But what matters it whether they lost one or one million?  The cursed white flag was up again over a British force in South Africa.  The best part of a thousand British soldiers, with all their arms and equipment and four mountain guns, were captured by the enemy.  The Boers had their revenge for Dundee and Elandslaagte in war; now they took it, full measure, in kindness.  As Atkins had tended their wounded and succoured their prisoners there, so they tended and succoured him here.  One commandant wished to send the wounded to Pretoria; the others, more prudent as well as more humane, decided to send them back into Ladysmith.  They gave the whole men the water out of their own bottles; they gave the wounded the blankets off their own saddles and slept themselves on the naked veldt.  They were short of transport, and they were mostly armed with Martinis; yet they gave captured mules for the hospital panniers and captured Lee-Metfords for splints.  A man was rubbing a hot sore on his head with a half-crown; nobody offered to take it from him.  Some of them asked soldiers for their embroidered waist-belts as mementoes of the day.  “It’s got my money in it,” replied Tommy—­a little surly, small wonder—­and the captor said no more.

Then they set to singing doleful hymns of praise under trees.  Apparently they were not especially elated.  They believed that Sir George White was a prisoner, and that we were flying in rout from Ladysmith.  They said that they had Rhodes shut up in Kimberley, and would hang him when they caught him.  That on their side—­and on ours?  We fought them all that morning in a fight that for the moment may wait.  At the end, when the tardy truth could be withheld no more—­what shame!  What bitter shame for all the camp!  All ashamed for England!  Not of her—­never that!—­but for her.  Once more she was a laughter to her enemies.

X.

THE GUNS AT RIETFONTEIN.

     A COLUMN ON THE MOVE—­THE NIMBLE GUNS—­GARRISON GUNNERS AT
     WORK—­THE VELDT ON FIRE—­EFFECTIVE SHRAPNEL—­THE VALUE OF THE
     ENGAGEMENT.

LADYSMITH, Oct. 26.

The business of the last few days has been to secure the retreat of the column from Dundee.  On Monday, the 23rd, the whisper began to fly round Ladysmith that Colonel Yule’s force had left town and camp, and was endeavouring to join us.  On Tuesday it became certainty.

At four in the dim morning guns began to roll and rattle through the mud-greased streets of Ladysmith.  By six the whole northern road was jammed tight with bearer company, field hospital, ammunition column, supply column—­all the stiff, unwieldy, crawling tail of an army.  Indians tottered and staggered under green-curtained doolies; Kaffir boys guided spans of four and five and six mules drawing ambulances, like bakers’ vans; others walked beside waggons curling whips that would dwarf the biggest salmon-rod