everywhere, though scarcely a
house, farm, or hotel but could bear witness to the terrible energy of
the British fire.

The scene was one of picturesque green fertility and black blistered
ruin. Peacefully flowed the cool rippling river--the river in which the
delighted Tommy rushed to bathe--while in its bosom lay the bodies of
the slain, Boer men and Boers' horses, which had hurriedly been cast
away and hidden, so that the full tale of loss might never be revealed.
Serenely waved the willows and acacias on the banks and neighbouring
islets, smiling with polished green leaves over the forms of the ragged,
grimy, unkempt slain--the riffraff of the Boer commandoes, who were left
lying as they fell. The dark trail of blood dyed the earth round mimosa
and cactus hedges, while a thousand perforations on the roofs of the
corrugated iron dwellings confessed to the all too fervent kisses of
British lead. Shell holes, shattered doors and broken windows, telegraph
poles lying about, with their hairy whiskers twisting raggedly over the
veldt, farmhouses burnt to cinders, hotels that had once been smart in
their way now weevilled by shrapnel--all these things surrounded the
encamped division which so brilliantly had crossed the river. And in the
hearts of the conquerors there was also (in some measure) a reflection
of these contrasts--there was rejoicing over animal comforts restored,
the freedom to quench thirst, to remove boots, to eat and to smoke after
an over-long spell of battle; yet at the same time, deep down, there
lurked a numb and dumb feeling of regret for the good fellows who were
going--were known to be sinking into eternity, and for those--so many
of them!--who had already gone.

Very simple but very sad and impressive was the funeral of Colonel
Stopford, who was shot early in the fight the day before. His grave was
made in a peaceful spot beside one of the gardens of the village, and
garlands gathered by his men of the 2nd Coldstream Guards were placed
all over it. Major the Marquis of Winchester--so soon to join his lost
comrade--acted as chief mourner. He took over the duties of Commandant
of the regiment, which duties he was doomed to perform for twelve days
only. But we are anticipating.

During the whole of the days following, a melancholy procession of
invalids passed to the railway, and on, home for good, or to hospital,
whence they hoped to return again to pay their debt to the enemy. On
some death had s