e has
stopped their rations till they can agree among themselves to produce
the twenty ready to start.

_January 17, 1900._

The far-off mutter of Buller's guns began at half-past five a.m., and
lasted nearly all day. From King's Post I watched the stretch of
plain--Six Mile Flats, the official map calls it--leading away to
Potgieter's Drift, where his troops are probably crossing. I could see
three of the little Dutch camps, and here and there bodies of Boers
moving over the country. Suddenly in the midst of the plain, just our
side of the camp near "Wesse's Plantation," a great cloud of smoke and
dust arose, and slowly drifted away. Beyond doubt, it was the bursting
of a British shell. Aimed at the camp it overshot the mark, and landed
on the empty plain. As a messenger of hope to us all it was not lost.
The distance was only fourteen miles from where I stood--a morning's
walk--less than an hour and a half's ride. Yet our relief may take many
days yet, and it will cost hundreds of lives to cross that little space.
The Boers have placed a new gun on the Bluebank ridge. It is disputed
whether it faces us or Buller's line of approach over the Great Plain.
The whole ridge is now covered from end to end with walls, traverses,
and sangars.

_January 18, 1900._

In the early morning the welcome sound of Buller's guns was not so
frequent as yesterday. But it continued steadily, and between four and
five increased to an almost unbroken thunder. From the extremity of
Waggon Hill, I watched the great cloud of dust and smoke which rose from
the distant plain as each shell burst. The Dutch camps were still in
position, and we could only conjecture that the British were trying to
clear the river-bank and the hills commanding it, so as to secure the
passage of the ford.

While I was there the enemy threw several shrapnel over the Rifle
Brigade outpost. Major Brodiewald, Brigade Major to the Natal Volunteers
under Colonel Royston, was sitting on the rocks watching Buller's shells
like myself. A shrapnel bullet struck him in the mouth and passed out at
the back of his neck. He was carried down the hill, his blood dripping
upon the stones along the track. In the afternoon one of the bluejackets
was also seriously wounded by shrapnel. The bombardment was heavy all
day, the Bulwan gun firing right over Convent Hill and plunging shells
into the Naval Camp, the Leicesters, and the open ground near
Headquarters. It look