No doubt, they exposed themselves
a bit in doing this, but pumped and excited men can't be expected to
shoot very straight, and I'm afraid their losses were light compared to
ours. They have now retired, we presume, to the next range of kopjes,
there to smoke their pipes and read their Bibles and await our coming. I
suppose we shall be along to-morrow or next day.
LETTER IV
MODDER RIVER
MODDER RIVER CAMP,
_December 1_, 1899.
We had a great old fight here two days ago, and suffered another
crushing victory; but though I saw it all, I daresay you know more about
the whole thing by this time than I do.
This is Modder River, deep and still, just beneath my feet. It is a
lovely, cloudless morning, and going to be a very hot day. I am writing
my letter on the banks of the river in the shade of green trees and
shrubs, with birds singing and twittering, and building their nests
round me; it is spring-time here, you know, or early summer. Here and
there, sauntering or sitting, are groups of our khaki soldiers enjoying
mightily a good rest after the hard work, marching and fighting, of the
last ten days. From the river-bed come voices calling and talking,
sounds of laughing, and now and then a plunge. Heads bob about and
splash in the mud-coloured water, and white figures run down the bank
and stand a moment, poised for a plunge.
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