About 4 p.m.

we witnessed a miserable sight.

Along the main track which crosses the Great Plain and passes round the end of Telegraph Hill, almost within range of our guns, came a large party of men tramping through the dust.
They were in khaki uniforms, marched in fours, and kept step.
Undoubtedly they were British prisoners on their way to Pretoria.

Their numbers were estimated at fifty, ninety, and 150 by different look-out stations.

In front and rear trudged an unorganised gang of Boers, evidently acting as escort.