I counted
four or five; then there it was again and again and again, till
altogether I reckoned twenty shots, followed by impressive silence once
more, so intense in the quiet peace of the morning landscape. On the
farm, however, there was stir and bustle enough: alarmed natives
gathered in a group, weird figures with blankets round their
shoulders--for the air was exceedingly cold--all looking with straining
eyes in the direction of Kraipann, from where the firing evidently came.
I soon joined the people, white and back, in front of the store, and
before long a mounted Kaffir rode wildly up, and proceeded, with many
gesticulations, to impart information in his own tongue. His story took
some time, but at last a farmer turned round and told me the engagement
had been with the armoured train, as we anticipated, and that the latter
had "fallen down" (as the Kaffir expressed it) owing to the rails being
pulled up. What had been the fate of its occupants he did not know, as
he had left in terror when the big gun opened fire. Curiously enough, as
I afterwards learnt, these shots were the first fired during the war.
Remembering the sergeant's warning, I decided to start at once for
Mosita, twenty-five miles farther away from the border, leaving Vellum
to bring on any further intelligence when the sergeant, who had been
away all night watching the Boers, returned.
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