During the next few hours we buried the dead, tended the wounded, and
took some well-earned rest, and I had ample leisure to consider my
failure and the causes. The lessons I derived from the fight were:
20. Beware of convex hills and _dead ground_. Especially take care to
have some place where the enemy _must_ come under your fire. Choose
the exact position of your firing-trenches, with your eye at the level
of the men who will eventually use them.
21. A hill may not, after all, though it has "command," be the best
place to hold necessarily.
22. A conspicuous "bluff" trench may cause the enemy to waste much
ammunition, and draw fire away from the actual defences.
In addition to these lessons, another little matter on my mind was
what my colonel would say at my failure.
Lying on my back, looking up at the sky, I was trying to get a few
winks of sleep myself before we started to improve our defences
against a possible further attack, but it was no use, sleep evaded me.
The clear blue vault of heaven was suddenly overcast by clouds, which
gradually assumed the frowning face of my colonel. "_What?_ You mean
to say, Mr. Forethought, the Boers have _crossed_?" But, luckily for
me, before more could be said, the face began slowly to fade away like
that of the Cheshire Puss in "Alice in Wonderland," leaving nothing
but the awful frown across the sky. This too finally dissolved, and
the whole scene changed. I had another dream.