I managed to mount my pony to ride into
Bloemfontein, which we did on the 13th, and am now quite well.
This morning I sent you a wire to tell you that I had got my commission,
thinking thereby to impress you with the importance of the event. The
past five months of trooper life have not passed unpleasantly. There
have been the inconveniences and hardships of the moment, "les petites
miseres de la vie militaire," which sound trifling enough, but are
rather a tax on one's endurance sometimes. The life of a trooper, and
especially of a scout, is often a sort of struggle for existence in
small ways. You have to care for and tend your pony, supplement his
meagre ration by a few mealies or a bundle of forage, bought or begged
from some farm and carried miles into camp; watch his going out and
coming in from grazing; clean him when you can, and have an eye always
to his interests. Your life and work depend so entirely on your pony
that this soon becomes an instinct with you. Then there are your own
wants to be supplied. You will be half starved often if you can't raise
something to put in your pocket--eggs from a Kaffir, or a fowl, or a
loaf of bread. Then there is the cooking question. Wood is scarce;
unless you or your pal have an eye to this, you may go supperless for
want of a fire. Another scarcity is water. Very likely there will be
none nearer than a mile from camp, and this means a weary tramp after a
long day.
Pages:
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107