Between his black chest and his rag of shirt he had tucked that neat packet which was to console so many a woman, white-skinned and delicately dressed.

Fetching a wide compass, he stole away into the eastern twilight, where the great white moon was rising, shrouded in electric cloud.
_November 17, 1899._ A few shells came in early, and by nine o'clock there was so much firing on the north-west that I rode out to the main position of the 60th (King's Royal Rifles) on Cove Hill.

I found that our field battery there was being shelled from Surprise Hill and its neighbour, but nothing unusual was happening.

The men were in a rather disconsolate condition.
Even where they have built a large covered shelter underground the wet comes through the roof and trickles down upon them in liquid filth.

But they bear it all with ironic indifference, consoling themselves especially with the thought that they killed one Boer for certain yesterday.