These natives were only armed by the authorities
when the invaders specially selected them for their artillery fire and
made raids on their cattle. The variety and sizes of these arms were
really laughable. Some niggers had old-fashioned Sniders, others
elephant guns, and the remainder weapons with enormously long barrels,
which looked as if they dated back to Waterloo. To their owners,
however, the maker or the epoch of the weapon mattered little. They were
proud men, and stalked gravely along the streets with their precious
rifles, evidently feeling such a sense of security as they had never
experienced before.
On the Sunday I alluded to, after our ride we attended morning service,
held as usual in the neat little church, which, with the exception of a
few gashes in the ceiling rafters, caused by fragments of shell, had up
to date escaped serious injury. The Dutch Church, on the other hand,
curiously enough, was almost demolished by shell-fire at the beginning
of the siege. We then drove up to the hospital, where Miss Hill, the
plucky and youthful-looking matron, received us and showed us round.
This girl--for she was little more--had been the life and prop of the
place for the past two months, during which time the resources of the
little hospital had been taxed almost past belief.
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