At Diamond Hill it was just the same. A mere handful of Yeomanry, Mr. Sheldon-Williams among them, held an exposed position throughout the night in the face of the enemy, determined to do or die. As it happened they did neither, for the next day they were told that there had been an armistice on all the time.
Before Pretoria Mr. Sheldon-Williams was in the firing-line, which was strung out on the left of the advance. The Boer shell-fire had set the grass alight, depriving them of anything like adequate cover, and in the open the rifle-fire from the Boers was nothing more or less than a leaden hailstorm, but he was not even wounded. Presently the order to withdraw was given, but, having fallen asleep, he failed to notice it, and was the last man to leave. As he thus offered himself as a suitable target for a little individual sniping, a Boer marksman took careful aim at him and fired. He was a remarkably good shot, but, needless to say, he missed Mr. Sheldon-Williams, who at that precise moment stooped down to pick up a discarded rifle, the bullet passing close over his head! All things considered, therefore, Mr. Sheldon-Williams has certainly received exceptional treatment at the hands of Dame Fortune, but so long as she continues to serve him in the same way it is difficult to see that he has any just cause for complaint.
Hunting the Hippopotamus.
By Lieutenant Paul Durand.
The hippopotamus—that enormous pachydermatous creature whose shape reminds us of the antediluvian monsters—was formerly met with over a large part of Africa, but it has been so pitilessly pursued by hunters that it is every day becoming scarcer and scarcer. Within a hundred years, perhaps, the hippopotamus will be numbered among the vanished curiosities of the animal world. In this article a French sportsman describes his exciting experiences while in quest of “river horses,” and furnishes a number of very impressive photographs.
MALE AND FEMALE HIPPOPOTAMI ON THE BANKS OF AN AFRICAN RIVER.
From a Photograph.