_phutt_. That is what it is like on such occasions. That's
the sort of game we played all day, cursing Clements for not sending out
to meet us and give us a hand. We did not know what had happened in the
valley the preceding day. Later we got into an ambush, some of the enemy
being within a hundred yards of us; and had several horses killed. We
thought that the show was over, as Rietfontein was close handy, and the
last time we were there the locality was clear. It was almost dark when
we entered Clements' camp. But where were the tents, the men and horses
that used to be? Presently a figure with a face rendered unrecognisable
by bandages, came up to us. It was Sergeant Pullar of the Fifes, and
from him we had the story of the previous day's disaster. Over half the
Fifes are missing, most of the Devons also, so-and-so killed, and
so-and-so, and so-and-so. Kits lost, and tents burnt. From various
reliable sources I have compiled the best account I can make of the
affair, which we missed by the merest fluke, what men call chance, and
here it is.

THE STORY OF NOOITGEDACHT.

Clements' camp was at Nooitgedacht, between Hekpoort and Olifant's Nek,
where he had been for three days. Nooitgedacht is at the base of the
Magaliesberg range of hills (the name means "Ne'er Forgotten"). We had
camped there about a couple of months back. It lies near a large kloof.
A little to the west of Clements were Colonel Legge's mounted troops,
composed of Kitchener's and Roberts' Horse, "P" Battery R.H.A., and two
companies of M.I., the whole force numbering, at the most, 1,400 men.
Knowing that Delarey was in the vicinity with a strong force, the
general had helio'ed for reinforcements, which, unfortunately, were not
forthcoming, so apparently he was sitting tight, with doubled pickets,
on the Magaliesberg and kopjes in the valley. Then came the eventful
Thursday (the 13th). During the night Beyers' Commando made a wonderful
trek from the north to reinforce and co-operate with Clements' old foe,
Delarey, and just before dawn the enemy, who had crept up unseen or
heard in the dark, rushed Legge's pickets on the west of the camp,
shooting the sentries and many of the men as they lay asleep in their
blankets, soon afterwards getting into the gallant Colonel's camp. Poor
Legge, who ran out in the direction of the pickets as soon as he heard
the firing, was one of the first killed. Then Clements' pickets on the
Magaliesberg, which were composed