Soon after the Germans had a native war of their own on their hands against the tribe of the Hereros in South-West Africa; and if they were spared the succession of disasters suffered by the English, they added nothing to their own military glory, and learned a great deal of the difficulties of skirmishing in an uninhabited country where none of the rules of war in which they have been trained seem to apply. Their war lasted for four years, and long before it was finished the last lingering newspaper scandal against English soldiers died away. In one disastrous slaughter of a German detachment ambushed by natives, the only son of the captain of the Emperor’s little river-steamer perished. The poor old grief-stricken father for a long time refused to believe the news. “My son was a doctor,” he would say obstinately; “he was not a soldier. How can he be killed? Doctors are not in the fighting-line. Their place is in the rear of the troops.” Often young officers in khaki who have volunteered for service in _Süd-West-Afrika_ are invited to luncheon before their departure for the seat of war. They are strong, handsome, cheery young men, full of courage and enthusiasm; and the Princess sighs and wishes that she too could go to the war and fight, which aspirations Prince Joachim crushes in the heavy masculine manner. After _Frühstück_ is finished, and we are able at last to escape from the long, tedious waiting that follows, the children go out together. Sometimes the Princess drives those wonderful Turkish ponies, which make quite a sensation in the quiet old Potsdam streets whenever they appear; while Prince Joachim has a dog-cart of his own drawn by a wise old cob called “_Freier_,” who continually gets the reins under his tail but stops immediately till disentangled. Twice a week the Princess rides on horseback, and after a preliminary trial with the _Sattel-Meister_ I am pronounced competent to accompany her. She is delighted to have my society, for hitherto she has had no companion in her rides. Close to the Neues Palais is the lovely Wildpark, a beautiful forest, traversed by sandy paths, under great avenues of spreading beech; and here, under the supervision of the _Sattel-Meister_, accompanied by a couple of small grooms, we indulge in many exhilarating gallops. The Princess soon develops into a practised and fearless horsewoman, with an excellent seat in the saddle and a light hand. Before long she is learning to jump logs and hedges, to the mingled horror and admiration of Her Majesty and the Court. Our gallops become _lang-gestreckt_. We ride a good long way in a very short time. The _Sattel-Meister_, who is a severe but judicious teacher, smiles amiably and proudly at us both as we pull up our sweating horses at the lodge gates of the Wildpark preparatory to the sober walk home.