ure of presenting Dr. Welford and Captain Cory with a
packet of these unobtainable articles. Another man who had been on a
ration fatigue at the A.S.C. waggons in the afternoon managed to take
away a box of four dozen tins of apricot jam, _not_ down on our
requisition. To "do" the A.S.C. is a virtuous deed. So we have dined
well lately, though at the present time of writing I am rather tired of
apricot preserve.

[Illustration: On Pass.

This depicts three of ours just going into the town--and the beauty &
sadness of the whole thing is--they are got up to kill.]

This day, Monday (November 12th), the column marched into Krugersdorp.
We were rearguard and just as we left the site of the camp, which had
been in a most picturesque spot, got bullets whistling by us and
knocking up the dust round our horses. Two of our men out of four, who
had relieved an infantry picket at _reveille_ are missing. The snipers
followed us about half the distance to the dorp and we had quite a warm
little rearguard action. I am just off to post this in the town.

CAMP LIFE AT KRUGERSDORP.

KRUGERSDORP,
_Saturday, Nov. 17th, 1900._

We are still camped within about three miles of this town, and expect to
remain here till Hart's Column returns. It went out yesterday after
having had a five weeks' rest. Amongst the mounted men were the Wilts,
Bucks, Yorks, and Suffolk Squadrons of Yeomanry. I think I told you in
my last we arrived here on Monday after a lively time as rearguard, the
Boers opening fire on us as soon as we had started to leave the place we
had camped at. That is the worst of pitching upon picturesque spots for
camps. We lost two men, who, however, eventually turned up safe and
sound, although some of their captors had shown a strong inclination to
shoot them, but, thanks to Delarey's brother, the bloody-minded minority
were disappointed. The snipers hung persistently on to our tail,
occupying each ridge and kopje as we retired from them. As soon as I had
picketed and fed my horse, I obtained leave and went into Krugersdorp,
passing on the way mines all the worse for want of wear, and the "Dubs"
and others under canvas. In the town I dined at what I should imagine
was a Bier Halle in the piping days of peace, but which in the sniping
days of war is an underground eating room run by Germans, who charge a
great deal for a very little, and find it