British "Tommies" sprawling on
the grass at my feet, and the Boer farmers grouped amongst them, I would
sooner have called myself an Australian commoner than the son of any peer
in any other land under high heaven.

I will take the story from the Boer's mouth and tell it to you, as I hope
to tell it round a hundred camp fires when the war is over, and I go back
to the Australian bush once more. "It happened round Colesberg way," he
said; "we thought we had the British beaten, and our commandant gave us the
word to press on and cut them to pieces. Our big guns had been grandly
handled, and our rifle fire had told its tale. We saw the British falling
back from the kopjes they had held, and we thought that there was nothing
between us and victory; but there was, and we found it out before we were
many minutes older. There was one big kopje that was the very key of the
position. Our spies had told us that this was held by an Australian force.
We looked at it very anxiously, for it was a hard position to take, but
even as we watched we saw that nearly all the Australians were leaving it.
They, too, were falling back with the British troops. If we once got that
kopje there was nothing on earth could stop us. We could pass on and sweep
around the retiring foe, and wipe them off the earth, as a child wipes dirt
from its hands, and we laughed when we saw that only about twenty
Australians had been left to guard the kopje.

"There were about four hundred of us, all picked men, and when the
commandant called to us to go and take the kopje, we sprang up eagerly, and
dashed down over some hills, meaning to cross the gully and charge up the
kopje where those twenty men were waiting for us. But we did not know the
Australians--then. We know them now. Scarcely had we risen to our feet when
they loosed their rifles on us, and not a shot was wasted. They did not
fire, as regular soldiers nearly always do, volley after volley, straight
in front of them, but every one picked his man, and shot to kill. They
fired like lightning, too, never dwelling on the trigger, yet never wildly
wasting lead, and all around us our best and boldest dropped, until we
dared not face them. We dropped to cover, and tried to pick them off, but
they were cool and watchful, throwing no chance away. We tried to crawl
from rock to rock to hem them in, but they, holding their fire until our
burghers moved, plugged us with lead, until we dared not stir a step ahead;