y on that morning our scouts had brought in news that
a commando, believed to be about two thousand five hundred strong, with
half a dozen guns, commanded by General De Wet, was strongly posted right
on our line of march. Slowly we crept across the open veldt, our men
stretching from east to west for fully six miles. There was no moving of
solid masses of men, no solid grouping of troops; no two men marched
shoulder to shoulder, a gap showed plainly between each of the khaki-clad
figures as we moved on to the rugged, broken line of kopjes. There was no
hurry, no bustle, the men behaved admirably, each individual soldier
seeming to have his wits about him, and proving it by taking advantage of
every bit of cover that came in his way. If they halted near an ant-hill,
they at once put it between themselves and the enemy.

Slowly but steadily they rolled onward, like a great sluggish, but
irresistible, yellow wave, until we saw the scouts slipping from rock to
rock up the stony heights of the first line of hills. Breathlessly we
watched the intrepid "eyes of the army" advance until they stood
silhouetted against the sky-line on the top of the black bulwarks of the
veldt. Then we strained our ears to catch the rattle of the enemy's rifles,
but we listened in vain; and we were completely staggered. What did it
mean? Was it a trap? Was there some devilish craft behind that apparent
peacefulness? Trap or no trap, we had not long to wait. The long, yellow
wave curled inwards from both flanks, the men going forward with quick,
lithesome steps. The mounted infantry shot forward as if moved by magic,
and, before the eye could scarcely grasp the details, our fellows held the
heights, and men marvelled and wondered whether the Boers had bolted for
good. But they soon undeceived us, for the hills shook with the
far-reaching roar of their guns, and shells began to make melody which
devils love; but they did no harm. Not a man was touched. Then came the
short, sharp word of command from our lines. Officers bit their words
across the centre, and threw them at the men. The Horse Artillery moved
into position, some going at a steady trot, others sweeping along the
valleys as if they were the children of the storm. The left flank swung
forward and encircled the base of an imposing kopje. The men swarmed up
with tiger-like activity, quickly, and in broken and irregular lines; but
there was no confusion, no wretched tangle, no helpless muddle.