disappeared.  It is like a conjuring trick.  He seems to have an intuitive knowledge of the plans of our generals, and to divine how any movements of his will modify theirs.  He makes a swift march.  This he knows will set in motion a certain column.  Night comes and back he steals, and dashes out through the gap left without any one being the wiser.  He never loses his sangfroid, but acts always, in the most hopeless positions, with equal craft and rapidity.  In short, like the prophet Isaiah, he is “capable de tout.”  For he can hit hard, too.  I think since the arrival of the main army he is the only man who has scored off us at all freely.  Sanna’s Post and Reddersberg came first; then, last May, came the capture of the 500 Yeomanry at Lindley; that was followed immediately by the surprise of the Heilbron convoy and all its escort; then came the capture of the Derbyshire Militia, and a few days later the taking of Roodeval with a train of mails and various details.  Even when he had bolted out the other day between our legs, and was flying north with two or three cavalry brigades after him, he found time to snap up a hundred Welsh Fusiliers and break the line as he passed.  He is, they say, extremely amusing, and keeps his men always in a good temper with his jests; the other day, after one of his many train captures, he sent a message to the base to say that “he was sufficiently supplied with stores now, and would they kindly send up some remounts.”  He is now the only prize left worth taking, and every one is desperately keen in his pursuit.  I notice, however, that people never seem to meet him when they want to, though when they don’t want to, they very often do.

Olivier, with a force about equal to De Wet, also broke out from the hills, and having reached the open country, hung about to watch our movements.  There are some kopjes ten miles south of Heilbron, very nicely arranged, with a back hill commanding a front one, so that the first position gained would only bring us under the fire of the second; a very favourite Boer trick.  Here Olivier awaited our coming, and, knowing the range to an inch, landed his first shell plump in the middle of our convoy.  Hunter, and we with him (it is certainly great fun being with the Staff for the time being), were at the head of the column, and heard the shell go over.  Never have I seen a better shot.  It exploded on the track, right underneath a great waggon, to the amazement and consternation of the Kaffir drivers and the wretched oxen; though they were all, I believe, a good deal more frightened than hurt.  Three or four more quickly followed.  “Roll that up,” said Le Gallais to the Guide carrying the General’s flag.  A few minutes passed, during which we were shot at without being able to reply.  Then two Field Batteries came galloping to the front.  Guns!  Guns!  Way for the guns! like the fire-engines down Piccadilly they came tearing along.  As the iron wheels strike upon rocks the guns leap and swing.  Stones and splinters fly right and left, and the dust flung up by wheel and hoof boils along their course.  Nothing is more stirring than to see guns coming full speed into action.  In another minute they have lined up on the ridge and their shells are bursting on the enemy’s hill.