The minutes seemed to crawl--five, then ten minutes passed with no further sign of the enemy. Suddenly, "Beg pardon, sir; I think I see somethink on top of that kop-je on the fur side yonder." One of the men drew my attention to a few specks which looked like wagons moving about on the flatish shoulder of Incidentamba. Whilst I was focussing my glasses there was a "boom" from the hill, followed by a sharp report and a puff of smoke up in the air quite close by, then the sound as of heavy rain pattering down some two hundred feet in front of the trench, each drop raising its own little cloud of dust. This, of course, called forth the time-honored remarks of "What ho, she bumps!" and "Now we shan't be long," which proved only too true. I was aghast--I had quite forgotten the possibility of guns being used against me, though, had I remembered their existence, I do not know with my then knowledge, what difference it would have made to my defensive measures. As there was some little uneasiness among my men, I, quite cheerful in the security of our nice trench with the thick bullet-proof parapet, at once shouted out, "It's all right, men; keep under cover, and they can't touch us." A moment later there was a second boom, the shell whistled over our heads, and the hillside some way behind the trench was spattered with bullets. By this time we were crouching as close as possible to the parapet, which, though it had seemed only quite a short time before so complete, now suddenly felt most woefully inadequate, with those beastly shells dropping their bullets down from the sky. Another boom. This time the shell burst well, and the whole ground in front of the trench was covered with bullets, one man being hit. At this moment rifle fire began on Waschout Hill, but no bullets came our way. Almost immediately another shot followed which showered bullets all over us; a few more men were hit, whose groans were unpleasant to listen to. Tools were seized, and men began frantically to try and dig themselves deeper into the hard earth, as our trench seemed to give no more protection from the dropping bullets than a saucer would from a storm of rain--but it was too late. We could not sink into the earth fast enough. The Boers had got the range of the trench to a nicety, and the shells burst over us now with a horrible methodic precision. Several men were hit, and there was no reason why the enemy should cease to rain shrapnel over us until we were all killed. As we were absolutely powerless to do anything, I put up the white flag. All I could do was to thank Providence that the enemy had no quick-firing field guns, or, though "we had not been long," we should have been blotted out before we could have hoisted it.