y into Ladysmith, and passing
through the town camped on the plain beyond. The scene was solemn and
stirring, and only the most phlegmatic were able to conceal their
emotions. The streets were lined with the brave defenders, looking very
smart and clean in their best clothes, but pale, thin, and
wasp-waisted--their belts several holes tighter than was satisfactory.

Before the little Town Hall, the tower of which, sorely battered, yet
unyielding, seemed to symbolise the spirit of the garrison, Sir George
White and his staff sat on their skeleton horses. Opposite to them were
drawn up the pipers of the Gordon Highlanders. The townsfolk,
hollow-eyed but jubilant, crowded the pavement and the windows of the
houses. Everyone who could find a flag had hung it out, but we needed no
bright colours to raise our spirits.

At eleven o'clock precisely the relieving army began to march into the
town. First of all rode Sir Redvers Buller with his headquarters staff
and an escort of the Royal Dragoons. The infantry and artillery followed
by brigades, but in front of all, as a special recognition of their
devoted valour, marched the Dublin Fusiliers, few, but proud.

Many of the soldiers, remembering their emerald island, had fastened
sprigs of green to their helmets, and all marched with a swing that was
wonderful to watch. Their Colonel and their four officers looked as
happy as kings are thought to be. As the regiments passed Sir George
White, the men recognised their former general, and, disdaining the
rules of the service, waved their helmets and rifles, and cheered him
with intense enthusiasm. Some even broke from the ranks. Seeing this the
Gordon Highlanders began to cheer the Dublins, and after that the noise
of cheering was continual, every regiment as it passed giving and
receiving fresh ovations.

All through the morning and on into the afternoon the long stream of men
and guns flowed through the streets of Ladysmith, and all marvelled to
see what manner of men these were--dirty, war-worn, travel-stained,
tanned, their uniforms in tatters, their boots falling to pieces, their
helmets dinted and broken, but nevertheless magnificent soldiers,
striding along, deep-chested and broad-shouldered, with the light of
triumph in their eyes and the blood of fighting ancestors in their
veins. It was a procession of lions. And presently, when the two
battalions of Devons met--both full of honours--and old friends breaking
from the r