sky was cloudless, and a faint tinge of pink on the distant horizon
denoted where the east lay. I was about to shut it again and dress, when
a dull booming noise arrested my attention, then almost froze the blood
in my veins. There was no mistaking the firing of big guns at no very
great distance.

We are accustomed to such a sound when salutes are fired or on a
field-day, but I assure those who have not had a like experience, that
to hear the same in actual warfare, and to know that each detonation is
dealing death and destruction to human beings and property, sends a
shiver down the back akin to that produced by icy cold water. I counted
four or five; then there it was again and again and again, till
altogether I reckoned twenty shots, followed by impressive silence once
more, so intense in the quiet peace of the morning landscape. On the
farm, however, there was stir and bustle enough: alarmed natives
gathered in a group, weird figures with blankets round their
shoulders--for the air was exceedingly cold--all looking with straining
eyes in the direction of Kraipann, from where the firing evidently came.
I soon joined the people, white and back, in front of the store, and
before long a mounted Kaffir rode wildly up, and proceeded, with many
gesticulations, to impart information in his own tongue. His story took
some time, but at last a farmer turned round and told me the engagement
had been with the armoured train, as we anticipated, and that the latter
had "fallen down" (as the Kaffir expressed it) owing to the rails being
pulled up. What had been the fate of its occupants he did not know, as
he had left in terror when the big gun opened fire. Curiously enough, as
I afterwards learnt, these shots were the first fired during the war.

Remembering the sergeant's warning, I decided to start at once for
Mosita, twenty-five miles farther away from the border, leaving Vellum