their own personal comfort,
to change their under-clothes and to sort their kits. The soldier man
on service loves to sort his kit. The very fact that he is able to
shake out his modest bag to the bottom spells "holiday," and in
latter-day trekking holidays for the men were rare. But even holidays
can bring their heart-burnings, and about the breakfast-hour a howl of
despair went up from the Horse Artillery lines. A casual stroll
through the ankle-deep heather to Freddy's quarters repaid those
sightseers who had energy enough to be interested in camp excitements.
The horse-gunner major had long felt annoyance at the turnout of his
Kaffir boys and teamsters. The predominant attribute of the Kaffir is
vanity, an attribute which he possesses in common with all savages and
most white men. The reason for this vanity we will not pursue, as we
have nothing to do with the ethics of masculine conceit: it is
sufficient for this history that it exists. Vanity has caused the
Kaffirs of South Africa to acquire about fifty per cent of the British
army tunics which have landed in that continent. Thomas Atkins, as a
rule, is not over-blessed with money, consequently he cannot resist
the temptation of the five golden sovereigns which the Kaffir is
prepared to give for any scarlet tunic which is not in the last stage
of decay. The transfer of uniform came to such a pitch that an army
order was issued on the subject. Not that an army order was sufficient
to stay the general traffic in British uniforms, but it furnished such
right-minded soldiers as the horse-gunner major with the "cue" which
they required. Freddy's Kaffirs had struck a new and green regiment,
and being themselves near the end of a six months' contract, they were
"full of money." Consequently at Britstown, where money had possessed
extra fascinations for the British soldier, the "boys" attached to the
battery had been able to lay in a very complete outfit in Line
regimentals. The halt gave Freddy his opportunity, and he had every
kit laid bare. The revelation was wonderful. There was not a driver or
_voor looper_ who had not his scarlet jerkin. Many, indeed, had two,
to say nothing of forage-caps, field-service caps, dragoon overalls,
and gunner slacks. The Kaffirs had at first looked upon the kit
inspection as a joke. But they lapsed into a puzzled silence when they
saw their belongings cast upon a common heap. Their great white eyes
grew bigger and bigger, and their repul