Belmont, out of which place the British troops had driven them a few weeks
previously. We had no authentic news concerning this movement. Our
contingent spread out on the hot sand at Witteput, panting for a drop of
rain from the lowering clouds that hung heavily overhead. Yet hot, tired,
and thirsty as we were, we yet found time to look with wonder at the sky
above us. The men from the land of the Southern Cross are used to gorgeous
sunsets, but never had we looked upon anything like this. Great masses of
coal-black clouds frowned down upon us, flanked by fiery crimson cloud
banks, that looked as if they would rain blood, whilst the atmosphere was
dense enough to half-stifle one. Now and again the thunder rolled out
majestically, and the lightning flashed from the black clouds into the red,
like bayonets through smoke banks.

Yet we had not long to wait and watch, for within half an hour after our
arrival the Colonel galloped down into our midst just as the evening ration
was being given out. He held a telegram aloft, and the stillness that fell
over the camp was so deep that each man could hear his neighbour's heart
beat. Then the Colonel's voice cut the stillness like a bugle call. "Men,
we are needed at Belmont; the Boers are there in force, and we have been
sent for to relieve the place. I'll want you in less than two hours." It
was then the men showed their mettle. Up to their feet they leapt like one
man, and they gave the Colonel a cheer that made the sullen, halting mules
kick in their harness. "We are ready now, Colonel, we'll eat as we march,"
and the "old man" smiled, and gave the order to fall in, and they fell in,
and as darkness closed upon the land they marched out of Witteput to the
music of the falling rain and the thunder of heaven's artillery.

All night long it was march, halt, and "Bear a hand, men," for those thrice
accursed mules failed us at every pinch. In vain the niggers plied the
whips of green hide, vain their shouts of encouragement, or painfully