On the summit of the kopje the burghers were firing leisurely but accurately.  One man aimed steadily at a soldier for fully twenty seconds, then pressed the trigger, lowered his rifle and watched for the effect of the shot.  Bullets were flying high over him, and the shrapnel of the enemy’s guns exploded far behind him.  There seemed to be no great danger, and he fired again.  “I missed that time,” he remarked to a burgher who lay behind another rock several yards distant.  His neighbour then fired at the same soldier, and both cried simultaneously:  “He is hit!” The enemy again disappeared in the little ravine, and the burghers ceased firing.  Shells continued to tear through the air, but none exploded in the vicinity of the men, and they took advantage of the lull in the battle to light their pipes.  A swarm of yellow locusts passed overhead, and exploding shrapnel tore them into myriads of pieces, their wings and limbs falling near the burghers.  “I am glad I am not a locust,” remarked a burgher farther to the left of the others, as he dropped a handful of torn fragments of the insects.  Shells and bullets suddenly splashed everywhere around the burghers, and they crouched more closely behind the rocks.  The enemy’s guns had secured an accurate range, and the air was filled with the projectiles of iron and lead.  Exploding shells splintered rocks into atoms and sent them tearing through the grass.  Puffs of smoke and dirt were springing up from every square yard of ground, and a few men rose from their retreats and ran to the rear where the Basuto servants were holding their horses.  More followed several minutes afterwards, and when those who remained on the summit of the kopje saw that ten times their number of soldiers were ascending the hill under cover of cannon fire they also fled to their horses.

An open plain half a mile wide lay between the point where the burghers mounted their horses, and another kopje in the north-east.  The men lay closely on their horses’ backs, plunged their spurs in the animals’ sides, and dashed forward.  The cavalrymen, who had gained the summit of the kopje meanwhile, opened fire on the fleeing Boers, and their bullets cut open the horses’ sides and ploughed holes into the burgher’s clothing.  One horse, a magnificent grey who had been leading the others, fell dead as he was leaping over a small gully, and his rider was thrown headlong to the ground.  Another horseman turned in his course, assisted the horseless rider to his own brown steed, and the two were borne rapidly through the storm of bullets towards the kopje.  Another horse was killed when he had carried his rider almost to the goal of safety, and the Boer was compelled to traverse the remainder of the distance on foot.  Apparently all the burghers had escaped across the plain, and their field-cornet was preparing to lead them to another position when a solitary horseman, a mere speck of black against a background of brown, lifeless grass, issued from