let us sneer at their religious enthusiasm!

On December 10th, as we were standing on a siding at De Aar, a telegram,
arrived ordering us to leave for Modder River in the morning. We were
delighted at the prospect of getting rid of our enforced inaction at De
Aar. The air was full of rumours about an impending attack on Cronje's
position, and we fully expected to be in time for the fight and probably
to be employed as stretcher-bearers during the battle. Alas! our hopes
were all in vain. Next day, some miles below Modder River, our engine
with its tender suddenly left the metals. The stoker jumped off, but the
engine fortunately kept on the top of the embankment and nobody was
hurt. We none of us knew how or why the accident had occurred, but one
of the officials suspected very strongly that the rails had been
tampered with.

At any rate, there we were within a few miles of a big fight, off the
metals and quite helpless! We were all perfectly wild with vexation and
disappointment. But up flew a wire to Modder River for a gang of sappers
with screwjacks. Pending the arrival of their assistance I climbed up to
the top of a neighbouring kopje with a lot of Tasmanians. From this
point the flashes of the guns above Modder River were visible, and the
dull boom of Lyddite was borne to our ears. Methuen's artillery was
still doing its best to avenge or retrieve the disaster of the early
morning. The sappers at length arrived. We all helped--pushing and
digging and lifting--and at length after several hours' delay steamed
off to Modder River, too late for anything, except to wait for the
morning and the wounded. We knew by this time that at 3:30 that morning
the Highland Brigade had made a frontal attack on the Magersfontein
lines and had been repulsed with terrible loss. The accounts which were
vaguely given of the disaster were frightful, but accurate details were