The early morning was bright, but a mist soon covered the sun. Rain fell, and though the air afterwards was strangely clear, the heliograph could not be used till the afternoon. We were left in uncertainty. Shells were bursting along the ridge of Taba Nyama, on the double peaks and the Boer tents below. Only on the highest point in the centre we could see no firing, and that in itself was hopeful. About 8 a.m. the fire slackened and ceased. We conjectured an armistice. Through a telescope we could see little black specks on the centre of the hill; they appeared to be building sangars. The Naval Cone Redoubt, having the best telescope, report that the walls are facing this way. In that case the black specks were probably British, and yet not even in the morning sun did we get a word of certainty. We hardly know what to think.
In the afternoon the situation was rather worse. We saw the shelling begin again, but no progress seemed to be made. About 4 p.m. we witnessed a miserable sight. Along the main track which crosses the Great Plain and passes round the end of Telegraph Hill, almost within range of our guns, came a large party of men tramping through the dust. They were in khaki uniforms, marched in fours, and kept step. Undoubtedly they were British prisoners on their way to Pretoria. Their numbers were estimated at fifty, ninety, and 150 by different look-out stations. In front and rear trudged an unorganised gang of Boers, evidently acting as escort. It was a miserable and depressing thing to see.
At last a cipher message began to come through on the heliograph. There was immense excitement at the Signal Station. The figures were taken down. Colonel Duff buttoned the precious paper in his pocket. Off he galloped to Headquarters. Major De Courcy Hamilton was called to decipher the news. It ran as follows: "Kaffir deserter from Boer lines reports guns on Bulwan and Telegraph Hills removed!"
It was dated a day or two back. To-day both guns mentioned have been unusually active. Their shells have been bursting thick among us, and the sound of their firing must have been quite audible below. Yet this was the message.
Eggs to-night fetched 30s. 6d. per dozen; a sucking pig 35s.; a chicken 20s. In little over a week we shall have to begin killing our horses because they will have nothing to eat.
January 26, 1900.
Full of hopes and fears, I rode early up to Observation Hill as usual, and saw at once that the Boer waggon-laagers, which I watched departing yesterday, had returned in the night. Perhaps there were not quite so many waggons, and the site had been shifted a few hundred yards. But still there they stood again. Their presence is not hopeful, but it does not imply disaster. They may have gone in haste, and been recalled at leisure. Buller may have demanded their return under the conditions of a possible armistice. They may even have found the passes blocked by our men. Anyhow, there they are, and their return is the only important news of the day.
No message or tidings came through. The day was cloudy, and ended in quiet rain. We saw a few shells fall on the plain at the foot of Taba Nyama, and what looked like a few on the summit. But nothing else could be made out, except that the Boer ambulances were very busy driving round.
Among ourselves the chief event was the feverish activity of the Telegraph Hill big gun. Undeterred by our howitzers, he continued nearly all morning throwing shells at every point within sight. By one supreme effort, tilting his nose high up into the air, he threw one sheer up to the Manchesters on Cæsar's Camp—a range of some 12,000 yards, the gunners say. Perhaps he was trying to make up for the silence of his Bulwan brother. It is rumoured that Pepworth Hill is to have a successor to the "Long Tom" of earlier and happier days. Six empty waggons with double spans of oxen were seen yesterday wending towards Bulwan.