In this battle the hardships of warfare were accumulated. Not only had the troops to display active but passive heroism. Though the longing for water exceeded the craving for food and repose, the unfortunate fellows were very near the verge of famine. Their position at times must have savoured of the tortures of Tantalus, for many of the men were groping after the enemy in a doubled-up fashion and under a shower of lead, along farms and gardens, while hens clacked, pigs grunted, goats offered milk, and potatoes and other edibles smiled a mute invitation. When the Boers were routed, however, these delicacies at last became the reward of their labours, but of the niceties of the culinary operations it is best not to speak. Our gallant Highlanders needed the services of no Vatel--an old can and a wood fire right royally served their purpose. The crossing of the river, which was so splendidly effected, particularly by the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, was fraught with unlooked-for dangers, as the following quotation from a letter of a private in the regiment will show. Talking of the enemy he said:-- "They held their position for five or six hours, and it was with great difficulty that we managed to shift them. Our regiment was the first to cross the river on the left flank, and my company was the first to get over. We advanced along the river and drove the Boers before us; but, unfortunately, our big guns dropped two or three shells uncomfortably close to us, entirely by mistake. When the first of these shells fell, I was only about ten yards past the spot. About twenty of our men were killed by the Boer bullets; and our regiment, I think, sustained the heaviest loss of any that took part in the fight. I felt a bit frightened when I first went into battle, but as the day advanced I got myself again. My legs are badly burned by the sun, and are very sore, but I am rapidly getting all right again. We expect to have another fight this week, and it will be even worse than the last, so one never knows the hour when he may fall." [Illustration: THE BATTLE OF MODDER RIVER, THE ARGYLL AND SUTHERLAND HIGHLANDERS CROSSING THE DRIFT. Drawing by Allan Stewart.] Indeed they did not, and it was a pathetically common experience to wish a man good luck one morning and on the next to find that his helmet and belongings were being gathered together--all that was left of him--to be sent home to his friends. For instance, there was the case of poor Colour-Sergeant Christian of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, a hero who did magnificent work, but who never lived to receive the decorations he deserved. An extract from one of his last letters is full of pathetic interest:--