" It was very jolly. Not
often has one ridden on such a quest, on such a night, to such a tune as
that.
So, old Modder, fare you well! Farewell the huge plain that one grew so
fond of, with its blue and yellow bars of light, morning and evening;
the shaggy kopjes heaped with black rocks, the secluded, lonely farms
nestling beneath, old Cook's, where the figs were ripe in the garden,
and Mrs. Dugmore, who gave us fresh bread and butter and stewed peaches.
Not soon shall I forget those morning patrols. The sea of veldt, the
pure air, the carelessness, the comradeship, and the freedom. Old
Gordon has a good verse that I find sometimes running in my head--
"It was merry in the morning
Among the gleaming grass,
To wander as we've wandered many a mile,
And blow the cool tobacco cloud
And watch the white wreaths pass,
Sitting loosely in the saddle all the while."
And then the secret bivouacs and lurking-places along the river or in
among the deserted hills. The lookout from the tall pyramid, where I
have kept watch so many hours day and night, in heat of sun or with
stars glittering overhead.
It was from this kopje that we got notice to quit, by the way. Our
notice taking the shape of several little brown-backed Boers galloping
about and spying at us from a hill one and a half miles to the north.
That night we drew out in the plain after dark and camped (no fires)
among the bushes, and at grey dawn stole back to have another look.
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