The driver, however, was unwilling to move, and we were all so exhausted that I decided to risk it and remain, the faithful sergeant promising to send scouts out and warn us should the enemy be approaching.  I was fully determined that, having left Mafeking, where I might have been of use, I would run no risks of capture or impertinence from the burghers, who would also certainly commandeer our cart, pony, and mules.

Then followed another endless night; the moon set at 1 a.m., and occasionally I was roused by the loud and continuous barking of the farm dogs.  At four o’clock Vellum’s dusky countenance peered into the room, which opened on to the stoep, as do nearly all the apartments of these hotels, to ask if the mules should be inspanned, for these natives were all in wholesale dread of the Boers.  Hearing all was quiet, I told him to wait till the sergeant appeared.  About an hour later I opened my door to have a look at the weather:  the wind had dropped completely, the 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.