They took leave of one another, and not long afterwards she was seen riding off in the Swedish pastor’s company. Vander Heyden lounged up to the camp and joined some of the officers, who had gathered in a group near the storehouse, listening intently to some distant sounds borne by the wind from the eastern quarter.
“That is firing, I am sure,” said Evetts, one of the volunteers; “but it is a long way off.”
“Yes, that is firing,” said the experienced Vander Heyden; “but it is not volley firing. It is only some skirmishing, I expect. How long has it been going on?”
“I should think it began about an hour ago,” said Evetts, “but it was very faint and irregular then. It has been getting more distinct for the last twenty minutes. It is just half-past twelve now.” He looked at his watch as he spoke. “But, ha! what is that?” he added a moment afterwards, as a deep, hollow boom came across the river. “That is cannon. There is a battle going on at Isandhlwana.”
“A good job too,” said Vander Heyden; “it is time there was some fighting. People had begun to think there never was to be any.”
They continued to listen for a considerable time to the roar of the cannonade, which presently ceased, and the desultory firing was again heard.
“The action is over,” observed Evetts. “The Zulus never can face the guns very long.”
“Where is Margetts?” inquired another officer after another hour’s conversation.
“He and Baylen have ridden out to the ford on the Lower Tugela,” answered Evetts, “with some letters which were to be forwarded to Pearson’s camp. I have been on the lookout for them for some time.”
“And here they come,” said Lieutenant Bromhead, the officer in command of the garrison; “I know Margetts’ horse even at this distance.”