“We incline to the left near to the railway.  The horrid, little, grey-bluish, armoured train crawls in front.  It is dreadfully excited always in presence of the enemy, darting forward and then running back like a scorpion when you tease it with your stick-end.  One can see by its agitation this morning that the enemy are not far off.  Behind it comes a train of open trucks with the famous Naval Brigade, with their guns, search-light, &c.  The river flows somewhere across the landscape yonder in the plains.  One cannot see it, but a few belts of bushes indicate its course.  It is just that awkward moment before one gets touch of the enemy.  They, no doubt, can see us (I wonder how they like the look of us), but we cannot see them.  They must be somewhere along the river among those bushes, and probably in trenches.  But where does their main strength lie? where are their guns?  There goes fire, away on the right (probably at the Lancers, who are the right flankers); the dull short discharge of Mausers.  The train moves forward a hundred yards, but as yet the men keep their places, clustered in the trucks.  Two officers standing on a carriage roof watch with a telescope the distant fire.  It has now ceased.  A flag-wagger flutters his flag in eager question.  Nothing moves on the plain save here and there a lonely prowling horseman, cantering on, or dismounted and peering through his glass.  It was three minutes to eight when the first shot was fired.  ‘This will be a bit more history for the kiddies to learn,’ yawns the next man to me, leaning idly over his pony.”

“It is a half-hour later as the great guns begin their booming; that solemn, deep-toned sound like the striking of a great cathedral clock.  We moved forward to the top of a rise overlooking the distant river and village.”

“A dead level stretches below us to the river, marked by some bush tufts and the few roofs of Modder River village.  The Naval Brigade have got their four guns in the plain just near the foot of our hill.  They are hard at work now bombarding the enemy’s big gun by the river.  This, after a while, is almost silenced.  Each time it speaks again the deadly naval guns are on to it.  At last, when it does fire, it shows by its erratic aim that its best gunners are out of action.”

“9.30.—­The naval guns draw slowly closer to the river.  Every shell bursts along the opposite bank where the enemy are.  More to the right and nearer the river our field-batteries are pounding away as hard as they can load and fire.  All the time the subdued rumble of Maxims and rifles goes on, like a rumble of cart-wheels over a stony road.  Now it increases to one continuous roar, now slackens till the reports separate.  Now, after one and a half hours, the fight seems to be concentrating towards the village opposite.  A haze of smoke hangs over the place.  The guns thunder.  The enemy’s Maxim-Nordenfelt goes rat-tat-tat a dozen times with immense rapidity.