The snoring of the men on the relief guard was like the groans
of a dying man, the tread of those on duty like the march of a mighty
army. Then would come intense stillness, suddenly broken by a volley
from the enemy sounding appallingly near--in reality about a mile
off--and provoked, doubtless, by some very innocent cause. Many of these
volleys were often fired during the night, sometimes for ten minutes
together, at other times singly, at intervals; anon the boom of a cannon
would vary the entertainment. Occasionally, when unable to sleep, I
would creep down the pitch-dark corridor to a room overlooking the
sleeping town and the veldt, the latter so still and mysterious in the
moonlight, and, peeping through a large jagged hole in the wall caused
by a shell, I marvelled to think of the proximity of our foes in this
peaceful landscape. At length would come the impatiently-longed-for dawn
about 4 a.m.; then the garrison would appear, as it were, to wake up,
although the greater part had probably spent the night faithfully
watching. Long lines of sentries in their drab khaki would pass the
convent on their homeward journey, walking single file in the deep
trench connecting the town with the outposts, and which formed a
practically safe passage from shell and rifle fire. Very quickly did the
day burst on the scene, and a very short time we had to enjoy those
cool, still morning hours or the more delightful twilight; the sun
seemed impatient to get under way and burn up everything.
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