The sun set amid crimson thunder-clouds behind the Drakensberg; there was no sign of war save the whistle of a persistent sniper's bullet over my head.

Our weather-beaten soldiers were trying to make themselves comfortable for the night in their little heaps of stones.
_January 15, 1900._ This is the day I had fixed upon long ago for our relief.

There were rumours of fighting by the Tugela, and some said they had seen squadrons of our cavalry and even Staff officers galloping on the further limits of the Great Plain.

But beyond the wish, there is no need to believe what they said.
In the morning Steevens, of the _Daily Mail_, was so much worse that we sent off a warning message to Mrs.Steevens by heliograph.

At least I climbed to all the new signal stations in turn, trying to get it sent, but found the instruments full up with official despatches.