"It is worth getting up at this time to enjoy the delicious, pure, and
fresh air. The glow of sunrise is in the sky, but not yet the sun. There
are some long streaks and films of rosy cloud along the east. Already,
after five shots, the whole kopje is enveloped in dust and reddish smoke
from the bursting lyddite, but elsewhere between us and the sunrise the
hills are a perfect dark blue, pure blocks of the colour. The Lancers on
their horses show black against the sky as they canter, scattering
through the underwood with graceful slanting lances. At slow deliberate
intervals the long gun tolls. Dead silence is the only reply. The sun
rises and glares on the rocky hills. Not a living thing is to be seen."




LETTER VI

MAGERSFONTEIN


MODDER RIVER CAMP,

_December 13_, 1899.

When we were camped a day's march south of this, two Boers brought in a
wounded man of ours in a Cape cart. "You will never get to Kimberley,"
they said to us. "It will take better men than you to stop us," said we.
"Not a bit of it," said they, and off they drove. As it turns out, they
were nearer the mark than we were.

While I write this, early on the morning of the 13th, you at home may