e night, and,
passing Colesberg safely, arrived at Stormberg, beyond which all is
again secure.

Stormberg Junction stands at the southern end of a wide expanse of
rolling grass country, and though the numerous rocky hills, or kopjes as
they are called, which rise inconveniently on all sides, make its
defence by a small force difficult, a large force occupying an extended
position would be secure. Here we found the confirmation of many
rumours. The news of a Boer advance on Burghersdorp, twenty-five miles
away, is, it seems, well founded, and when our train arrived the
evacuation of Stormberg by its garrison, of a half-battalion of the
Berkshire Regiment, 350 men of the Naval Brigade, a company of mounted
infantry, and a few guns, was busily proceeding.

The sailors were already in their train, and only prevented from
starting by the want of an engine. The infantry and artillery were to
start in a few hours. It is rather an unsatisfactory business, though
the arrival of more powerful forces will soon restore the situation.
Stormberg is itself an important railway junction. For more than a week
the troops have been working night and day to put it in a state of
defence. Little redoubts have been built on the kopjes, entrenchments
have been dug, and the few houses near the station are already strongly
fortified. I was shown one of these by the young officer in charge. The
approaches were, cleared of everything except wire fences and
entanglements; the massive walls were loopholed, the windows barricaded
with sandbags, and the rooms inside broken one into the other for
convenience in moving about.

Its garrison of twenty-five men and its youthful commander surveyed the
work with pride. They had laid in stores of all kinds for ten days, and
none doubted that Fort Chabrol, as they called it, would stand a gallant
siege. Then suddenly had come the message to evacuate and retreat. So it
was with the others. The train with the naval detachment and its guns
steamed off, and we gave it a feeble cheer. Another train awaited the
Berkshires. The mounted infantry were already on the march. 'Mayn't we
even blow up this lot?' said a soldier, pointing to the house he had
helped to fortify. But there was no such order, only this one
which seemed to pervade the air: 'The enemy are coming.
Retreat--retreat--retreat!' The stationmaster--one of the best types of
Englishmen to be found on a long journey--was calm and cheerful.

'No more t