nd it ought to cover any
subsequent act of disobedience which we undertake. Don't make answers
to any of these subordinate fry; we will just march at nine o'clock
to-night to Orange River Station, raid the place of such rations as we
can lay hands on, and then, maps or no maps, take off our caps to Cape
Colony for ever."

* * * * *

It was just as well that the brigadier had made his own arrangements,
for both Plumer and Pilcher forgathered at Orange River that night,
and the stationmaster, with the bonhomie bred of a long period spent
in disappointing everybody with whom he came in contact, informed each
column commander in rotation that the best he could promise them was
truckage sufficient for one squadron on the following day, two
squadrons perhaps on the second day, and the whole of the mounted
troops ordered by rail certainly not before a week or ten days. We
just ask you to make a short study of this situation. The episode
which is here related was not a farce--far from it: it was a serious
endeavour on the part of the British army in South Africa to capture
or destroy a noted brigand called De Wet. A possibility of bringing
about this desired result was certainly within view, and the British
army was straining every nerve to avail itself of a unique
opportunity. To the humble subaltern, who was but a microscopic atom
of that huge British army, this herculean effort partook rather of the
nature of burlesque than of serious war. But it was nothing to the
burlesque which was shortly to be enacted on Orange River Station
platform.

As day broke other columns concentrated on the station buildings,
until the inartistic surroundings of the little centre became black
with men and animals. In appearance it might well be likened to a
swarm of bees in temporary possession of a window-frame. Amongst the
troops waiting for rolling stock was a wild company of over-sea
Colonials--men of independent character and fine physique, who had
already done their year in the country, and to whom the sight of a
permanent way and the smell of a station-yard brought memories of
homes in a distant land, and transports tossing on Table Bay, and a
promise that had been made to them by some one, that they should
return home the next time they touched the railway. Their dash after
De Wet had been undertaken rather in the spirit of a favour. And now
they were on the line again, rumour had it that their belated