We proceeded and soon reached the battalions.  A company of the Dublin Fusiliers were among those captured in the armoured train, and I have the pleasure of knowing most of the officers of this regiment.  So we visited them first—­a dozen gentlemen—­begrimed, unwashed, unshaven, sitting on the hillside behind a two-foot wall of rough stones and near a wooden box, which they called the ‘Officers’ Mess.’  They were in capital spirits in spite of every abominable circumstance.

‘What did you lose in the action?’

’Oh, about fifty.  Poor Hensley was killed, you know; that was the worst of it.’

Captain Hensley was one of the smallest and bravest men in the Army, and the Dublin Fusiliers, who should be good judges, regarded him as their very best officer for all military affairs, whether attack, retreat, or reconnaissance.  Each had lost a friend, but collectively as a regiment they had lost a powerful weapon.

‘Very few of us left now,’ said the colonel, surveying his regiment with pride.

‘How many?’

‘About four hundred and fifty.’

‘Out of a thousand?’

‘Well, out of about nine hundred.’

This war has fallen heavily on some regiments.  Scarcely any has suffered more severely, none has won greater distinction, than the Dublin Fusiliers—­everywhere at the front—­Dundee, Lombard’s Kop, Colenso, Chieveley, Colenso again, and even here at Spion Kop.  Half the regiment, more than half the officers killed or wounded or prisoners.

But the survivors were as cheery as ever.

‘Do these shells catch anyone?’

’Only two or three an hour.  They don’t come always:  every half-hour we get half a dozen.  That last one killed an officer in the next regiment.  Rather bad luck, picking an officer out of all these men—­only one killed to-day so far, a dozen wounded.’

I inquired how much more time remained before the next consignment of shells was due.  They said about ten minutes.  I thought that would just suit me, and bade them good morning, for I have a horror of being killed when not on duty; but Captain Brooke was anxious to climb to the top and examine the Boer position, and since we had come so far it was perhaps worth while going on.  So we did, and with great punctuality the shells arrived.

We were talking to the officers of another regiment when they began.  Two came in quick succession over the eastern wall of the valley and then one over the western.  All three burst—­two on impact, one in the air.  A fourth ripped along a stone shelter behind which skirmishers were firing.  A fifth missed the valley altogether and screeched away into the plain clear of the hills.  The officers and men were quite callous.  They scarcely troubled to look up.  The soldiers went on smoking or playing cards or sleeping as if nothing had happened.  Personally I felt no inclination to any of these pursuits, and I thought to sit and wait indefinitely, for the