with a compulsory
Excelsior motto, staggering, perspiring profusely, with wrenched ankles,
cut and sore feet, cussing when breath permitted, dropping exhausted,
and resting now and again. Thus we ascended Flag Staff Hill. On the top
we found strong sangars with shell-proof shelters, which had been built
by the indefatigable Baden-Powell during his occupation of Rustenburg.
That night passed at last.

AFTER DE WET.

Saturday, 18th August. We set off again in the direction of Pretoria,
and unsaddled and formed our lines at about four, and were
congratulating ourselves on getting camped so soon when the faint but
unmistakable cry of "saddle up" was heard afar off, then nearer and
nearer, till we got it. De Wet (thrice magic name) was not very far off,
and we were to push on at once after him. So off we set on a forced
night march, on which no lights were allowed, and mysterious halts
occurred, when we flung ourselves down at our horses' feet on the dusty
road and took snatches of sleep. Then a rumbling would be heard, and
down the column would come the whisper "The guns are up"--probably some
obstacle such as a drift or donga had delayed them--then forward. We
halted at twelve and were up again at four. The day being Sunday we, as
usual out here, rested not, but proceeded on the warpath. A few miles
down the road a scout passed with a Boer prisoner (Hurrah! one Boer
less!). Leaving the Pretoria road soon after daybreak, we made for some
low-lying ranges of hills, known as the Zwart Kopjes, and after going
forward a couple of miles our guns, M Battery, trotted smartly forward
in line, halted, then like wasps cut off at the waists, the fore parts
flew away leaving the stings behind. In plain military words, the R.H.A.
unlimbered, busy gunners laid their pets, others ran back for
ammunition, an officer gave directions, then a roll of smoke, a flash, a
cracking bang, a gun runs back, and intently-watching eyes presently see
a small cloud of smoke over the top of a distant kopje, and a faint,
far-away crack announces that the well-timed shrapnel is searching the
rocky ridges; then bang, bang! bang, bang! and the rest quickly follow,
firing in turn and now and again in twos or threes. Then it's "limber
up" and forward, and their attention is paid to another little range
further on. Soon, having cleared several kopjes, we, the Fife Light
Horse, New Zealanders, our Composite Squadron, and others, crossed a
drift and leisurely