the Manchesters guard the ridge. Then we
all waited, silent with expectation. The clouds turned crimson. At five
the sun marched up in silence. Not a gun was heard. "They will begin at
six," we said. Not a sound. "They are having a good breakfast," we
thought. Eight came, and we began to move about uneasily. Two miserable
shells whizzed over my head, obviously aimed only at the balloon which
was just coming down. "Call that a performance?" we grumbled. We left
our seats. We went on to the stage of the town. What was the matter? Was
"Long Tom" ill? Had the Basutos overrun the Free State? Had Buller
really advanced? Lieutenant Hooper, of the 5th Lancers, had walked
through from Maritzburg, passing the Royal Irish sentries at 2 a.m. He
brought news of a division coming to our rescue. Was that the reason of
the day's failure? So speculation chattered. The one thing certain was
that the performance did not come off, and there was no one to give us
our money back.

[Illustration: IMPERIAL LIGHT HORSE SHELTERS]

So we spent the day wandering round the outposts, washing ourselves and
our rags in the yellow river, trying to get the horses to drink the
water afterwards, contemplating the picturesque, and pretending to cook.
Perhaps the greatest interest was the work upon a series of caves in the
river-bank, behind the Intelligence Office. They are square-topped, with
straight sides, cut clean into the hard, sandy cliff. The Light Horse
have made them for themselves and their ammunition. On the opposite side
the Archdeacon has hollowed out a noble, ecclesiastical burrow. On the
hills the soldiers are still at work completing their shelter-trenches
and walls. I think the Rifle Brigade on King's Post (the signal hill of
a month ago) have built the finest series of defences, for they have
made covered pits against shrapnel. But perhaps they are more exposed
than all the others except the Devons, who lie along a low ridge beside
the Helpmakaar road, open to shell from two points, and perhaps to
rifle-fire also. The Irish Fusiliers, under Major Churchill, have a very
ingenious series of walls and covers. The main Manchesters' defences are
circular like forts; so are the Gordons' and the K.R.R.'s. All are
provisioned for fourteen days.

I spent the afternoon searching for a runner, a Kaffir the colour of
night, who would steal through the Boer lines in the dark with a
telegram. In my search I lost two hours through the conscientiousne