Boer, got up in the most sumptuous manner--polished jackboots, silk
neck-cloth and cigar--strolling leisurely about outside the trenches and
firing with extraordinary accuracy at the recumbent figures which dotted
the ground before him.

As the Brigade fell back various units were, in the darkness
inextricably mixed up, and our losses became more severe as the accuracy
of the enemy's fire increased. The booming of our artillery and the rush
of our shells upon the Boer trenches put fresh heart into our
temporarily disheartened troops, and rallying lines were formed in
various directions. Occasional rushes were made towards the almost
invisible enemy over the slope already thickly dotted with the bodies of
our dead and wounded, and at the close of the disastrous day several
gallant Highlanders were found lying dead across the wire entanglements
within 150 yards of the Boers, riddled with bullets. The 12th Lancers
dismounted, and at one moment, advanced as infantry right up to the Boer
trenches. Every one I spoke to expressed the warmest admiration for
their coolness and pluck.

A sergeant in the Black Watch, when all the officers had apparently been
struck down, cried out to the Highlanders near him: "Charge, men, and
prepare to meet your God!" He rushed forward at the head of a few
comrades and fell dead with a bullet through his brain within a yard or
two of the trenches. There is something truly sublime in this man's
devotion to his duty. Many and many an individual act of heroism was
displayed during those awful moments in the semi-darkness when the enemy
opened fire on our crowded battalions. British officers stood upright,
utterly regardless of self, doing their best to rally the shaken troops,
and then falling beneath the pitiless hail of bullets. Later on the
hillside was littered with field-glasses.