"If my shirt knew I would put
it in the fire." Possibly, being a great theorist, as was poor Sir
George Colley, he may have agreed with the opinion held by Marshal
Bugeaud, that military affairs were too often wrapped in mysterious
silence. Certainly there was no secrecy about the strategy of the
advance on Stormberg, and the guileless manner in which the General
trusted to the guidance of a local policeman was commented on none too
generously by the distressed public, whose disappointment was too great
to allow them to look coolly at the ups and downs of warfare and the
fallibility of human designs. General Gatacre, after the reverse, held
Bushman's Hoek and Cyphergat, two positions to the south of Molteno,
where he could await the reinforcements which would shortly reach him
from the Cape.

AT MODDER RIVER

At dawn on the day following the battle the guns opened fire, with a
view to effecting the clearance of the enemy, but it was soon discovered
that the Boers had made themselves scarce, preferring to march through
the long midnight hours to remaining where a chance of the bayonet might
be awaiting them. Their artillery they at first left, but discovering
that the British had not crossed the river, they returned and removed it
to Spyfontein, where the next encounter was expected to take place. Had
only the troops been less worn out--they were so expended that they
could scarcely move one leg before the other--these guns might have been
captured and victory assured. But fatigue must overcome the finest
warriors, and ours had done prodigious work in circumstances of the most
trying and varied kind. The next morning Lord Methuen's forces quietly
occupied the town, and spent the day in the melancholy duty of burying
the dead.

Owing to the carcasses of beasts and the corpses of dead men in the
stream, the troops had soon to bivouac some three miles farther up.
There they could enjoy the rare luxury of a bath and drink their fill in
safety. No "wee drappie" ever cheered the heart of Scotsman as did the
quarts of Modder that went down the throats of thirsty Highlanders who
had been toasted inside and out during the long hours of the battle. As
one appropriately, if not elegantly, described it:--

"When it comes to slaughter
You'll do your work on water,
And lick the bloomin' boots of him that's got it."

But the water everywhere was bad, and for safety boiling was impera