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It was written in the Oriental characters, which seem to tell either of Nirvana or of the nightingale's cry to the rose. At times the other friends tapped gently on three painted drums, hardly bigger than tea cups. The enemy, seeing from Bulwan the little crowd of us engaged upon a heathen rite, threw shrapnel over our heads. It burst and sprinkled the dusty ground behind us with lead.
But one of the ambulance drivers was Mattey, "Long Tom's" skilled gunner, in disguise. November 3, 1900. The bombardment continued, guns on Bulwan throwing shells into various camps, especially the Natal Volunteers. Many people chose the river bed as the most comfortable place to spend a happy day. They hoped the high banks or perhaps the water would protect them.
The Boers now stretch wires with bells across the paths, and it goes hard with any runner caught. January 11, 1900. The enemy was ominously quiet. Bulwan did not fire all day.
It turned out to be one of Captain Heath's dummies, which had got away. He tells me it will be entirely useless to the enemy in any case. December 12, 1899. I was so overcome with fever that again my aspect of things was not quite straight. After dawn the Bulwan gun shelled the Star bakery, close to my cottage, and the stones and earth splashing on my roof woke me up too early.
They came shrieking over our heads, and then a flare of fire and a cloud of dust and stones showed where they fell. At every explosion the women and children laughed and cheered with delight, as at the Crystal Palace fireworks. Both yesterday and to-day the Boers on Bulwan spent much time and money shelling a new battery which Colonel Knox has had made beside the river near the racecourse.
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. Our hunger is increasing. Men and horses suffer horribly from weakness and disease. About fifteen horses die a day, and the survivors gasp and cough at every step, or fall helpless.
Only by the help of the lightning I had stumbled and plunged home to bed, when at about eleven a perfect storm of rifle-fire suddenly swept along the ridges at our end of the town. Rushing out I saw the edges of the hills twinkle with lines of flashes right away to Gun Hill and Bulwan.
One was a fine sergeant of the Liverpools, who held the base of the Helpmakaar road where it leaves the town eastward. Sergeant Macdonald was his name, a man full of zeal, and always tempted into danger by curiosity, as most people are. Instead of keeping under shelter of the sangar when the guns on Bulwan were shelling the position, he must needs go outside "to have a look."
Just as we were lazily washing our clothes and otherwise enjoying the Sabbath rest and security at about eight in the morning, "Puffing Billy," of Bulwan, began breaking the Fourth Commandment with extraordinary recklessness and rapidity. He sent nine of his shells into the town, as fast as he could fire them.
Out on the flat beyond the racecourse our men were engaged in blowing up and burning some little farms and kraals which sheltered the Boer scouts. As I look towards the Bulwan I see the yellow blaze of their fires. Sunday, November 12, 1899. Amid all the estimable qualities of the Boer race there is none more laudable than their respect for the Sabbath day. It has been a calm and sunny day.
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