replied, pathetically enough: "Yes, sah, a brudder of me--two hours, he
was dead--mudder and sister and me was there".

Near Enslin a most unhappy accident had occurred. A sentry of the
Shropshire had seen two figures advancing in the evening towards his
post, had challenged, and, failing to get the prescribed reply, had
fired off seven bullets into the two supposed Boers, who turned out to
be a sergeant and private of his own regiment. By a miracle both these
wounded men ultimately recovered, but while we were at Enslin we heard
that the poor sentry was absolutely prostrated by grief and horror over
the unfortunate affair.

At a station lower down a lighter incident took place. A corporal from
our train, a Johannesburg man, in taking a short stroll came across
three Uitlander volunteer recruits. They did not for the moment
recognise their quondam acquaintance in his uniform, so he called
"Halt!" The recruits became rigid. "Medical inspection," cried the
corporal--"Tongues out!" Three tongues were instantly thrust out.
"Salute your general," was the next order. This was too much. In the
middle of a spasmodic attempt at a salute a dubious look began to
spread over the faces of the three victims, which broadened into
certainty as with a yell they leapt upon their oppressor and made him
stand them a drink.

At Richmond Road we came across a detachment of Cape Volunteers who were
practising the capture of kopjes in the neighbourhood of the line. In
condoling with one of them on the dreariness of the place, he remarked
that they occasionally shot a hare with a Lee-Metford bullet. This is
pretty good shooting if the hare is moving. I remember hearing a Boer
say with apparent _bona fides_ that he invariably shot birds on the wing