s would not hurt a fly, much less a spy,
if they could possibly help it.

Nearly all day the heliograph was flashing to us from that far-off hill.
There is some suspicion that the Boers are working it as a decoy. We
lost three copies of our code at Dundee, and it is significant that it
was a runner brought the good news of Methuen's successes on Modder
River to-night. But at Headquarters the flash signals are now taken as
genuine, and the sight of that star from the outer world cheers us up.

At noon I rode out to see the new home of the 24th Field Ambulance from
India. It is down by the river, near Range Post, and the silent Hindoos
have constructed for it a marvel of shelter and defence. A great rampart
conceals the tents, and through a winding passage fenced with massive
walls of turf you enter a chamber large enough for twenty patients, and
protected by an impenetrable roof of iron pipes, rocks, and mounds of
earth. As I admired, the Major came out from a tent, wiping his hands.
He had just cut off the leg of an 18th Hussar, whose unconscious head,
still on the operating table, projected from the flaps of the tent door.
The man had been sitting on a rock by the river, washing his feet, while
"Long Tom" was shelling the Imperial Light Horse, as I described
yesterday. Suddenly a splinter ricocheted far up the valley, and now,
even if he recovers, he will have only one foot to wash.

A civilian was killed yesterday, working in the old camp. The men on
each side of him were unhurt. So yesterday's shelling was not so
harmless as I supposed.

Early in the afternoon I met Mr. Lynch, known as one of the _Daily
Chronicle_ correspondents in Cuba last year. He was riding his famous
white horse, "Kruger," which we captured after the fight at Elands
Laagte. One side of this bony animal is dyed khaki colour with Condy's
fluid, as is the fashion with white horses. But the other side is left
white for want of material. Mr. Lynch showed me with pride a great white
umbrella he had secured. Round it he had written, "Advt. Dept.
_Ladysmith Lyre_" In his pocket was a bottle of whisky--a present for
Joubert. And so he rode away, proposing to exchange our paper for any
news the Boers might have. Eluding the examining posts, he vanished into
the Boer lines under Bulwan, and has not re-appeared. Perhaps the Boers
have not the humour to appreciate the finely Irish performance. They
have probably kept him prisoner or sent him to Pretoria.