hers and grandfathers used to
do--bite the motto, "No surrender," into the butts of their rifles with
their teeth, and fight their way out of a hot corner. There has been a good
deal too much of this throwing up of arms during the present campaign, and
I hope that we shall hear less of it in the future.

We had a nasty night here at Enslin. Word reached our headquarters that
three thousand mounted Boers were on the move towards our camp, which, for
strategic purposes, is the most important between Methuen's column and De
Aar. If the enemy could take Enslin they could make things very awkward for
General Methuen, because they would then have him between two fires. As
soon as the news came our fellows, with the Gordons, were ordered to occupy
the surrounding heights. All night long, and well on into the day, we held
them until we learned that the enemy had decided not to attack us. Had they
done so they would have paid bitterly for their rashness, for the place is
practically impregnable. A thousand resolute and skilful men, who knew how
to use both rifle and bayonet, could hold the place against 20,000 of the
finest troops in the world, providing the defenders were not hopelessly
crushed by an immense artillery force.

General Hector Macdonald went through here the other day to take the
command of the Highland Brigade, in the place of the late General Wauchope.
The "Scots" who were with us lined up and gave the General a thrilling
welcome, whilst our fellows, who are not usually demonstrative, crowded
around the railway line to get a look at the brilliant soldier who, by
sheer merit, dauntless pluck, and iron resolution, forced his way from the
ranks to the high place he holds. The Australians had expected to see a
gaunt, prematurely aged man, war-worn and battle-broken, and were surprised
to see a dashing, gallant-looking man, who might in appearance comfortably
have passed for five-and-thirty. The grey-clad men, in soft slouch hats,
from the land of the Southern Cross, lounging about with pipes in their
teeth, did not break into hysterical cheering--they are not built that way;
they simply looked at the man whose full history every one of them knew as
well as he knew the way into the front door of a "pub." But their flashing
eyes and clenched hands told in language more eloquent than a salvo of
cheers that this was their ideal man, the man they would follow rifle in
hand up the brimstone heights of hell itself, if need