Behind the line of hills which had been taken there extended a great plain as far as Bulwana—­that evil neighbour who had wrought such harm upon Ladysmith.  More than half of the Pieters position had fallen into Buller’s hands on the 27th, and the remainder had become untenable.  The Boers had lost some five hundred in killed, wounded, and prisoners. [Footnote:  Accurate figures will probably never be obtained, but a well-known Boer in Pretoria informed me that Pieters was the most expensive fight to them of the whole war. ] It seemed to the British General and his men that one more action would bring them safely into Ladysmith.

But here they miscalculated, and so often have we miscalculated on the optimistic side in this campaign that it is pleasing to find for once that our hopes were less than the reality.  The Boers had been beaten—­fairly beaten and disheartened.  It will always be a subject for conjecture whether they were so entirely on the strength of the Natal campaign, or whether the news of the Cronje disaster from the western side had warned them that they must draw in upon the east.  For my own part I believe that the honour lies with the gallant men of Natal, and that, moving on these lines, they would, Cronje or no Cronje, have forced their way in triumph to Ladysmith.

And now the long-drawn story draws to a swift close.  Cautiously feeling their way with a fringe of horse, the British pushed over the great plain, delayed here and there by the crackle of musketry, but finding always that the obstacle gave way and vanished as they approached it.  At last it seemed clear to Dundonald that there really was no barrier between his horsemen and the beleaguered city.  With a squadron of Imperial Light Horse and a squadron of Natal Carabineers he rode on until, in the gathering twilight, the Ladysmith picket challenged the approaching cavalry, and the gallant town was saved.

It is hard to say which had shown the greater endurance, the rescued or their rescuers.  The town, indefensible, lurking in a hollow under commanding hills, had held out for 118 days.  They had endured two assaults and an incessant bombardment, to which, towards the end, owing to the failure of heavy ammunition, they were unable to make any adequate reply.  It was calculated that 16, 000 shells had fallen within the town.  In two successful sorties they had destroyed three of the enemy’s heavy guns.  They had been pressed by hunger, horseflesh was already running short, and they had been decimated by disease.  More than 2000 cases of enteric and dysentery had been in hospital at one time, and the total number of admissions had been nearly as great as the total number of the garrison.  One-tenth of the men had actually died of wounds or disease.  Ragged, bootless, and emaciated, there still lurked in the gaunt soldiers the martial spirit of warriors.  On the day after their relief 2000 of them set forth to pursue the Boers.  One who helped to lead them has left it on record that the most piteous sight that he has ever seen was these wasted men, stooping under their rifles and gasping with the pressure of their accoutrements, as they staggered after their retreating enemy.  A Verestschagen might find a subject these 2000 indomitable men with their emaciated horses pursuing a formidable foe.  It is God’s mercy they failed to overtake them.