One morning a score of Theron's scouts passed by, their famous captain
at their head. One of them--an old friend--reined in long enough to tell
me they were off to lie in wait for a small British patrol, which, a
native had told them, daily passed a certain spot suitable for an
ambuscade.
In the afternoon the same band returned, several on foot, and carrying
someone in a blanket. What was my surprise to find that this was no
other than poor Harry C----!
The native had misled them, and the surprise had been the other way
about. My friend had received a bullet through the stomach, a wound
which appeared necessarily fatal. He was laid down in a tent. Theron
bent over him, his eyes filling with compassionate tears. "How now,
Harry?"
"Awful pain, captain."
To break the news gently we wired home that he was only slightly
wounded. This turned out to have been wiser than we knew, for, to our
joy, Harry lingered on, rallied, and finally recovered, a triumph of
medical skill.
PLATRAND
In Natal itself the situation was satisfactory, but the course of events
elsewhere made the speedy capture of Ladysmith imperative. It was
accordingly decided to make an attack on Platrand, or Waggon Hill, as
the British call it. If we could gain this hill the town would be at our
mercy.
The plan of attack was simple in the extreme.
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