Afterwards the order was given to make breastworks, and there was a rush into the open to gather stones and rocks and boulders, when more men were stricken down. All the wounded could do was to creep to a rock in the rear, and there await the turn of events. Some lay as they crawled from 3 to 8.30 at night. It was impossible for them to be removed from the hill, as the Boers promptly fired on the stretcher-bearers. The sights and sounds were heart-rending. On one side was seen a man sent to his last account in a breath; on another was one still hobbling along and plying his rifle, with both ankles smashed. Here lay a poor fellow who had a splinter of rock driven clean through his lungs and out at his back; there languished another shot through the eye and brain--hopeless. All of them suffered patiently, but were madly athirst, craving for the hour when the sun should go down and they might get a chance of removal from the awful scene. And yet there were some, wounded too, who bore the long hours with amazing cheeriness. One, shot in the leg, lay on his back, drew forth his home letters, and perused them in the midst of a deadly fusillade. Another, more seriously wounded still, had the audacity to beguile the weary moments by taking a "snap-shot" at General Hart in the act of waving his sword and gesticulating. So much for pluck! After sundown came the moment so longed for by the wretched beings, some of whom were now literally glued to earth in their own gore. But their miseries were not yet at an end. It took some two hours to go three-quarters of a mile in the darkness over the bad ground; there were creeks, and dongas, and boulders everywhere. No lights were allowed. In the jetty obscurity the Samaritans tripped and stumbled. "I was only dropped twice," smiled a wounded youth when he was at last safely borne towards the stretcher-bearers. Others at intervals were brought in soaked with blood and rain, the hot stream and the cold mingling uncannily and to their supreme discomfort. Many who were wounded soon after midday only succeeded in reaching the field-hospital about half-past twelve at night. Some, more pathetic still, did not reach it at all! They had patiently waited till past the need of assistance! Very pathetic were the circumstances attending the fall of Major Childe. It was said that on the previous day he had had forebodings of disaster, so much so that he even begged of his companions, in the event of his death, to put on his grave his chosen quotation, "Is it well with the child? It is well." This dying wish was faithfully carried out. His burial took place on the day after the engagement, Lord Dundonald reading the solemn words of the funeral service. Over his roughly-made grave was placed the gallant officer's name, the date of his death, and the text he had desired to have written on his tomb.