cal moment for a plunge beneath the bed. On each
application of the fuse to Long Tom the bugle rang out in clarion tones
its warning to seek cover. It made plaintive melody in the nocturnal
stillness, bespeaking the death-knell perchance of many. Nobody was
abroad, excepting a solemn procession of men wending its way to the
cemetery with all that was mortal of George Labram. Cannon in front of
them volleyed and thundered--to avoid which the late hour had been
chosen for the burial.

Thus closed the long and dreadful week. Over-wrought women and children
emerged from their sodden refuges to court a long-deferred rest, if they
might, for after the events of the night anything might happen. Who was
to tell what the morning might not show?

CHAPTER XVIII

_Week ending 17th February, 1900_

We awoke on Sunday morning with fears of what had happened during the
night. It transpired, however, to our infinite relief, that most of the
shells had fallen on the soft earth of the Public Gardens. One poor
soldier had his leg completely severed from his body, while the escapes
of his nonchalant bed-fellows were hairbreadth. A house was set on fire
and reduced to ashes. Another missile entered the hospital, but did no
great harm beyond rudely extinguishing a lighted lamp. A lady who
resided in a house close by went as near to the borders of eternity as
was possible without crossing them. She was seated on a folding-chair,
and had momentarily altered her position to find a bunch of keys
required by her servant when right through the spot on which she would
have been still reclining but for the timely intervention of the girl a
huge projectile came crashing. The shock was fearful, and though, the
missile failed to burst both women had an escape from death
unprecedented in its narrowness. A native was seriously injured; and,
finally, it was ascertained that a Malay canteen had been invaded, the
sequel to which was the destruction of an army of--empty bottles! There
was a negative satisfaction in the fact that they _were_ empty which the
hapless Malay was not venal enough to appreciate.

In the houses, the streets, the camps, the all-engrossing topics of
discourse were the terrors of the week so dramatically closed when
churchyards yawned on Saturday. Excited groups were talking everywhere,
and questions of hunger and thirst, supremely acute, were subordinated
to the more urgent public importance of the new situation, its dang