No shells were bursting on it to-day, and the sound of guns was not so frequent.

Our heliograph flashed from the far-off Zwartz Kop, and high above it, looking hardly bigger than a vulture against the pale blue of the Drakensberg precipices, rose Buller's balloon, showing just a point of lustre on its skin.
The view from Observation Hill is far the finest, but the whiz of bullets over the rocks scarcely ever stops, and now and again a shell comes screaming into the rank grass at one's feet.
To-day we enjoyed a further variety, well worth the risk.

At the foot of Surprise Hill, hardly 1,500 yards from our position, the Boers have placed a mortar.

Now and then it throws a huge column of smoke straight up into the air.

The first I thought was a dynamite explosion, but after a few seconds I heard a growing whisper high above my head, as though a falling star had lost its way, and plump came a great shell into the grass, making a 3ft.