see "Long Tom" in action.

In the morning they buried a Hindoo bearer who had died of pneumonia.
The grave was dug among the unmarked heaps of the native graveyard on
the river bank. It took five hours to make it deep enough, and meantime
the dead man lay on a stretcher, wrapped in a clean white sheet. His
friends, about twenty of them, squatted round, almost motionless, and
quite indifferent to time and space. In their midst a thin grey smoke
rose from a brazen jar, in which smouldered scented wood, spices,
lavender, and the fresh blossom of one yellow flower like an aster. At
intervals of about a minute, one of the Hindoos raised a short, wailing
chant, in parts of which the others joined. On the ground in front of
him lay a sweetly-scented manuscript whose pages he never turned. It was
written in the Oriental characters, which seem to tell either of Nirvana
or of the nightingale's cry to the rose. At times the other friends
tapped gently on three painted drums, hardly bigger than tea cups. The
enemy, seeing from Bulwan the little crowd of us engaged upon a heathen
rite, threw shrapnel over our heads. It burst and sprinkled the dusty
ground behind us with lead. Not one of the Hindoos looked up or turned
his face. That low chant did not pause or vary by a note. Close by, a
Kaffir was digging a grave for a Zulu woman who had died in childbed. In
the river beyond soldiers were bathing, Zulus were soaping themselves
white, and one of the Liverpool Mounted Infantry was trying to prevent
his horse rolling in four feet of water.

_November 22, 1899._

A day only relieved by the wildest rumours and a few shells more
dangerous than usual. Buller was reported as being at Hellbrouw; General
French was at Dundee; and France had declared war upon England. Shells
whiffled into the town quite indiscriminately. One pitched into the Town
Hall, now the main hospital. In the evening "Long Tom" threw five in
succession down the main street. But only one man was killed. A Natal
policeman was cooking his dinner in a cellar when "Silent Susan's" shot
fell upon him and he died. For myself, I spent most of the day on
Waggon Hill west of the town, where the 1st K.R. Rifles have three
companies and a strong sangar, very close to the enemy. I found that, as
became Britons, their chief interest lay in sport. They had shot two
little antelopes or rehbuck, and hung them up to be ready for a feast.
Their one thought was to shoot more. From