(1.30 P.M.)—­The battle is, as usual, unintelligible to the humble unit, but the force is advancing slowly, the Yorkshire Light Infantry and Munster Fusiliers on either hand of us.  Our section is in action now.  We have just taken our waggon to the firing line and brought back the team.  The corporal’s horse stepped in a hole just as we were reaching the guns and turned a complete somersault.  He is all right, but his was our second mishap, as the near wheeler fell earlier in the day, and the driver was dragged some yards before we could stop.  The ground is very dangerous, full of holes, some of them deep and half-covered with grass.  Another driver is up, but the former is only a bit shaken, I think.  Our section has silenced a Boer gun in three shots, at 4200 yards, a good bit of work, and a credit to Lieutenant Bailey as a judge of range.  The right section also cleared the kopje they fired at, but had a narrow escape afterwards, coming suddenly, when on the move, under the fire of Boer guns, of whose presence they were ignorant, the shells falling thick but not bursting.  Bivouacked at four on the veldt.  The Boers had retired from the line they held.  A long ride to water after unharnessing; nothing much to eat.  Williams and I have taken to ending the day by boiling tea (from tablets) over the embers of the cook’s fire, or on one of our own if we have any fuel, which is very seldom.  How the cooks get their wood is a mystery to me.  The Kaffir drivers always have it, too, though there are no visible trees.  We always seem to sit up late, short though our nights are.  A chilly little group gathers sleepily round the embers, watching mess-tins full of nondescript concoctions balanced cunningly in the hot corners, and gossiping of small camp affairs or large strategical movements of which we know nothing.  The brigade camp-fires twinkle faintly through the gloom.  A line of veldt-fire is sure to be glowing in the distance, looking like the lights of a sea-side town as seen from the sea.  The only sound is of mules shuffling and jingling round the waggons.

The “cook-house” is still the source of rumours, which are wonderfully varied.  There is much vague talk now of General Clements and a brigade being connected somehow with our operations.  But we know as little of the game we are playing as pawns on the chessboard.  Our tea is strong, milkless, and sugarless, but I always go to sleep the instant I lie down, even if I am restless with the cold later.

July 3.—­Reveille at 4.30.  Our section, under Lieutenant Bailey, started at once for a steep kopje looming dimly about three miles away.  The right section, with the Major and Captain, left us and went to another one.  We had a tough job getting our guns and waggons up.

(8 A.M.)—­Just opening fire now.  A Boer gun is searching the valley on our left, but they can’t see the limbers and waggons.