"There was scarcely a soldier left to guard Pretoria, so the order I carried was to run no risks and return to Pretoria as soon as possible. Oh, it was hard when I overtook them and found they could do nothing for these poor fellows who had held out against the tremendous odds throughout that fatal day, and who were now either dead, wounded, or in the hands of the enemy. We all retired, reaching our camp outside Pretoria about 1 A.M. Oh, the sadness and gloom at our mess that night! Few words were spoken. Some of us hoped against hope. We earnestly cherished the hope that Major Scobell would find some way out of this gorge of death. At 5.30 we were up and ready to march. About eight a war correspondent informed us that Major Scobell had escaped, two officers had been killed, and one wounded, and the squadron prisoners. This was a terrible blow to us all. We rejoiced at the escape of our popular and gallant Major, but we mourned deeply the loss of the others. There was brave Lieutenant Conolly, a dashing, ready-for-anything young soldier, a great favourite in our midst. He, poor fellow, had fallen, shot through the brain. His death was instantaneous. There was young Lieutenant Pilkington, one of the most gentle and sweet-tempered fellows I ever met. He had been five months a prisoner in Pretoria, and on being liberated got his desire gratified by being attached to us. We all loved him, and he, too, was among the dead, shot in several places while leading his men against the foe. He had five months before been taken prisoner because he refused to abandon a wounded comrade. Poor fellow! Black indeed was the brief page of this fine young soldier's campaign. May his friends be comforted by the assurance that we all loved him, and that he died as a true and brave soldier at his terrible post. Captain Maxwell was seriously wounded. I rode by his side for a long bit on our march to that fatal death-trap, and had a very pleasant conversation together. He didn't like the idea of being left in the Nek. He was, as we all were--for we were all so happy together--dejected at the regiment being divided. I'll never forget how, with a clap on the back, he said, 'Good night, Padre.' Little I thought the next time I would see him would be prostrated by the Boer bullet. When we heard the news, I was anxious to get to the battle-field to lend what hand I could to the wounded and bury our dead."