we had, of course, “Soldiers of the Queen,” and a variety of other less known ballads which described the superhuman valour of our race, and deplored the folly of any opposition on the part of our enemies even if they outnumbered us by “ten to one”.  One of our cook’s greatest hits was a song entitled “Underneath the Dear Old Flag”.  In order to furnish a touch of realism the singer had secured a small white flag which floated on the top of our train; but he never seemed to realise the incongruity of waving this peaceful emblem over his head as he thundered out his resolve “to conquer or to die”.

Just below Graspan Station the Boers had made one of their many attempts to wreck the line.  They had torn up the metals and the sleepers, and a good many bent and twisted rails lay beside the permanent way.  But this sort of injury to a railway is very speedily set right.  In an hour or two a party of sappers can relay a long stretch of line if no culverts or bridges are destroyed.  Mishaps to the telegraph are still more easily repaired, and already, side by side with the wreckage of the original wires, the piebald posts of the field telegraph service ran all along the lines of communication.