General Barton, with two battalions of the 6th Brigade and the Royal Dublin Fusiliers, crept one and a half miles down the banks of the river, the Scots Fusiliers leading. Here the Tugela flowed between high shelving banks, while above them frowned the three spurs of the great Pieters position. As usual, these eminences were well ribbed with shelter trenches, and embedded everywhere were Boer sharpshooters, ready to pit cunning against courage, and sniggle at the victory of one over the other. A hot fire commenced on the river-banks while Barton's Brigade advanced gallantly towards its destination. The top of the hill was being raked noisily by the gunners. "Hell was dancing hornpipes aloft," some one said. However, in the afternoon British bayonets glittered against the skyline, and the thing was done. This, the most wonderful infantry in the world, had ascended precipitous cliffs 500 feet high, assaulted Pieter's Hill, gained the crest, and turned the enemy's left. [Illustration: SIGNAL APPARATUS OF H.M.S. _FORTE_, MOUNTED ON TRUCK AND USED NIGHTLY TO COMMUNICATE WITH LADYSMITH.] This storming of the main position, which was accomplished by the Royal Scots Fusiliers and the Royal Irish Fusiliers, was a remarkable achievement, though the enemy, conscious of their weakness at this point, and knowing how completely they were dominated by the Monte Cristo ridge, made no very prolonged opposition. No sooner had the brigade occupied the hill than the disheartened Boers removed in considerable strength to some dongas on the east, whence they continued to be aggressive, and poured a heavy rifle fire on the Fusiliers, whose losses were considerable. They failed, however, to dislodge them. At this time a simultaneous attack was taking place in the region of the two other hills which composed the Pieter's position. These the 4th Brigade under Colonel Northcott and the 11th Brigade under Colonel Kitchener were now assailing with magnificent courage. For two hours every spot on the kopjes had been searched, painted with the noxious hues of lyddite, and seamed with shrapnel, and few Dutchmen there were who cared to remain to welcome the bayonets of Kitchener's braves. Their preliminary advance was scarcely recognisable, kharki and kopje so smoothly blending themselves in one. Then on a sudden, as in the transformation scene when jars become forty thieves or shell-fish become fairies, the boulders took to themselves human shape and human tongue, and up flew a surging, yelling mass of fierce warriors, rushing the hill in the red light of the setting sun. The crest was carried magnificently by the Royal Lancasters, men who had been in the thick of everything for a month past, and who yet maintained their unconquerable British qualities without a flaw; and the Boers, recognising that the game was up, were seen skimming the distance like swallows in flight. Some magnificent service was done by the gunners of the Royal Navy and the