in the orchard which was not torn by shrapnel and Mauser bullets. The
walls of the house were chipped and pierced in every direction, and one
corner of the earthwork had been carried off by a shell. Yet in the two
companies there were only eight casualties! An almost parallel case was
furnished by Rostall's orchard at Modder River, which was held by the
Boers, and swept for hours by so fearful a fire of shrapnel that the
peach-trees were cut down in every direction and scarcely a square foot
behind the trenches unmarked by the leaden hail. Nevertheless, when the
guns had perforce to cease fire on the advance of our infantry, the
Boers who held the orchard leapt up from behind the earthwork and poured
such a murderous fire upon our men that they were forced to withdraw. It
was the old story over again--that shell fire, unless it enfilades, does
not kill men in trenches.

As everybody called the river crossed by the railway the Modder, Modder
let it be. Its real name, however, is the Riet, of which the Modder is a
tributary flowing from the north-west and joining the main stream well
to the east of the line. As a stream the river does not impress the
visitor favourably: its waters were yellow and muddy, and the vegetation
on its banks was thin and scrappy. There are no respectable fish in
either the Modder or the Orange River; even if the fish could see a fly
on the top of the liquid mud, they haven't the spirit to rise at it.
Some of our officers, it was said, had managed to land a few specimens
of a coarse fish like a barbel which haunts these streams, but I should
not think any one, even amid the monotony of camp rations, was very keen
about eating his catch, for a good many dead Boers had been dragged out
of the river. It was, in fact, a rather grisly joke in camp to remark,
_à propos_ of our water supply, on the character of "Château Modder, an
excellent vintage with a good deal of body in it"! There was a tap at
the station, which by the way is some distance north of the river, but