ned a
trench on the summit of a hill which sloped easily and was not too steep
to be assailed, they, in spite of their superior number, had been
shattered and defeated.

It was humiliating, bitterly humiliating; but that desperate conflict
served, if it did nothing else, to banish the mistaken ideas which each
side had for the other. England now knew that she was fighting valiant
men, who would be perfect as enemies, and equally chivalrous as her own
soldiers, did not many of their number sully a good name by dastardly
acts, such as firing upon the red cross and the wounded and making a
scandalous use of the white flag. And on the Boer side, where
previously scorn and worse for the bravery of the "Rooineks" had been
shown, ungrudging praise for their dauntless courage was now given;
while those who had stood to face the desperate charge upon the heighs
of Caesar's Camp shivered, and swore silently to themselves that
nothing, not even their cherished independence and the longing for a
Dutch South Africa, should prevail upon them to commit such an act of
madness again.

On the heights of Caesar's Camp, when the tide of battle had been turned
back and the dusk of evening was beginning to fall, there were many poor
fellows sleeping their last long sleep upon the grass. They had chosen
a soldier's life, and their reward had been to die for the sacred cause
of their country. It was a sad and heart-rending scene, and Jack, as he
looked on and endeavoured to help the wounded, fully realised the misery
of it all. At his feet lay Guy Richardson, roughly bandaged and waiting
to be carried off, while close at hand was the lifeless body of a little
rifleman, the face turned upward to the sky, and smiling as though death
had laid its hand upon him painlessly.

It was a gruesome scene, but he had little time to brood upon it, for at
that moment he caught sight of a familiar figure a few yards away, and,
running across the grass, knelt down by the side of Rawlings, the brave
and jovial Highlander who had led the assault upon the Boer gun.

"Hallo, Jack!" he panted cheerfully; "not hit, I see. Prop me up, like
a good fellow."

Jack lifted him gently, and propped him up with his knee. Then he
unslung his water-bottle and gave the poor fellow a drink.

"Thanks, old man!" the wounded officer said in a weaker voice. "Those
beggars have done for me! I'm shot through the chest."

"Not done for, Rawlings!" Jack answered hopef