On the 3rd and 4th, in spite of frightful weather, the two little armies of horsemen struggled on, fetlock-deep in mud, with the rain lashing their faces.

At night without cover, drenched and bitterly cold, the troopers threw themselves down on the sodden veld to snatch a few hours' sleep before renewing the interminable pursuit.

The drift over the Caledon flowed deep and strong, but the Boer had passed and the Briton must pass also.

Thirty guns took to the water, diving completely under the coffee-coloured surface, to reappear glistening upon the southern bank.

Everywhere there were signs of the passage of the enemy.