Anyhow, the shell is quite big enough, whatever its weight, and it bangs into shops, chapels, ladies' bedrooms without any nice distinctions.

I could see "Tom's" ugly muzzle tilted up above a great earthwork which the Boers had heaped near a tree on the edge of that flat-topped hill, which we may call Pepworth, from a little farm hard by.
Our battery was at once turned on to him, and though short at first, it got the range, and poured the deadly shrapnel over that hill for hour after hour.

But other guns were there--perhaps as many as six--and they replied to our battery, whilst "Tom" reserved his attention for the town.

Often we thought him silenced, but always he began again, just when we were forgetting him, sometimes after over an hour's pause.

The Boer gunners, whoever they may be, are not wanting in courage.