Here, with some of the Camerons, we felt about the hills, shelling them
with a couple of guns for Boer sharpshooters, and occasionally flushing
one or two. We were rather detached and out of the main action, feeling
rather like a gun that has been sent to stop birds from "going back"
while the main battue is at work in front. We stayed out all day, and as
we rode in that night to headquarters the whole valley under the
starlight was echoing like a great gallery and bustling with the
multitude of our army arranging itself and settling down for the night.
We picked our way through the various convoys hurrying forward in search
of their brigades, but often losing their way or getting off the track,
checked by muddy fords, where an engulfed team wallows piteously,
barring the passage. We pass detachments of infantry hurrying in tired
and silent, and meet other detachments with blankets and greatcoats
coming out on picket. Waifs and strays, by ones and twos, who have lost
their way, shout for guidance, hallooing dismally for the brigades or
regiments to which they belong, and which many have small hope of
rejoining that night. Meantime, right down the valley and far across it,
the various camp-fires twinkle out like glow-worms. The air is keen and
frosty, and stars, clear and sharp as icicles, glitter all over the sky.
Above everything is still and calm, very well arranged evidently, and
everything in its proper place.
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