"Fourteen ancient tents, their blankets, kettles, and camp utensils, tossed about in wild confusion. Three long waggons of the type in which the voortrekkers voyaged the veldt, a team of a dozen magnificent oxen, a big water-cart which we eyed greedily, a Kaffir wattled hut, its floor piled high with odds and ends of clothing and valuables, its doorway marked by a shell-smash; the rocky kopje-side behind, a flat plain dotted with shaggy, bushlike trees in front--such was the Boer laager. Prisoners came from here and there, over a score from the kopje-top, more from this corner and that of the field, and were taken to the hut. Within it and around its door they squatted, a silent downcast crew; what a mess they had made of their affairs! Perhaps they were not so despondent as we thought, for one man as he sat in the guarded group pointed out a rifle which one of the victors was carrying, and claimed it as his own--a piece of cheek which staggered our men. The prisoners claimed only part of our attention; with eager curiosity the camp was ransacked. At last we had our hands upon these Boers: what manner of men were they, and how did they live? Poorly enough, I should say; the camp must have been densely crowded with the motley gathering, and we could see the odd admixture of practical barbarism with occasional contact with civilisation, as when good suits of clothes lay side by side with repulsive-looking strips of biltong. We felt that all this was ours, ours by right of battle, ours by virtue of victory. Perhaps we were wrong, perhaps the confiscated property of rebels should fall to the Crown, but as long as men go to war so long will victors walk through the camp of the vanquished with just that feeling swelling through their veins. Something else lay heavy upon us--thirst. It raged through us. The yellow pool where the veldt cut into the kopje face filled our water-bottles, and we drank and drank. The foul dregs of the Boers' water-cart were drained with joy. As the sun was setting our own water-cart with more wholesome water drove up, and we drank and drank again. As our fires were lighted, what receptacles could be found were filled and the muddy fluid boiled. Our transport waggons were miles away, and for tea or coffee we were dependent on what we found in the Boer waggons. I remember drinking a cup of hot water and finding it most refreshing. Food was foraged. One section of our men found a sheep's carcass hanging up under a tree, slaughtered by the rebels before our shell changed the tenor of their day. Some had hardtack or army rations in their haversacks. Here and there they picked up enough to make up a meal, not especially plentiful, and very scrappy, but satisfying. Indeed a most