Heavens! what a fight was that, the fight of fifty against six thousand.
Not more than seven feet of space divided us from that shrieking sea of foes into which we poured bullets at hazard, for there was no need to aim, as fast as the guns could be loaded.

Suddenly I heard the girl call out: "_Kek, tante, da is een swartzel!_" (Look, aunt, there is a black man.) I looked, and just at my side I saw a great savage who had forced his way through the thorns and crawled beneath the waggon into the laager.
The gun in my hand was empty, but by me lay an axe which I snatched up, and as he rose to his knees I struck him with all my strength upon the neck and killed him at a blow.

Yes, my child, that was the kind of work to which we wives of the voortrekkers had to put a needle.
Jan had just fired his gun, and seeing the man he sprang to help me, whereon three more Kaffirs following on the dead soldier's path crawled out from under the waggon.

Two of them gained their feet and ran at him lifting their assegais.

I thought that all was lost, for one hole in our defence was like a pin prick to a bladder, but with a shout Jan dropped the empty gun and rushed to meet them.