It has the merit of simplicity.
Meanwhile the warriors were looting the waggons, including my own, having first thrown all the dead Boers into a heap.

I looked at the heap; all of them were there, including the two stout fraus, poor things.

But I missed one body, that of Hans Botha's daughter, little Tota.

A wild hope came into my heart that she might have escaped; but no, it was not possible.

I could only pray that she was already at rest.
Just then the great Zulu, Bombyane, who had left my side to indulge in the congenial occupation of looting, came out of a waggon crying that he had got the "little white one." I looked; he was carrying the child Tota, gripping her frock in one of his huge black hands.