ests; the other day, after one of his many train captures, he sent a
message to the base to say that "he was sufficiently supplied with
stores now, and would they kindly send up some remounts." He is now the
only prize left worth taking, and every one is desperately keen in his
pursuit. I notice, however, that people never seem to meet him when they
want to, though when they don't want to, they very often do.

Olivier, with a force about equal to De Wet, also broke out from the
hills, and having reached the open country, hung about to watch our
movements. There are some kopjes ten miles south of Heilbron, very
nicely arranged, with a back hill commanding a front one, so that the
first position gained would only bring us under the fire of the second;
a very favourite Boer trick. Here Olivier awaited our coming, and,
knowing the range to an inch, landed his first shell plump in the middle
of our convoy. Hunter, and we with him (it is certainly great fun being
with the Staff for the time being), were at the head of the column, and
heard the shell go over. Never have I seen a better shot. It exploded on
the track, right underneath a great waggon, to the amazement and
consternation of the Kaffir drivers and the wretched oxen; though they
were all, I believe, a good deal more frightened than hurt. Three or
four more quickly followed. "Roll that up," said Le Gallais to the Guide
carrying the General's flag. A few minutes passed, during which we were
shot at without being able to reply. Then two Field Batteries came
galloping to the front. Guns! Guns! Way for the guns! like the
fire-engines down Piccadilly they came tearing along. As the iron wheels
strike upon rocks the guns leap and swing. Stones and splinters fly
right and left, and the dust flung up by wheel and hoof boils along
their course. Nothing is more stirring than to see guns coming full
speed into action. In another minute they have lined up on the ridge and
their shells are bursting on the enemy's hill.

Hector Macdonald is a man who always amuses me. Ordinarily he is a
somewhat grim-looking individual; but when there is any fighting going
on his whole manner changes, and he beams and mantles with a sort of
suppressed mirth. He comes swaggering up now as the guns are opening,
looking like a man who has just been told the best story he ever heard
in his life, and is still chuckling over it. "They're on to us again,"
he bubbles out, knocking his boot with his whip i