leave their shelter to bring up ammunition for the gun; how two of those
devils of Irishmen sprang to the task, and showed how death should be
faced and danger conquered. Erin for ever!

Buller now began to press his advance on the Tugela, and his searchlight
could nightly be seen communicating with the besieged; long official
messages in cipher, and now and then a pathetic little message, "All
well, Edith sends love," would flash against the clouds, causing us to
think of other scenes than those before us.

On the tenth of December a heavy bombardment was heard from the Tugela.
On happening to pass the telegraph office at two o'clock, a colleague
called to me--

"Buller has tried to cross the river; he is being driven back. Ten of
his guns are in danger, and as soon as the sun sets our men are going
over to take them!"

This was news indeed.

"Which is the road to Colenso?"

"Round those hills, then straight on."

"Thanks, good-bye," and off I went, determined to see those guns taken.

About four hours' hard riding, then a tent by the wayside, the red cross
floating above. An ambulance waggon has just arrived, bringing a few
wounded. I must be close to the battlefield now, but I hear no firing.
What can have happened?