done all that man can
do. My comrades and I admire your bravery, and therefore have offered
you these terms. You refuse for the second time. Very well, I am
sorry, my young friend, for you compel us to kill you. It is a pity
your wisdom does not match your bravery. I shall return now, and when I
reach our lines the guns will commence again."

The Boer nodded and cantered away, and five minutes later the storm of
shell had once more commenced to plunge through the farmhouse.

First plugged shells were used, that is, shells without explosive
contents and devoid of fuses; and these for the most part rushed through
the walls, merely increasing the havoc already wrought. Then the
one-pounder, quick-firing gun, familiarly known as the pom-pom, a
terrible weapon against troops exposed in the open, joined in the awful
din, and sent murderous projectiles hurtling through the house. But by
some lucky chance the majority of the shells failed to explode (probably
because the foreign contractors had filled a large proportion of them
with saw-dust), and merely burst their way through the shattered house
without doing much damage. For an hour the cannonade continued, and
just before it finished it was increased by the firing of a Maxim, which
had been galloped up to closer quarters.

By this time Frank Russel's farm was a ruin; doors, windows, and walls
were in pieces, and the roof was gashed in all directions. Only the
kitchen seemed by some chance to have escaped. And down below it all,
in the bomb-proof cellar, Jack and his friends sat waiting for another
rush, Eileen quietly boiling a kettle over a spirit-stove and preparing
to make some tea, while the men smoked on serenely, laughing and
chatting when a momentary lull allowed them to do so, and ready at any
moment to hurry upstairs and man their posts again.

"That is the last burst!" exclaimed Frank Russel, with an easy laugh as
the distinctive rat, tat, tat, tat of the Maxim reached their ears.
"Get ready, lads! they'll be coming soon. When they find we're still
alive and kicking, they will be wondering whether we are ordinary men or
not. It was a splendid idea of yours, Jack, to make use of this cellar.
Tim and I, with another of the Kaffir boys, dug it out and bricked it
round some years ago. It's a good storehouse for cartridges, but I
never thought it would mean the saving of our lives. Ah, that is the
very last!" he added as a one-pounder shell burst over