There was considerable trouble over the complaints raised by the volunteers, and it developed into the “meat scandal” that has furnished jests for the comic papers ever since; but these difficulties are bound to appear in every campaign. I did see some meat in Cuba that was not fit to eat; but, on the whole, the meat supply was very good when one considers the haste in which it was purchased and the climate where it was used. England has had her difficulties in the same form, but her people do not make such an outcry as was raised in our newspapers. Early in the South African war the troop-ship _Arawa_ sailed from Southampton, and before she got to sea it was discovered that her cargo of meat was spoiled. She put back, and the entire lot, amounting to fifteen thousand pounds of English and colonial beef and mutton, was dumped out on the dock--a “very unwholesome mess.” The mutton was green, and in a bad condition; as soon as the port health officer saw it he ordered it to be taken to sea and dumped, which was promptly done. Had this occurred in America during the Spanish war the newspapers would probably have demanded the instant removal of a few officials. In England, however, the only comment in the papers was that “the incident was the one topic of conversation at the docks yesterday, and military men were highly indignant about it.” Before closing the subject of rations it is necessary to speak of the commissary department of the Boer forces, if I may use this phrase regarding a department that does not exist. Among the Boers each man is his own supply corps, finding his rations wherever he can, and in what quantity he can. It is marvelous what a small amount these burghers can subsist upon while carrying on active operations. During an action near Pretoria I was lying on top of a kopje, watching the advance of the British forces, while they kept up a heavy shell fire. About one o’clock I felt hungry, so I opened my haversack and took out a loaf of bread and a piece of beef weighing perhaps a couple of pounds. Near me was an old, white-bearded Boer, who must have been at least seventy-five. After I had been eating for a few moments I noticed that he had no haversack, and so asked him if he would not have a bit of the bread. “Have you plenty?” he asked before accepting. I said that I had, so he took the loaf and broke off a very small piece, handing the remaining portion back. I told him that he might keep it all, and also gave him some meat. As soon as he had assured himself that I had more, he called to a couple of boys near by, and they came over, accompanied by other boys. He divided the loaf and meat, and it served for the full day’s rations for five fighting men. “I had some bread yesterday,” said the old man, half apologetically, “but I have not had time to get any to-day.” “Will you have a drink?” I inquired, as I unslung my canteen. “Water?” he queried, as though afraid I was going to offer him something stronger.