flanks were supposed to have been scouted, the infantry in column of
companies, that is, in close formation, and all in apparent security.
Suddenly a storm of rifle-fire broke out from a ridge on our right
front and showed us we were ambushed. The Munsters were nearest to the
ridge, about 600 yards, I should say. We were a bit further off. I
heard a sort of hoarse murmur go up from the close mass of infantry,
and saw it boil, so to speak, and spread out. Our section checked for
a moment, in a sort of bewilderment (my waggon was close behind our
gun at the time), but the next, and almost without orders, guns were
unlimbered and whisked round, a waggon unhooked, teams trotting away,
and shrapnel bursting over the top of the ridge in quick succession.
All this time the air was full of a sound like the moaning of wind
from the bullets flying across the valley, but strange to say, not a
man of us was hit. Some of them were explosive bullets. The whole
thing was soon over. Our guns peppered their quickest, and it was a
treat to see the shrapnel bursting clean and true along the ridge. The
infantry extended and lay down; some Yeomanry made a flank move, and
that episode was over. It might have been serious, though. If they had
held their fire undiscovered for ten minutes longer we might have been
badly cut up, for we were steadily nearing the spur which they
occupied. It is right to say, though, that our Lieutenant, having
doubts about the safety of the place, had shortly before sent forward
ground-scouts, of whom Williams was one, who would possibly have been
able to warn us in time. Needless to say, it was not our duty to scout
for the column.

[Footnote A: The name of this kopje was Barking Kop, I believe, and we
have since always applied it generally to the fighting on this day.]

It was nearly dark now, a burning farm ahead making a hot glow in the