ire fences
over the railway. In front of the Boer position, slightly commanded on
the left flank by Tinta Inyoni, was a low, stony ridge; this the
Gloucesters lined on the left. The Devons, who led the column, fell
naturally on to the right of the line; Liverpools and Rifles backed up
right and left. But almost before they were there arrived the
irrepressible, ubiquitous guns. They had silenced the enemy's guns; they
had circled round the left till they came under cover of the ridge; now
they strolled up, unlimbered, and thrust their grim noses over the brow.
And then--whew! Their appearance was the signal for a cataract of
bullets that for the moment in places almost equalled the high-lead mark
of Elandslaagte. The air whistled and hummed with them--and then the
guns began.

The mountain guns came up on their mules--a drove of stupid,
uncontrolled creatures, you would have said, lumbered up with the odds
and ends of an ironworks and a waggon-factory. But the moment they were
in position the gunners swarmed upon them, and till you have seen the
garrison gunners working you do not know what work means. In a minute
the scrap-heaps had flow together into little guns, hugging the stones
with their low bellies, jumping at the enemy as the men lay on to the
ropes. The detachments all cuddled down to their guns; a man knelt by
the ammunition twenty paces in rear; the mules by now were snug under
cover. "Two thousand," sang out the major. The No. 1 of each gun held up
something like a cross, as if he were going through a religious rite,
altered the elevation delicately, then flung up his hand and head
stiffly, like a dog pointing. "Number 4"--and Number 4 gun hurled out
fire and filmy smoke, then leaped back, half frightened at its own fury,
half anxious to get a better view of what it had done. It was a little
over. "Nineteen hundred," cried the major. Same ritual, only a little
short. "Nineteen fifty"--and it was just right. Therewith field and
mountain guns, yard by yard, up and down, right and left, carefully,
methodically, though roughly, sowed the whole of Matawana's Hoek with
bullets.

It was almost magical the way the Boer fire dropped. The guns came into
action about a quarter-past nine, and for an hour you would hardly have
known they were there. Whenever a group put their heads over the
sky-line 1950 yards away there came a round of shrapnel to drive them to
earth again. Presently the hillside turned pale blue--blu