One afternoon the alarm was given, and we promptly ‘stood to arms’ in excited expectation of an attack. But it proved to be a false alarm; and I was not surprised that it was so, as our valiant signaller standing on the sky-line of a neighbouring kopje flagged the news down to us, and of course all the Boers between our pickets and Kroonstad at once knew that Lumsden’s Horse were awake _and there_—so they thought better of it. Some few days afterwards we got orders to parade at 2.30 A.M. to take part in an attack on a Boer force which had been ‘located’ on some hills to the south-west of us and skirting the Modder River. I was horse sentry that night, so got practically no sleep. At 2.30, however, amid a thundercloud of English and Hindustani, Lumsden’s Horse awoke and managed to saddle up in the darkness; and then, by dint of shouting out each other’s names, we managed to wriggle into our proper subsections. As one man put it, ‘the bundabust was shocking.’ From the midst of this noisy dark chaos emerging, away we marched. Bitterly cold and cheerless was that morning, every second man’s teeth chattering like so many castanets, while one’s feet felt _en masse_ with the stirrup irons. In a short time we were joined by Loch’s Horse, the Victorian Mounted Rifles, the Artillery, and Lancashire Mounted Infantry, and silence was the strict order of the march; and silence it was pretty well, until one of Loch’s Horse, with his cut-off open, let bang two shots—phew! phew! went the two nickels over the lot of us, and half of us ‘bowed our heads’ reverently. I believe Mr. Loch got fourteen days’ for that, and served him jolly well right. The sun coming out, our spirits rose somewhat, and our fingers became warm enough to pull out bits of biscuit from our haversacks and so have a sumptuous breakfast on horseback. An hour and a half’s march brought us to a deep creek with a good drift over it, and this we crossed in safety. On the other side we found a long and broad expanse of plain gradually sloping up to a ridge of high kopjes some four miles in front of us. On these kopjes our friends the Boers were supposed to be waiting for us, so we spread out into extended single ranks with about eleven yards interval. A kind friend having given me a cheroot, I lit up and enjoyed a peaceful smoke, while at the same time I could not help wondering how many more smokes the Boers would allow me to have. Shortly afterwards we got the order to advance at the canter, which we did; as our scouts were barely 1,500 yards ahead and had not had time to ‘search’ the kopjes properly, this was, in my opinion, a risky order. However, we got there.