The trench was cut deep in the ground, and, unlike our trenches, there was scarcely any parapet.  A few great stones had been laid in front, but evidently the Boer believed in getting well into the ground.  The bottom was knee deep in cartridge cases, and every few yards there was an enormous heap of Mauser ammunition, thousands of rounds, all fastened neatly, five at a time, in clips.  A large proportion were covered with bright green slime, which the soldiers declared was poison, but which on analysis may prove to be wax, used to preserve the bullet.

The Boers, however, were not so guiltless of other charges.  A field officer of the East Surreys, recognising me, came up and showed me an expansive bullet of a particularly cruel pattern.  The tip had been cut off, exposing the soft core, and four slits were scored down the side.  Whole boxes of this ammunition had been found.  An officer who had been making calculations told me that the proportion of illegal bullets was nearly one in five.  I should not myself have thought it was so large, but certainly the improper bullets were very numerous.  I have a specimen of this particular kind by me as I write, and I am informed by people who shoot big game that it is the most severe bullet of its kind yet invented.  Five other sorts have been collected by the medical officers, who have also tried to classify the wounds they respectively produce.

I cannot be accused of having written unfairly about the enemy; indeed, I have only cared to write what I thought was the truth about everybody.  I have tried to do justice to the patriotic virtues of the Boers, and it is now necessary to observe that the character of these people reveals, in stress, a dark and spiteful underside.  A man—­I use the word in its fullest sense—­does not wish to lacerate his foe, however earnestly he may desire his life.

The popping of musketry made me hasten to rejoin my regiment.  The squadron of mounted infantry had reached Pieters Railway Station, only to be heavily fired on from a low hill to the westward; and they now came scampering back with half a dozen riderless horses.  Happily, the riders mostly arrived on foot after a few minutes.  But it was evidently necessary to push forward very carefully.  Indeed, it is hard to imagine how pursuits will occur in future war.  A hundred bold men with magazine rifles on a ridge can delay a whole army.  The cavalry must reconnoitre and retire.  Infantry and guns must push forward.  Meanwhile the beaten troops are moving steadily to safety.

In a little while—­to revert to the narrative—­the horse artillery battery came up, and the offending hill was conscientiously shelled for an hour.  Then the patrols crept forward again, but progress was necessarily slow.  We were still six miles from Ladysmith at three o’clock.

At this hour the Boer ambulances had been invited to come for such of their wounded as could be moved, for since the enemy returned our wounded from Spion Kop we have followed the practice of sending back theirs on all occasions should they prefer it.