So the artillery battle went on, hour after hour.

I sat on the rocks and watched.

At my side the Gordons on picket duty were playing with two little white kids.

On the plain in front no one was to be seen but one lone and dirty soldier, who was steadily marching in across it, no one knew from where.

He must have lost his way in the night, and now was making for the nearest British lines, hanging his rifle unconcernedly over his shoulder, butt behind.
So we watched and waited.