“At half-past three we reached the reef of rocks and boulders, and presently I heard that two burghers had already been wounded, while another lay motionless, but it was as yet too dark to see who it was.

“Before long it became light, and some of the burghers charged the forts that were just above the ledge of rocks.  They overpowered the soldiers there, and took them prisoners, but were forced to fall back to the escarpment of rocks immediately, on account of the heavy fire directed on them from the other forts.  And now the roar of the cannons and rifles became terrific.  This was especially the case with the ceaseless rattle of small-arms.  One could with difficulty distinguish separate reports.  All sounded together like one continuous roar, and awoke an echo from the Neutral Hill that sounded like the surging of a mighty wind.

“We found ourselves under a cross cannon-fire.  The shells from one of our guns flew over our heads, and exploded just in front of us on the forts, so that we were often in danger of being struck by our own shells; and the projectiles of the English were hurled in an opposite direction on our cannon forts and on the burghers on Neutral Hill.

“Gradually we began to see in what a terrible position we were.  How terrible the firing was!  It never ceased for a moment; for if the burghers did not rush out from time to time, to assail the forts, the English charged us.  This alternate charging was taking place every now and then, and it was during these attacks that the pick of our men fell.  Whenever a sangar was charged, a destructive fire was directed on our men, and then some gallant fellows would always remain behind struck down.

“It was a fearful day—­a day that no one who was there will ever forget.  The heat, too, was unbearable.  The sun shot down his piteous rays upon us, and the higher he rose the hotter it became.  It was terrible to see the dead lying uncovered in the scorching rays; and our poor wounded suffered indescribable tortures from thirst.  And there was nothing to give them—­only a little whisky which I had got from an English officer, who had been taken prisoner.  I gave a little of that—­only a few drops—­to every wounded man.  Not only the wounded—­all of us suffered from thirst.  Long before midday there was not a drop of water left in our flasks.  So intolerable was the thirst that there were burghers who went down to the dongas below in search of water, where there was none, and where they knew that almost certain death awaited them.

“How slowly, too, the time dragged on!  ‘What o’clock is it?’ someone asked.  It was then only ten o’clock, and it seemed as if we had been fighting more than a day, for up to that moment the firing had continued unabated.

“Twelve o’clock passed, one o’clock, two o’clock—­and still the fire was kept up; and still the burning