While these events had been taking place upon the left of the line, the right was hardly in better plight.  All firing had ceased for the moment—­the Boers being evidently under the impression that the whole attack had recoiled.  Uncertain whether the front of the small party on the right of the second line (now consisting of some sixty-five Sappers and Canadians lying in one mingled line) was clear for firing should the Boers leave their trenches, Captain Boileau, of the Sappers, crawled forward along the bank of the river, and discovered Captain Stairs and ten men of the Canadians, the survivors of the firing line, firmly ensconced in a crevice of the river bank overlooking the laager, quite happy on being reassured as to the proximity of support.  This brought the total number of the daring band up to seventy-five rifles.  Meanwhile, the Gordons, somewhat perplexed by the flying phantoms who had been flitting into and over their trenches for the past few minutes, sent a messenger along the river bank to ascertain, in their turn, if their own front was clear to fire, and if not, what state the survivors were in.  To this message Colonel Kincaid, R.E., now in command of the remains of the assaulting party, replied that his men would be well entrenched by daylight.  The little party had been distributed for digging as well as the darkness and their ignorance of their exact position to the Boers would permit.  Twice the sound of the picks brought angry volleys from the darkness, but the work was never stopped, and in the early dawn the workers found not only that they were secure themselves, but that they were in a position to enfilade over half a mile of Boer trenches.  Before daybreak the British crouched low in their shelter, so that with the morning light the Boers did not realise the change which the night had wrought.  It was only when a burgher was shot as he filled his pannikin at the river that they understood how their position was overlooked.  For half an hour a brisk fire was maintained, at the end of which time a white flag went up from the trench.  Kincaid stood up on his parapet, and a single haggard figure emerged from the Boer warren.  ’The burghers have had enough; what are they to do?’ said he.  As he spoke his comrades scrambled out behind him and came walking and running over to the British lines.  It was not a moment likely to be forgotten by the parched and grimy warriors who stood up and cheered until the cry came crashing back to them again from the distant British camps.  No doubt Cronje had already realised that the extreme limit of his resistance was come, but it was to that handful of Sappers and Canadians that the credit is immediately due for that white flag which fluttered on the morning of Majuba Day over the lines of Paardeberg.

It was six o’clock in the morning when General Pretyman rode up to Lord Roberts’s headquarters.  Behind him upon a white horse was a dark-bearded man, with the quick, restless eyes of a hunter, middle-sized, thickly built, with grizzled hair flowing from under a tall brown felt hat.  He wore the black broadcloth of the burgher with a green summer overcoat, and carried a small whip in his hands.  His appearance was that of a respectable London vestryman rather than of a most redoubtable soldier with a particularly sinister career behind him.