Saturday morning, May 12,
1900, as day was breaking. One had to be well acquainted with the
labyrinth of rocks, trees, huts, and cover generally, of the locality
aforementioned, all within a stone's-throw of our dwelling, to realize
the dread import of these words.

All the previous week things had been much as usual: inferior food, and
very little of it; divine weather; "bridge" in the afternoons; and one
day exactly like another. Since the departure of the big gun during the
previous month, we had left our bomb-proofs and lived above-ground. In
the early hours of the morning alluded to came the real event we had
been expecting ever since the beginning of the siege--namely, a Boer
attack under cover of darkness. The moon had just set, and it was
pitch-dark. A fierce fusillade first began from the east, and when I
opened the door on to the stoep the din was terrific, while swish,
swish, came the bullets just beyond the canvas blinds, nailed to the
edge of the verandah to keep off the sun. Now and then the boom of a
small gun varied the noise, but the rifles never ceased for an instant.
To this awe-inspiring tune I dressed, by the light of a carefully shaded
candle, to avoid giving any mark for our foes. The firing never abated,
and I had a sort of idea that any moment a Dutchman would look in at the
door, for one could not tell from what side the real attack might be. In
various stages of deshabille people were running round the house seeking
for rifles, fowling-pieces, and even sticks, as weapons of defence.
Meanwhile the gloom was still unbroken, but for the starlight, and it
was very cold. The Cockney waiter, who was such a fund of amusement to
me, had dashed off with his rifle to his redoubt, taking the keys of the
house in his pocket, so no one could get into the dining-room to have
coffee, except through the kitchen window. The two hours of darkness
that had to elapse were the longest I have ever spent. Hurried footsteps
passed to and fro, dark lanterns flashed for an instant, intensifying
the blackness, and all of a sudden the sound I had been waiting for
added to the weird horror of the situation, an alarm bugle, winding out
its tale, clear and true to the farthest byways and the most remote
shanties, followed by our tocsin, the deep-toned Roman Catholic Church
bell, which was the signal that a general attack was in progress. We
caught dim glimpses of the town guard going to their appointed places in
the most or