11th of June, 8 o’clock at night.
His Excellency started very early this morning for Grahamstown. I have sent off Paddy Balfour to meet you, and my trusty ensign Low, with 20 of my most faithful Hottentots to accompany you, and never to quit your waggon. Paddy will also turn out 20 cavalry.
15th June.
I have had 30 men at work all day, and all the Artillery, poor fellows. The delight with which they do anything for me is quite amusing and gratifying, but I rather think all their labours are to please you, for I heard them talking of your nice house at Cape Town, and then to come and live here in a tent! The Scotchmen said it was “an awfu’ change,” and they all rubbed, and swept, and laughed, and I jawed, and gave them a glass to drink your health.
22nd June, midday.
Last night I would not write, hoping that by trying not to think quite so much of you I should not dream, and kick about so, and this morning I had so much to do I could not, but nothing would do. Oh, such nights as I pass! I really believe the sentry thinks I am mad, such questions I ask him. To-day it is raining like the deuce, so I am conjuring up flowing rivers again and 5000 impediments. How in the name of wonder did you get on when I was away from you? You had nothing to do. I to-day have plenty, but I can settle to nothing, and I am so irritable, I am quite ashamed of myself. I feel satisfied Balfour has reached you. This is a consolation to me, for I know he will exert himself, and take the greatest care of you, and he has been with me now long enough to learn how to overcome difficulties. God grant I may hear from Balfour to-day, and that to-morrow I may meet you at Fort Willshire.
24th June.
Surely this day we shall meet. Oh, such a night as I have had! I could neither sleep, nor toss about, nor dream, nor anything, but lie and listen, hoping every moment to hear the footsteps of horses crossing the ford, bringing me letters from you and Balfour, saying when—oh, when!—I was to be at Fort Willshire. Oh, such a merit as I make of it, when people ask me if they may go to fetch their wives! “D—— it, sir, I cannot go for my own,” although, poor fellows, I do so long to say, “Yes, you shall have leave.” But it must not be. There is plenty here for every one to do yet, and for more too if we had them. I imagine your itinerary: the 18th, Uitenhage; 19th, Quagga Flats; 20th, Grahamstown; 21st, halt; 22nd, Hermanus Kraal; 23rd, Willshire; 24th——. Oh, dare I hope it, my own dearest, that this night I shall receive thee?