When our train, after its journey to Capetown, next returned to Belmont,
few signs of the recent engagement were visible. The strands of wire
fencing on either side the line were cut through here and there, and
twisted back several yards where our fifteen-pounders had been galloped
through to shell the retreating Boers. Now and again the eye was caught
by little heaps of cartridge cases marking the spot where some soldier
had lain down.

Less pleasant reminiscences were furnished by the decomposing bodies of
several mules, and four or five vultures wheeling over the plain. Some
enthusiasts on our train had on the previous journey cut off several
hoofs from the dead mules as relics of the fight. Our under-cook had
secured a more agreeable souvenir of Belmont in the shape of a small
goat found wandering beside the railway. This animal now struts about a
garden in Capetown with a collar suitably inscribed around its neck, and
the proud owner has refused a £10 note for it. Before their abandonment
of the position the enemy had hurriedly buried a few of their dead, but
it is very difficult to dig amongst the stones and boulders, and the
interment was so inadequate that hands and feet were protruding from the
soil. In fact several of our men whose patrol-beat covered this ground
told me it was terribly trying to walk among these rough and ready
graves in the heat of the day.

Along the whole line from Belmont northwards and to some distance
southwards the telegraph lines had been cut by the Boers. Not content
with severing the wires here and there, they had cut down every post for
miles along the railway. I wondered what the grinning Kaffirs thought of
such a spectacle; here were the white men, the pioneers of
enlightenment, engaged in cutting each other's throats and destroying