I turned to rest once more.  But the distant guns forbade sleep.  The reports grew momentarily more frequent, until at last they merged into one general roar.  This was new.  Never before had we heard such bombarding.  Louder and louder swelled the cannonade, and presently the deep note of the heavy artillery could scarcely be distinguished above the incessant discharges of field pieces.  So I lay and listened.  What was happening eighteen miles away over the hills?  Another bayonet attack by the garrison?  Or perhaps a general sortie:  or perhaps, but this seemed scarcely conceivable, the Boers had hardened their hearts and were delivering the long expected, long threatened assault.

An officer came to my tent with the daylight.  Something big happening at Ladysmith—­hell of a cannonade—­never heard anything like it—­worse than Colenso—­what do you think of it?  But I was without opinion; nor did I find anyone anxious to pronounce.  Meanwhile the firing was maintained, and we breakfasted to its accompaniment.  Until half-past ten there was not the slightest diminution or intermission.  As the day advanced, however, it gradually died away, showing either that the fight was over, or, as it afterwards turned out, that it had passed into the hands of riflemen.

We all spent an anxious morning speculating on the reason and result of the engagement.  About noon there arrived an unofficial message by heliograph, which the young officer at the signal station confided to his friends.  It was brief.  ’General attack all sides by Boers—­everywhere repulsed—­but fight still going on.’

At one o’clock, just as were sitting down to luncheon, came an orderly at full gallop with the order for the whole force in Chieveley to turn out at once.  Whereat the camp, till then dormant under the midday sun, sprang to life like a disturbed ant-hill.  Some said we were about to make a regular attack on Colenso, while many of the covering army of Boers were busy at Ladysmith.  Others suggested a night assault—­with the bayonet.  The idea was very pleasant to the hearts of the infantry.  But I soon learned that no serious operation was in contemplation, and that the force was merely to make a demonstration before Colenso with the object of bringing some of the Boers back from Ladysmith, and of so relieving the pressure on Sir George White.

The demonstration was, however, a very imposing affair.  First of all the mounted forces threw out a long fringe of patrols all along the front.  Behind this the squadrons made a line of black bars.  The mounted infantry, Bethune’s Horse, and the Natal Carabineers formed the left:  the South African Light Horse the centre, and the 13th Hussars and Thorneycroft’s Mounted Infantry twisted back to watch the right.  Behind this curtain marched the infantry, Hildyard’s brigade on the right, Barton’s on the left, line after line of brown men ten yards apart, two hundred yards between the lines, spreading in this open formation over a wide expanse of country, and looking a mighty swarm.  Behind these again dark blocks of artillery and waggons moved slowly forward.  Behind, and above all, the naval battery began to throw its shells into the village.