, eagerly looking out for them. These were posted in
large numbers on either side of the line. Of course, the train began at
once to steam back, but even as it did so a volley was poured on it from
the enemy. With hideous clatter the bullets thudded on the iron, and
several cannon began at once to play on the unlucky machine. Then, to
add to its misfortunes, without pause or warning of any kind, the trucks
suddenly, with a jerk and a crash, leapt into the air. They, at least,
appeared to do so, overturning in the act, and shooting their contents
helter-skelter, "like potatoes out of a sack." The words are quoted from
the description of a sufferer who himself experienced the unpleasant
sensation. Several of the men were mortally injured. A platelayer was
killed on the spot. The cause of the disaster was simple and easily to
be explained. The Boers had laid a trap for the train, and placed an
impediment on the rails behind it, so that on its retreating journey it
should become a complete wreck, and thus place the troops entirely at
their mercy. And their ingenious machinations succeeded.

The enemy, triumphant, then opened fire with a Maxim and two 9-pounders
from a kopje covered with brushwood, while Boer sharpshooters hidden in
dongas and behind boulders also assisted. The Dublins and Volunteers
fought gallantly; thrice they drove the enemy back, but the brave
fellows, already suffering from the shock of having been shot with great
force on the line, were from the first at a disadvantage, and unable at
once to gather themselves together to meet the instantaneous fire of the
Dutchmen. All they could do was to scramble to their feet--some were too
securely jammed under the trucks to be freed--take up a position as firm
as barked knees and bruised spines would allow, and defend themselves
against the sudden attack. Mr. Churchill and Lieutenant Frankland
immediately called for volunteers to help in clearing the line. Many
hearty voices responded. Wildly they worked amid a hailstorm of bullets
to free the engine and remove the wreckage, Mr. Churchill, between the
screams of the injured and the rattling of the rifles, rallying the men
and helping them, though every moment volley after volley picked off
some of their numbers and sensibly thinned them. Some of these men were
not only men but marvels; they worked with the zeal of giants and the
pluck of heroes. Vigorously the Dublins and Durhams continued to fire at
the unseen en