n, my man,' he said in his most nervous, apologetic voice;
'what are you doing here?'

'Sir,' replied the soldier, 'an officer told me to stop here, sir.'

'Oh! Why?'

'I'm a third-class shot, sir.'

'Dear me,' said the General after some reflection, 'that's an awful
pity, because you see you'll have to get quite close to the Boers to do
any good. Come along with me and I'll find you a nice place,' and a
mournful procession trailed off towards the most advanced
skirmishers.[3]

FOOTNOTES:

[3] The map at the end of Chapter XXV. illustrates this and succeeding
chapters.

CHAPTER XXII

THE ENGAGEMENT OF MONTE CRISTO

Cingolo Neck: February 19, 1900.

Not since I wrote the tale of my escape from Pretoria have I taken up my
pen with such feelings of satisfaction and contentment as I do to-night.
The period of doubt and hesitation is over. We have grasped the nettle
firmly, and as shrewdly as firmly, and have taken no hurt. It remains
only to pluck it. For heaven's sake no over-confidence or premature
elation; but there is really good hope that Sir Redvers Buller has
solved the Riddle of the Tugela--at last. At last! I expect there will
be some who will inquire--'Why not "at first"?' All I can answer is
this: There is certainly no more capable soldier of high rank in all the
army in Natal than Sir Redvers Buller. For three months he has been
trying his best to pierce the Boer lines and the barrier of mountain and
river which separates Ladysmith from food and friends; trying with an
army--magnificent in everything but numbers, and not inconsiderable even
in that respect--trying at a heavy price of blood in Africa, of anxiety
at home. Now, for the first time, it seems that he may succeed. Knowing
the General and the difficulties, I am inclined to ask, not whether he
might have succeeded sooner, but rather whether anyone else would have
succeeded at all. But to the chronicle!

Anyone who stands on Gun Hill near Chieveley can see the whole of the
Boer position about Colenso sweeping before him in a wide curve. The
mountain wall looks perfectly unbroken. The river lies everywhere buried
in its gorge, and is quite invisible. To the observer there is only a
smooth green bay of land sloping gently downward, and embraced by the
rocky, scrub-covered hills. Along this crescent of high ground runs--or
rather, by God's grace, ran the Boer line, strong in its natural
features, and entrenched from end to end. When th