rotchets moving swiftly along it, bending
forward almost double, as if driving through a hailstorm. Thank heaven
for that--only just in time too--and then more smudges on the shadow
screen.

Sir Charles Warren was standing near me with his staff. One of his
officers came up and told me that they had been disturbed at breakfast
by a Boer shell, which had crashed through their waggon, killing a
servant and a horse. Presently the General himself saw me. I inquired
about the situation, and learned for the first time of General
Woodgate's wound--death it was then reported--and that Thorneycroft had
been appointed brigadier-general. 'We have put what we think is the best
fighting man in command regardless of seniority. We shall support him as
he may request. We can do no more.'

I will only relate one other incident--a miserable one. The day before
the attack on Spion Kop I had chanced to ride across the pontoon bridge.
I heard my name called, and saw the cheery face of a boy I had known at
Harrow--a smart, clean-looking young gentleman--quite the rough material
for Irregular Horse. He had just arrived and pushed his way to the
front; hoped, so he said, 'to get a job.' This morning they told me
that an unauthorised Press correspondent had been found among the killed
on the summit. At least they thought at first it was a Press
correspondent, for no one seemed to know him. A man had been found
leaning forward on his rifle, dead. A broken pair of field glasses,
shattered by the same shell that had killed their owner, bore the name
'M'Corquodale.' The name and the face flew together in my mind. It was
the last joined subaltern of Thorneycroft's Mounted Infantry--joined in
the evening shot at dawn.

Poor gallant young Englishman! he had soon 'got his job.' The great
sacrifice had been required of the Queen's latest recruit.

CHAPTER XIX

A FRESH EFFORT AND AN ARMY CHAPLAIN

Spearman's Hill: February 4, 1900

The first gleams of daylight crept underneath the waggon, and the
sleepers, closely packed for shelter from the rain showers, awoke. Those
who live under the conditions of a civilised city, who lie abed till
nine and ten of the clock in artificially darkened rooms, gain luxury at
the expense of joy. But the soldier, who fares simply, sleeps soundly,
and rises with the morning star, wakes in an elation of body and spirit
without an effort and with scarcely a yawn. There is no more delicious
moment in the day th