deafening explosion at our feet shook the ground; earth and dust, stones and bits of grass fell all about us, and the roofs of buildings upon either side of us rattled with the fragments of the shell as it burst within a circle of twenty-five yards from the gun. It was a moment rather fine than frightful, with just sufficient danger in it to make it interesting, but, if anything, somewhat quickly over. We wiped the dust from our faces, shook the grass from our shirts, and laid again: once more fired, and chuckled to see, through rifts in the battle smoke, that it had landed in the very centre of the trench. Again the bell clanged sonorously, and a building not fifteen yards from us was blown to pieces. They were getting nearer, and making magnificent shooting, when the Nordenfeldt turned its fire upon "Big Ben" itself. From where we were we could see the thin columns of smoke rising, as the bullets burst before and behind the emplacement. If anything were calculated to check its fire it was the irritating and penetrating possibility of the armour-piercing Nordenfeldt. With the introduction of "Big Ben" into the morning's festivities, the Boers opened from their trenches, with their Mauser and Martini rifles. In the intervals between the shells from "Big Ben," the Maxim, and quick-firing nine-pounders, the enemy swept our emplacements with their rifle fire. They came through the embrasure with quite fatal accuracy, dropping at our feet and raising dust all around us, but the tale of the one is the tale of the many, and the same scene was occurring throughout the entire eastern front. For a moment it became impossible to serve the gun, and we desisted with apologies to the enemy, but anon rifle fire was deflected, and we again trained the gun upon those very advanced trenches of the enemy; but, as we fired, the bell rang, and for the third time their shell, passing ours in its flight, tore up the ground in front of us. And then the Nordenfeldt spoke again, shooting into the very smoke of the gun as though they were anxious to drop projectiles into the breach itself. And to the north of us the Hotchkiss spitted, as though resenting the intrusion of this big bully. But there unfortunately it ended, and no more big shells came our way, and we contented ourselves with a parting sally. Then the gun was sponged and laid to rest in the trench, and the spare shell put back into the box as the engagement closed. Then Panzera called his men together and thanked them, expressing his admiration for their courage and their coolness. Then we cheered him, and returning thanks for thanks, we went to breakfast, but in the distance we could see the Red Cross upon the white background, floating in tragic isolation, above a waggon, which was stopping ever and anon at places where we knew our shells had broken. That was in the Boer lines, but in our own the bugle sounded us to breakfast. CHAPTER XX THE ATTACK UPON GAME TREE