two great big men in front cheering them on.  We turned and gave them a volley, but it did not stop them.  They rushed over everything, firing as they came, not wildly, but as men who know the use of a rifle, with the quick, sharp, upward jerk to the shoulder, the rapid sight, and then the shot.  They knocked over a lot of our men, but we had a splendid position.  They had to expose themselves to get to us, and we shot them as they came at us.  They were rushing to the rescue of the English.  It was splendid, but it was madness.  On they came, and we lay behind the boulders, and our rifles snapped and snapped again at pistol range, but we did not stop those wild men until they charged right into a little basin which was fringed around all its edges by rocks covered with bushes.  Our men lay there as thick as locusts, and the Australians were fairly trapped.  They were far worse off than the Worcesters, up high in the ravine.

“Our field cornet gave the order to cease firing, and called on them to throw down their rifles or die.  Then one of the big officers—­a, great, rough-looking man, with a voice like a bull—­roared out, ’Forward Australia!—­no surrender!’ Those were the last words he ever uttered, for a man on my right put a bullet clean between his eyes, and he fell forward dead.  We found later that his name was Major Eddy, of the Victorian Rifles.  He was as brave as a lion, but a Mauser bullet will stop the bravest.  His men dashed at the rocks like wolves; it was awful to see them.  They smashed at our heads with clubbed rifles, or thrust their rifles up against us through the rocks and fired.  One after another their leaders fell.  The second big man went down early, but he was not killed.  He was shot through the groin, but not dangerously.  His name was Captain McInnerny.  There was another one, a little man named Lieutenant Roberts; he was shot through the heart.  Some of the others I forget.  The men would not throw down their rifles; they fought like furies.  One man I saw climb right on to the rocky ledge where Big Jan Albrecht was stationed.  Just as he got there a bullet took him, and he staggered and dropped his rifle.  Big Jan jumped forward to catch him before he toppled over the ledge, but the Australian struck Jan in the mouth with his clenched fist, and fell over into the ravine below and was killed.

“We killed and wounded an awful lot of them, but some got away; they fought their way out.  I saw a long row of their dead and wounded laid out on the slope of a farmhouse that evening—­they were all young men, fine big fellows.  I could have cried to look at them lying so cold and still.  They had been so brave in the morning, so strong; but in the evening, a few little hours, they were dead, and we had not hated them, nor they us.  Yes, I could have cried as I thought of the women who would wait for them in Australia.  Yes, I could have shed tears, though they had wounded me, but then I thought of my father, and of the mother, and little Yacoba on the farm, who would wait in vain for him, and then I could feel sorry for those, the wives and children of the dead men, no longer.”