My first thought was that my pony would have to be shod before I could
expect him to carry me any further. I found Judge Hertzog, then Chief of
Commissariat, in the street, a young man still, of medium height, whose
clear brow and incisive speech marked him out from amongst the crowd of
farmers, policemen, and idlers that constantly surrounded him with
requests for this, that, or the other lacking article or animal.
He gave me an order to have my pony shod before all the others, a very
important stipulation, for the ambulance horses had been waiting to be
shod for a week. He added that he would supply us with other horses, but
there were none to be bought. I told him I knew of a farmer who had a
horse for sale at eighty pounds.
"Yes, he asks us eighty, and presently the enemy will come along and
take it for nothing," replied Hertzog.