On Sunday, February 11, we rest all along the line. The Burghers sing hymns in chorus, and do not cease till late in the evening. A sort of patriarchal simplicity obtains among them. Yesterday the Colonel was shaving. A Boer entered without saying a word, sat down on his little camp-bed, and remained there motionless. The Colonel, used to their ways, took no notice, but waited for the visitor to explain his visit. As this was prolonged considerably, the Colonel continued his toilet by a tub taken _puris naturalibus_. The Boer remained, staring silently at him. At last, his toilet ended, the Colonel explained to the visitor that he must go, as he wanted to close his tent. The Boer departed without a word. About ten minutes afterwards he came back with a friend, who explained that he wanted the Colonel’s razor. He would bring it back _afterwards_. It was very hard to make him understand that the Colonel wished to reserve the implement for his private use. On this Sunday, the day of rest, we accordingly went off to bathe at a spring four kilometres from our laager. We enjoy this peaceful pastime in the company of a young clergyman who was at one time in the camp. When _Long Cecil_ began to bombard us, he judged its war-like thunders to be incompatible with his sacred function, and set up his tent beyond its range. On Monday morning the firing began again early. Léon and the Colonel went off to the battery. Our horses had been turned out to graze by mistake, so we did not start till an hour after them. On arriving, we found the balls whistling more smartly than on Saturday. We could plainly distinguish the buzz of the dum-dum bullets amidst the whir of the ordinary charge. During the two nights, the English had pushed forward their trenches to a distance of from 700 to 800 yards from us. We went up on the platform, where the Colonel, his glass in his eye, was talking imperturbably to General du Toit. At the same moment we saw Léon, who was standing behind them, spin round and fall across the gun-carriage. The poor fellow had been shot right through the forehead just above the eyes. The Colonel at once raised him in his arms, others started off in haste for an ambulance; but the bullets were now falling round us like hail. Two horses were wounded in an instant, and a Burgher fell, a bullet clean through his body. Poor Léon was still conscious. He bid us all good-bye calmly, taking a particularly affectionate leave of the Colonel, to whom he was greatly attached. The Colonel took a little water to wash the blood from his face, and placed the empty pannikin on the parapet of sacks filled with earth behind which we were sheltered. So heavy was the English fire that the pannikin instantly fell to the ground pierced by a bullet. At last a cart appeared with an attendant and a stretcher. The wounded, who numbered about a dozen by this time, received first aid; then Léon was carried off on a stretcher.