The wind catching the broad surface which the tent offered commenced to flap whatever loose ends of the canvas it could pick up, with a wild, nerve racking noise. The whole marquee swung and reeled to and fro, the sport of the boisterous gusts. The main poles creaked as they bent beneath the enormous strains to which they were being put. The guy ropes, now thoroughly saturated and having contracted, groaned fiercely as if about to snap. Hurried efforts were made to slacken the ropes slightly, but the wind, driving rain, and inky blackness of the night, as well as the swollen hemp, hindered this task very effectively. Indeed the tension upon some of the stakes became so acute that they either snapped or else were uprooted. As the supports gave way the ungainly marquee commenced to totter and rock far more threateningly. The wind driving into the interior flapped the roof madly. The herded humanity within feared that the whole of the canvas above them would be blown off to be carried away by the gale. The inmates who had fought so desperately among themselves for the shelter it offered were now crouching and shivering with fear. Some highly strung individual raised a cry of danger. The next instant there was a wild panic which lasted a considerable time. There was a wicked combined rush to get outside, the men fighting among themselves fiercely. Outside, upon "the field," bedlam was let loose. The seething mass of humanity was now soaked to the skin. The men walked up and down, their teeth chattering madly, in a desperate effort to keep warm. Indeed it was necessary for many of them to persist in unwilling exercise since this was the only way to keep alive: to stop was to sink down from sheer fatigue. In the darkness I had discovered and kept company with a South African, Moresby White.[5] But it was almost impossible to converse, since we had to shout with all the force of our lungs to make our voices heard above the roar and rattle of the wind and rain. We were compelled to tread warily, because in the Cimmerian darkness it was impossible to distinguish the groaning forms crouching upon the ground. [Footnote 5: This gentleman has since been released and at the time of writing is recuperating in Great Britain.] [Illustration: "THE BLOODY NIGHT OF SEPTEMBER 11, 1914." _From a rough sketch made on "the field," by the author during the night._]