wounded upon the veldt sometimes for three
or, at any rate in one case, for four days. He has in his wounded state
borne the terrible jolting of the ox-waggon day after day. If you talk
to him about it, he will not complain of any one, but will make light of
all his dreadful sufferings and merely remark that you cannot expect to
be comfortable in time of war!

And how much he has endured! The difficulties of transport have made it
impossible for him to receive more than half rations, and sometimes not
more than a quarter rations for days together. On the march to
Kimberley, for instance, General French's troops for four days had
nothing to eat but what they could pick upon the hungry veldt. Stealing
has been abolished in South Africa--it is all commandeering now!

'Where did you get that chicken, my lad?' asks the officer in angry
tones.

'Commandeered it, sir,' says Tommy, and the officer is appeased.

And there was plenty of commandeering done during that dreadful march,
or the men would have died of starvation. A strange spectacle he must
have presented as he rode along. His kettle slung across his saddle, a
bundle of sticks somewhere else, a packet of Quaker oats fastened to his
belt, and a tin of golden syrup dangling from it. These he had provided
for himself from the last dry canteen he had visited, and often even
these could not be obtained.

What stories are told us of sticks and Quaker oats! They say that when
the troops started with Sir Redvers Buller from Colenso each man had his
bundle of sticks and a packet of Quaker oats fastened somewhere upon
him. His canteen was as black as coal, but that did not matter. And if
he had his sticks and his Quaker oats, and could manage to get a little
'water' that was not more than usually khaki-coloured, he was a happy
man. So as he marched along he was always on the look-out for sticks and
water. The two together furnished him with all things necessary: the
sticks soon made the water boil, and the Quaker oats made--tea!

=The Men in Khaki.=

As regards dress he was a picture! He started khaki-clad, and no one
could tell one regiment from another, but he was only allowed to take
the suit he wore to the front, and before long, what with marching and
sandstorms and fighting, that suit became unrecognisable as a suit. Bit
by bit it went. Tailors of the most amateur description plied their
needles and thread upon it in vain. It went! and Tommy's distress
occasiona