ight
had persuaded me I was going to do what I am actually doing at this
moment. K. had made no sign nor waved his magic baton. So I just kept as
cool as I could and had a sound sleep.

Next morning, that is the 12th instant, I was working at the Horse
Guards when, about 10 a.m., K. sent for me. I wondered! Opening the door
I bade him good morning and walked up to his desk where he went on
writing like a graven image. After a moment, he looked up and said in a
matter-of-fact tone, "We are sending a military force to support the
Fleet now at the Dardanelles, and you are to have Command."

Something in voice or words touched a chord in my memory. We were once
more standing, K. and I, in our workroom at Pretoria, having just
finished reading the night's crop of sixty or seventy wires. K. was
saying to me, "You had better go out to the Western Transvaal." I asked
no question, packed up my kit, ordered my train, started that night. Not
another syllable was said on the subject. Uninstructed and unaccredited
I left that night for the front; my outfit one A.D.C., two horses, two
mules and a buggy. Whether I inspected the columns and came back and
reported to K. in my capacity as his Chief Staff Officer; or, whether,
making use of my rank to assume command in the field, I beat up de la
Rey in his den--all this rested entirely with me.

So I made my choice and fought my fight at Roodewal, last strange battle
in the West. That is K.'s way. The envoy goes forth; does his best with
whatever forces he can muster and, if he loses;--well, unless he had
liked the job he should not have taken it on.

At that moment K. wished me to bow, leave the room and make a start as I
did some thirteen years ago. But the conditions were no longer the same.
In those old Pretoria days I had known the Transvaal by heart; the
number, value and disposition of the British forces; the characters of
the Boer leaders; the nature of the country. But my knowledge of the
Dardanelles was nil; of the Turk nil; of the strength of our own forces
next to nil. Although I have met K. almost every day during the past six
months, and although he has twice hinted I might be sent to Salonika;
never once, to the best of my recollection, had he mentioned the word
Dardanelles.

I had plenty of time for these reflections as K., after his one
tremendous remark had resumed his writing at the desk. At last, he
looked up and inquired, "Well?"

"We have done this sort of thi