foot. ' The captain selected a sandwich and upended the Relish bottle
over it. 'Anyway, all the enemy fire will be from below and the
parapets will cover that. ' Along the front edge of the trench clods
of earth and loose rock had been piled a height of two feet. Pathetic
cover for two thousand men.
'Have you ever been on this mountain before?' Acheson asked
politely.
'No, sir. Of course not.
'Well, what makes you so bloody certain how the land lies.
You can't see a thing in this mist.'
'Well, sir, we are on the crest, and it is the highest . But Acheson
interrupted him irritably. 'Where are those damned scouts?
Haven't they come in yet?' He jumped up and with his cloak swirling
about him strode along the trench. 'You men.
Can't you get that parapet higher there!
'At his feet a few of them stirred and began halfheartedly lifting
stone. They were exhausted by the long night climb and the skirmish
which had driven the Boer garrison from the mountain, and Acheson heard
them muttering sullenly behind him as he walked on.
'Acheson!' Out of the mist ahead of him loomed the figure of General
Woodgate Mowed closely by his staff.
'Sir!' Acheson hurried to meet him.
'Are your men entrenched?'
'As best they can.'
'Good. What of the enemy? Have your scouts reported back yet?
'No. They're still out there in the mist.' And Acheson pointed into
the smoky billows that limited the range of their vision to fifty
feet.
'Well, we should be able to hold until we are reinforced. Let me know
the moment . . . ' A small commotion in the mist behind them, and
Woodgate paused. 'What is it?'
'My scouts, sir.'
Saul Friedman began delivering his report from a range of twenty feet.
His face was working with excitement as he scurried out of the mist.
'False crest! We're on the false crest. The true summit is two
hundred yards ahead and there's a rise of ground out on our right
flank, like a little knoll all covered with aloes, that enfilades our
whole position. There are Boers everywhere. The whole bloody mountain
is crawling with them.'
'Good God man! Are you certain?'
'Colonel Acheson,' snapped Woodgate, 'turn your right flank to face the
knoll,' and as Acheson strode away he added under his breath, 'if you
have time!' and he felt the agitated swirl of the mist as it was swept
away before the wind Jan Paulus stood beside his pony. The mist had de
wed in his beard and set it a-sparkle in red-gold. Across both
shoulders heavy bandoliers of ammunition drooped, and the Mauser rifle
seemed like a child's toy in his huge hairy hands. His jaw was thrust
forward in thought as he reviewed his dispositions. All night he had
flogged his pony from laager to laager, all night he had roared and
