It was at that crisis that a messenger--no other than Sergeant Florian MacIan--came from the camp mounted, with tidings that the enemy were in sight on the left, and that the handful of mounted men had gone forth against them. On this Lord Chelmsford ordered the Native Contingent to return at once to the hill of Isandhlwana. Soon after shots were briskly exchanged with the enemy in front; a vast number were 'knocked over,' and some taken prisoners. One of the latter admitted to the staff, when questioned, that his King Cetewayo expected a large muster that day--some twenty-five thousand men at least. It was noon now, and a suspicion that something might be wrong in the half-empty camp occurred to Lord Chelmsford and his staff, and this suspicion was confirmed, when the distant but deep hoarse boom of heavy guns came hurtling through the hot atmosphere. 'Do you hear that?' was the cry on all hands; 'there is fighting going on at the camp--we are attacked in the rear!' Then a horseman came galloping down from a lofty hill with the startling tidings that he could see the flashing of the cannon at the hill of Isandhlwana, and that it was enveloped on every side by smoke! To the crest of that hill Lord Chelmsford and his staff galloped in hot haste and turned their field-glasses in the direction of the distant camp, but if there had been smoke it had drifted away, and all seemed quiet and still. The rows of white bell-tents shone brightly in the clear sunshine, and no signs of conflict were visible. Many men were seen moving among the tents, but they were supposed to be British soldiers. This was at two in the afternoon, and the suspicion of any fatality--least of all the awful one that had occurred--was dismissed from the minds of the staff and Lord Chelmsford, who did not turn his horse's head towards the camp till a quarter to three, according to the narrative of Captain Lucas of the Cape Rifles. When, with Colonel Glyn's detachment, he had marched within four miles of it, he came upon the Native Contingent halted in confusion, indecision, and something very like dismay, and their bewilderment infected the party of the General, towards whom, half an hour after, a single horseman came up at full speed. He was Commandant Lonsdale, the gallant leader of the Natal Contingent, who had gone so close to the camp that he had been fired on by what he thought were our own troops, but proved to be Zulus in the red tunics of the slain, the same figures whom the staff from the distant hill had seen through their field glasses moving among the snow-white tents. Out of one of them he saw a Zulu come with a blood-dripping assegai in his hand. He then wheeled round his horse, and, escaping a shower of rifle-bullets, galloped on to warn Lord Chelmsford of the terrible trap into which he was about to fall. The first words he uttered were, 'My Lord, the camp is in possession of the enemy!'