heroism during those awful ten minutes, whilst men were being shot
down like dogs. Lieutenant Harrison was shot through the head while
cheering on his men; Lieutenant Hume was equally conspicuous
for his coolness. An orderly-room clerk named Maistre and the
Sergeant-Master-Tailor Pears quietly concealed the regimental colours
in a waggon-box when they saw the danger of them falling into the
hands of the enemy; and their work was not in vain, as Conductor
Egerton managed subsequently to wrap them round his body under his
tunic, and having obtained permission after the fight was over to walk
to Pretoria for medical assistance, he carried them safely to the
capital, as well as the disastrous news of the engagement. Forty-two
miles traversed by a wounded man on foot in eleven hours is in itself
a feat worth mentioning, and one the value of which can only be
really estimated by those who know what South African roads are in
the rainy seasons.

As soon as our force surrendered, Franz Joubert, who had been in
command of the Boers, and who, it is said, fired the first shot, with
the exclamation, 'What is the use of waiting?' came forward with some
of his men, and on finding poor Colonel Anstruther severely wounded
expressed sorrow.

Whether the affair of Bronkhorst Spruit can be called an act of
treachery on the part of the Boers is rather a nice question. Colonel
Anstruther's words--the words of a dying man--rather go to prove that
he was unfairly treated, though he does not say so directly. He was
given to understand by the messenger who came with the flag of truce
that another communication would be made to him as soon as his reply
to the request to halt had been reported to the Boer Commandant. The
only reply given him was 'a murderous volley.' The Boers cannot lay