For this far-distant war, a war of the unseen foe and of the murderous ambuscade, there were so many volunteers that the authorities were embarrassed by their numbers and their pertinacity.

It was a stimulating sight to see those long queues of top-hatted, frock-coated young men who waited their turn for the orderly room with as much desperate anxiety as if hard fare, a veld bed, and Boer bullets were all that life had that was worth the holding.

Especially the Imperial Yeomanry, a corps of riders and shots, appealed to the sporting instincts of our race.

Many could ride and not shoot, many could shoot and not ride, more candidates were rejected than were accepted, and yet in a very short time eight thousand men from every class were wearing the grey coats and bandoliers.

This singular and formidable force was drawn from every part of England and Scotland, with a contingent of hard-riding Irish fox-hunters.