The time came when the order was given to saddle up. Every one, with the enthusiasm of a true soldier hastened to make good the order. After a good two hours' struggle, every horse was ready for his rider. The men were told to mount, each in his own way, and to make every effort to hold the saddle after once he found it. As they were told to lay aside their rifles until they had become on friendly terms with their horses, they were not hampered with any impediment except their inexperience. Having mounted, I scarcely know what happened during the next five minutes, but I saw men in camp, on the veldt, in fact, all about me, picking themselves up, shaking the sand off them, and chasing here and there and everywhere a lot of horses from which they had just separated. Having caught their horses they were told to try again and keep trying again, until they and their horses became thoroughly acquainted with each other. For hours I sat and witnessed and enjoyed the best show I had ever seen or ever expect to see. But the men were Irish, and were not to be defeated as long as there was life in them. I kept no account of how many times each mounted his horse, and immediately thereafter turned a somersault, but, when, at the conclusion of the performance, each rode up and said he was ready for his rifle, I felt proud of them, for they showed the real Irish pluck and grit that are destined some day to free Ireland. Within one week from that day I could call each one of those Irish boys a truly good cavalryman. They learned to ride much sooner than they learned to know their horses. A few of them, to be sure, would tie a piece of ribbon in the mane or tail, and would always hunt for their ribbons instead of their horses. This gave rise, months after, to some trouble in which Father Van Hecke, the Brigade Chaplain, was implicated. Father Van Hecke always tied a green rag into his horse's mane so that he could find him quickly. He rode a bay pony, and a good pony he was, that Father Van Hecke thoroughly appreciated. One day one of the mischievous boys thought he would play a trick on the good Father. He went out, caught the Father's pony, removed the green rag and tied it into the mane of a sorrel pony, not half so good as the Father's. When the order was given to saddle-up, out went the Father, and the boys and Boers, each for his own horse. Father Van Hecke found the green rag, caught the sorrel pony and started to camp with him. At this moment up came the Boer who owned the pony, claimed him and accused the Father of trying to steal his horse. Father Van Hecke informed the Boer that he thought he had ridden that horse long enough to know him, and that the green rag was his mark. The Boer used rather strong language, but the Father would not surrender his pony to any one. Finally I was sent for to settle the matter.