would have thought worth fighting for, but he is every inch a gallant
soldier, as we who have watched him under heavy fire all know full
well, and nobody here needs to be assured that he will never surrender
Ladysmith or abandon its stubborn defence as long as there is any reason
for holding it.

Ample provision is made for the safety of all non-combatants, where they
will not be exposed to shell fire from any quarter, or other dangers
except unlikely accidents, and against these no foresight can guard
entirely. There are some people who continue to take all risks rather
than forsake their property by day or night. These, however, are
comparatively few. The great majority got away while there was yet time,
leaving their houses, full of furniture, locked up or in charge of
Kaffir servants. Curiously enough, they were in many cases the first to
suffer loss by shell fire, and are probably now congratulating
themselves on the timely desertion that enabled them to escape worse
evils.

Mr. Fortescue Carter, the most famous of Ladysmith's townsmen, whose
_History of the Boer War in 1881_ is well known, had scarcely left his
home, next door to the Intelligence Department's headquarters, when
shells began to fall in his beautiful garden among rose trees,
hollyhocks, dahlias, verbenas, and other familiar English flowers, which
he cultivated with much care. Neighbours might be content to surround
their houses with fences of almond-scented oleander, and let the hundred
varieties of South African shrubs bloom in wild profusion under the
shadowing eucalyptus tree, but his gardens were laid out with
well-ordered primness, and in them he delighted to see growing the
fragrant flowers that reminded him and his visitors of home life in
England. All this is in danger of becoming a shell-fretted wilderness
now. "Long Tom" once having turned his attention in this direction
continued to pound away until two shots struck the house itself, and,
bursting inside, shattered the dainty contents of several rooms to
atoms.

Meanwhile, in a picturesque, vine-trellised cottage, not fifty yards
off, ladies went about their domestic duties as usual, apparently
oblivious of all danger. One I saw quietly knitting in the cool, shaded
stoep, and her busy needles only stopped for one moment, when a shell
burst in the roadway beyond, then went on again as nimbly as ever. After
the first shock, some people, who seem least fitted to bear a continuous
strain