the reports, owing to the atmosphere and the wind setting in a particular direction.  The cause of these volleys was more difficult to discover, and, as our men never replied, it seemed somewhat of a waste of ammunition.  Their original cause was a sortie early in the siege, when Captain Fitzclarence made a night attack with the bayonet on their trenches.  Ever afterwards an animal moving on the veldt, a tree or bush stirred by the wind, an unusual light in the town, was sufficient for volley after volley to be poured at imaginary foes.  By nine o’clock these excitements were usually over, and half an hour afterwards nearly every soul not on duty was asleep, secure in the feeling that for every one who reposed two were on watch; while, as regards Colonel Baden-Powell, he was always prowling about, and the natives revived his old Matabele nickname of “the man that walks by night.”

CHAPTER XI

     LIFE IN A BESIEGED TOWN

     “There is a reaper whose name is Death.”—­LONGFELLOW.

We celebrated Christmas Day, 1899, by a festive luncheon-party to which Colonel Baden-Powell and all his Staff were invited.  By a strange and fortunate coincidence, a turkey had been overlooked by Mr. Weil when the Government commandeered all live-stock and food-stuffs at the commencement of the siege, and, in spite of the grilling heat, we completed our Christmas dinner by a real English plum-pudding.  In the afternoon a tea and Christmas-tree for the Dutch and English children had been organized by some officers of the Protectorate Regiment.  Amongst those who contributed to the amusement of these poor little white-faced things, on whom the close quarters they were obliged to keep was beginning to tell, none worked harder than Captain Ronald Vernon.  I remember returning to my quarters, after the festivity, with this officer, and his telling me, in strict confidence, with eager anticipation, of a sortie that was to be made on the morrow, with the object of obtaining possession of the Boer gun at Game Tree Fort, the fire from which had lately been very disastrous to life and property in the town.  He was fated in this very action to meet his death, and afterwards I vividly recalled our conversation, and reflected how bitterly disappointed he would have been had anything occurred to prevent his taking part in it.  The next day, Boxing Day, I shall ever remember as being, figuratively speaking, as black and dismal as night.  I was roused at 4.30 a.m. by loud cannonading.  Remembering Captain Vernon’s words, I telephoned to Headquarters to ask if the Colonel and Staff were there.  They had all left at 2.30 a.m., so I knew the projected action was in progress.  At five o’clock the firing was continuous, and the boom of our wretched little guns was mingled with the rattle of Boer musketry.  Every moment it grew lighter—­a beautiful morning, cool and bright, with a gentle breeze.