d, then another and another. In all I had
over a score of letters and about a dozen or more papers, so you can
guess I have my work before me in answering them. Of course, some have
been lost, especially the papers. The earliest date was April 21st, and
the latest June 8th. Absolute peace and goodwill toward men reigned in
our camp that night. We have all been like so many children at
Christmas-time, asking one another "How many did you get?" And then on
hearing the reply, probably boastfully saying, "Oh! I got more than
you," and so on. It seems so pleasant to be in touch with one's world
again. All the next day the fellows were poring over their letters and
ever and anon, unable to suppress themselves one would be annoyed by
"Ha! ha!! I say, just hear what my young sister says," or "my kiddie
brother," or some such being, then an uninteresting (to other men)
extract would follow.

THE NITRAL'S NEK DISASTER.

HOREN'S NEK,
NEAR PRETORIA.
_Wednesday, July 11th, 1900._

(More _kopje?_)

Here I am again on the outlying picket racket, and renewing my studies
of kopjes. I am now up on them every day as well as night. When we
arrived here last night, the party we relieved told us that a Russian
doctor's house, about five miles out, had been raided and sacked by
Boers, and no waggons were being allowed through the Nek, as the enemy
were evidently waiting to catch any they could, and take them on to
their commandos. Since daybreak a big action has been in progress. From
the west heavy guns have been banging, and the fainter sound of volleys
and pom-poming have reached our ears as we lay drowsily smoking,
writing, reading and (one of us) watching on this, our observation post.
In the middle of a letter to a friend a short while ago, a machine gun,
apparently very close, rapped out its angry message, rat-tat-tat-tat!
which startled us immensely. The whish-sh-sh of the bullets also was
undoubtedly near, but as smokeless powder has usurped the place of
villainous saltpetre, we failed to locate the gun, which has fired
several times since.

The distant firing still continues, and as Baden-Powell is (or was) in
that direction, I should imagine he is in action. It seems curious that
though we are here and may at any minute be involved in the affair, yet
you at home will know all about it, and we here l