justice to the confidence bestowed on us. He would no doubt have continued in this style for some time had not our good old Major chipped in with his usual ‘down-in-his-boots’ aside: ‘Oh, that’s all right, Chamney; damn it, man, of course you will.’ And these were the last words I ever heard the good old man utter in this life. [Illustration: CAPTAIN H. CHAMNEY] Good old Showers, gruff as they make ’em, but a true white man’s heart inside for all that. Never afraid to jump on an officer for all you were worth if you thought he deserved it; and after those long hot Indian parades, how many times have we heard your hearty laugh at the head of the camp mess-table! For seven years our Colonel, and the man who made the Surma Valley Light Horse second to none in India. All the attacking forces being now mustered, we made a start and away we marched. For some part of the time our route lay alongside a pretty little lagoon, and then the road gradually lost itself in the great open veldt. How peaceful it all seemed that morning! The few cattle and sheep that were quietly grazing here and there on the scanty tussocks would casually lift up their heads and gaze at us, and, seeing that there were no strange dogs with us, would go on cropping the grass, though possibly a sheep or two would scuttle out of the way with a contemptuous wriggle of their tails. Time of war! one says—humbug! one could not believe it on that quiet morning. The fresh ozonised air, the soft, steady breeze, now pleasantly tempered by the bright morning sun; and there, by the doorway of the quiet little farmhouse, the farmer’s wife standing with her milk-pails all ready, while she laughingly makes passing remarks to her departing ‘guests.’ The only signs of war, maybe, are those few fences with their wires cut down; and these you would suppose had been broken down by some restless calves or light-hearted foal. From our ranks could be seen and smelt the little clouds of tobacco-smoke which rose up in the clear air like so many stray wandering bits of cumulus clouds, while back in the rear could be heard the quaintly sad airs of ‘Bearer Ganga Dīn’ and ‘Who’s dat a-callin’?’ as some of our musically inclined troopers gave vent unconsciously to their feelings. What a lovely, jolly morning that was! All those dire hardships, cold, hunger, and wet, we had known only too well; but to-day—light, warmth, and the indescribable freshness of the open veldt, while under us were our plucky Indians, Arabs, and Walers, fresh as English daisies and keen as the air we breathed.