I shall leave the great operation which, as I write, has already begun, to another letter, but since gaiety has its value in these troublous times let the reader pay attention to the story of General Hart and the third-class shot.  Major-General Hart, who commands the Irish Brigade, is a man of intrepid personal courage—­indeed, to his complete contempt for danger the heavy losses among his battalions, and particularly in the Dublin Fusiliers, must be to some extent attributed.  After Colenso there were bitter things said on this account.  But the reckless courage of the General was so remarkable in subsequent actions that, being brave men themselves, they forgave him everything for the sake of his daring.  During the first day at Spion Kop General Hart discovered a soldier sitting safely behind a rock and a long way behind the firing line.

‘Good afternoon, my man,’ he said in his most nervous, apologetic voice; ‘what are you doing here?’

‘Sir,’ replied the soldier, ‘an officer told me to stop here, sir.’

‘Oh!  Why?’

‘I’m a third-class shot, sir.’

‘Dear me,’ said the General after some reflection, ’that’s an awful pity, because you see you’ll have to get quite close to the Boers to do any good.  Come along with me and I’ll find you a nice place,’ and a mournful procession trailed off towards the most advanced skirmishers.[3]

FOOTNOTES: 

[3] The map at the end of Chapter XXV. illustrates this and succeeding chapters.

CHAPTER XXII

THE ENGAGEMENT OF MONTE CRISTO

Cingolo Neck:  February 19, 1900.

Not since I wrote the tale of my escape from Pretoria have I taken up my pen with such feelings of satisfaction and contentment as I do to-night.  The period of doubt and hesitation is over.  We have grasped the nettle firmly, and as shrewdly as firmly, and have taken no hurt.  It remains only to pluck it.  For heaven’s sake no over-confidence or premature elation; but there is really good hope that Sir Redvers Buller has solved the Riddle of the Tugela—­at last.  At last!  I expect there will be some who will inquire—­’Why not “at first"?’ All I can answer is this:  There is certainly no more capable soldier of high rank in all the army in Natal than Sir Redvers Buller.  For three months he has been trying his best to pierce the Boer lines and the barrier of mountain and river which separates Ladysmith from food and friends; trying with an army—­magnificent in everything but numbers, and not inconsiderable even in that respect—­trying at a heavy price of blood in Africa, of anxiety at home.  Now, for the first time, it seems that he may succeed.  Knowing the General and the difficulties, I am inclined to ask, not whether he might have succeeded sooner, but rather whether anyone else would have succeeded at all.  But to the chronicle!