just be reading in the papers the accounts of our last two days'
disastrous fighting. It was a defeat, but yet it was a defeat which was
not felt nor realised by the bulk of the army. It was a blow that fell
entirely on one brigade, and the greater part of our force was still
awaiting the order to advance, and expecting to engage the enemy when
already the attack, unknown to us, had been delivered and repulsed.

Last Sunday, December 10th, about 2 P.M., we moved out of camp northward
towards the point of the big hill, that, like a cape, juts south into
the plain. With all our guns ranged about the point of the hill, we then
proceeded to thrash and batter it with shell-fire. No gun-fire that we
have had as yet has approached this for rapidity. The batteries roared
ceaselessly from the plain; the big 4.7 lifting up its voice from a
little in the rear high above the din. The day was cloudy, and rain fell
at intervals, but towards the evening it cleared. My troop was on the
extreme left front, on the west side of the hill, and we had a fine view
of the effect as the shells burst one after another, or sometimes three
or four together, all along the hill flank, up on the crest, or in the
plain along the base.

"5 P.M.--The hill is all one heavy dull hue in the sombre evening light,
and against it the sharp glints of fire as the shrapnel bursts, and the
round puff-balls of white smoke show vividly. Every now and then a great
curtain of murky vapour goes up to show where the old lyddite-slinger in
the rear is depositing his contributions. We had three field-batteries
engaged, the naval twelve-pounders, Joey, and the pop-guns; about thirty
guns altogether."

We slept that night by the side of the railway, tethering our horses to
the wire fence that runs down it. Rain fell heavily all night. Most of