The moment for a general advance had come. In open order, a thousand
men dashed forward and reached the ridge, only to see the retiring
foe galloping away in all directions across the open veldt. A halt
was ordered, to rest the winded mounts. Pickets were thrown out on
front and flank, while the British awaited their approaching convoy.
That night, the column rested upon the veldt at Vlaakfontein.
After the rush of the day, its hope and its succeeding
disappointment, Weldon was long in falling asleep. Carew was out on
picket; Captain Frazer, coat off and sleeves rolled to his
shoulders, was busy among the wounded, and Weldon had cared to make
few other close friends in the squadron. Around him, he could hear
the murmurs of other sleepless ones; but he lay silent, his arms
under his head, his face turned upward to the shining perspective of
the stars. In similar perspective there ranged them-selves before
his mind the events of the past twelve weeks.
Already the month at Piquetberg Road seemed a chapter out of another
volume. It had culminated in that languid afternoon spent around the
tea-table under the wattle tree in the garden, culminated there and
also ended there.
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