throwing shells into everybody's mess, has come to be known as the
"Meddler." Deep gun-pits are dug on the northern slope of Waggon Hill,
where on a nek they are screened by the higher spur from view of Middle
Hill. In these pits two old-fashioned howitzers, throwing shells with
sixty pounds of black powder for bursting charge, are mounted. Captain
Christie, R.A., takes command of them and waits his chance, which does
not come for a long time, the cannonade being at first confined to a
duel between Captain Lambton's pet, "Lady Anne," and "Puffing Billy" of
Bulwaan. At length, however, the "Meddler" chimes in, and Captain
Christie immediately looses off his two howitzers in succession. They
cannot be laid by sights on the object aimed at, which is hidden from
view. All has to be done by calculation of angles, and a fraction of
error may make all the difference. So we watch anxiously while the
shell--a long time in flight--follows its allotted parabola. One bursts
just short of the work; but its companion, a second later, goes over the
parapet and sends debris flying upwards in a mighty cloud. Thereupon the
howitzers are christened promptly "The Great Twin Brethren," "Castor and
Pollux," and "Puffing Pals," everybody selecting the name that appeals
to his imagination most strongly. It matters little by what name men
call them, so long as they can throw shells truly into the enemy's
battery, and this they do steadily. The "Meddler" cannot reply to them
effectively, and other Boer guns try in vain to reach them. At night a
curious palpitating light on the clouds southward attracts attention.
One Rifle Brigade man who has a smattering of the Morse Code watches it
for some time and mutters to himself, "X.X.X. Why, they're calling us
up"; and before a signalman can be roused we see clearly enough these
palpitations resolving themselves into dots and dashes. It is a signal
from the south, flashed by searchlight across miles of intervening
hills, but in a cypher which only those who have the key can read.