He is, they say,
extremely amusing, and keeps his men always in a good temper with his
jests; the other day, after one of his many train captures, he sent a
message to the base to say that "he was sufficiently supplied with
stores now, and would they kindly send up some remounts." He is now the
only prize left worth taking, and every one is desperately keen in his
pursuit. I notice, however, that people never seem to meet him when they
want to, though when they don't want to, they very often do.
Olivier, with a force about equal to De Wet, also broke out from the
hills, and having reached the open country, hung about to watch our
movements. There are some kopjes ten miles south of Heilbron, very
nicely arranged, with a back hill commanding a front one, so that the
first position gained would only bring us under the fire of the second;
a very favourite Boer trick. Here Olivier awaited our coming, and,
knowing the range to an inch, landed his first shell plump in the middle
of our convoy. Hunter, and we with him (it is certainly great fun being
with the Staff for the time being), were at the head of the column, and
heard the shell go over. Never have I seen a better shot. It exploded on
the track, right underneath a great waggon, to the amazement and
consternation of the Kaffir drivers and the wretched oxen; though they
were all, I believe, a good deal more frightened than hurt.
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