stretching up for a mile or more, and somewhere about the sky-line Boers
shooting. Then comes the usual interval while we wait for "the guns."
The guns shortly arrive and a brace of Maxims. These open a hot fire at
the top of the hill. They are rather in front of us, and fire back up
the slope across our front; the bullets passing sound like the rushing
of wind through grass.

After a bit the order is given to take the hill, and we advance firing
as we go. Beyond the guns and Maxims other men are moving up. You notice
that the Colonials shoot as sportsmen do. The regulars blaze away all
the time, seeing nothing, but shooting on spec at the hill top; load and
shoot, load and shoot, as hard as they can. Our fellows have a liking
for something to shoot at. With their carbines at the ready, they walk
quickly forward as if they were walking up to partridges. Now a man sees
a head lifted or the grass wave, and instantly up goes the carbine with
a crack as it strikes the shoulder. Another jumps up on to an anthill to
get a better view. Every time an extra well directed shell falls among
the prostrate Boers, one or two start up and run back, and noticing
this, several of the Guides wait on the guns, and as each shell screams
overhead on its way to the hill top, they stand ready for a snapshot.
_Wang_! goes the shell, up leaps a panic-stricken Dutchman, and crack,
crack, crack, go half-a-dozen carbines. Though absolutely without cover,
the enemy keep up for some time a stubborn reply, and when at last we
reach the crest, tenanted now only by a few dead bodies, we have lost
nearly two precious hours. Below across the vast plain the Dutch are in
full retreat. It is doubtful already if we shall be able to intercept
them.

The doubt is soon decided against us. We are crossing the flat, kopjes
in front and a slope on the right. Suddenly several guns open from the