In the meantime the real game was being played on the western border.  All our available mounted men, led by Colonel Scott-Turner, had crossed the Lazaretto Ridge, and actually drawn close to a Boer camp—­unobserved.  When the sentry did open his eyes and had challenged our advance agents no verbal response was made; but a rifle went off, and the sentry fell.  The Boers were of course instantly aroused by the report; they rushed to their trenches, and a fierce rifle-duel ensued.  From the muzzles of the Mausers a withering volley came.  Some of Turner’s men fell from their saddles, but the rest, nothing daunted, pressed their advantage and charged pell-mell upon the foe.  The Boers fought gallantly, but were unable to resist the fury of the onslaught; some of them threw down their arms; others made a dash for liberty; while not a few fell fighting to the last.  Thirty prisoners were taken; also a large quantity of rifles.  Seven Light Horse men were killed; twelve were seriously, and fifteen slightly, wounded.  Colonel Scott-Turner, who was hit in the shoulder, had his horse shot under him.  Thus ended the most serious sortie of the siege—­so far.

The townspeople had assembled in concourse to welcome the warriors home.  Cheer after cheer rent the air as they passed, intermingled now and then with a murmur of pity, suggested by the sight of a riderless horse.  Scott-Turner was the recipient of a special salvo, which nearly unsaddled him again; and the other officers were bored to death bowing their acknowledgments along the route.  Privates with bandaged eyes or arms were also singled out for vociferous greeting, only they passed the bowing, and were not a bit bored.  The Mayor himself, smoking a cigar, came along in his own goods van!  There was no mistaking his identity; it was the Mayor—­the Mayor of the Diamond City in a wooden chariot! not indeed in his robes of State, but—­in the flesh!  A flaming Red Cross waved above the Mayoral van, and a long string of vehicles, adorned with like emblems, followed.  It was to the credit of the merchants generally that they had voluntarily placed their horses and wagons at the disposal of the military.  Had all the combatants been stricken hors-de-combat there were facilities on the spot for their immediate conveyance to hospital.

The prisoners, who followed in the wake of their conquerors, were the great objects of curiosity and interest.  One or two spectators started groaning; but a nudge, or failing that, a kick sufficed to correct their bad taste.  A weary, travel-stained group the captives looked—­with their unkempt locks and unshaven faces.  No need to throw mud at them.  The universal feeling was rather one of sympathy, even of admiration, for brave men whom fortune had omitted to favour.

CHAPTER VII

Week ending 2nd December, 1899