The speed was
reduced--the engine walked warily. The railway officials scanned the
track, and often before a culvert or bridge was traversed we disembarked
and examined it from the ground. At other times long halts were made
while the officers swept the horizon and the distant hills with field
glasses and telescopes. But the country was clear and the line
undamaged, and we continued our slow advance. Presently Colenso came
into view--a hundred tin-pot houses under the high hills to the
northward. We inspected it deliberately. On a mound beyond the village
rose the outline of the sandbag fort constructed by the Naval Brigade.
The flagstaff, without the flag, still stood up boldly. But, so far as
we could tell, the whole place was deserted.

There followed a discussion. Perhaps the Boers were lying in wait for
the armoured train; perhaps they had trained a gun on some telegraph
post, and would fire the moment the engine passed it; or perhaps, again,
they were even now breaking the line behind us. Some Kaffirs approached
respectfully, saluting. A Natal Volunteer--one of the cyclists--came
forward to interrogate. He was an intelligent little man, with a
Martini-Metford rifle, a large pair of field glasses, a dainty pair of
grey skin cycling shoes, and a slouch hat. He questioned the natives,
and reported their answers. The Kaffirs said that the Dutchmen were
assuredly in the neighbourhood. They had been seen only that morning.
'How many?' The reply was vague--twelve, or seventeen, or one thousand;
also they had a gun--or five guns--mounted in the old fort, or on the
platform of the station, or on the hill behind the town. At daylight
they had shelled Colenso. 'But why,' we asked, 'should they shell
Colenso?' Evidently to make sure of the range of some telegraph post.
'It only takes one shell to do the trick with the engine,' said the
captain who commanded. 'Got to hit us first, though,' he added. 'Well,
let's get a little bit nearer.'

The electric bell rang three times, and we crept forward--halted--looked
around, forward again--halt again--another look round; and so, yard by
yard, we approached Colenso. Half a mile away we stopped finally. The
officer, taking a sergeant with him, went on towards the village on
foot. I followed. We soon reached the trenches that had been made by the
British troops before they evacuated the place. 'Awful rot giving this
place up,' said the officer. 'These lines took us a week to dig.' From