would be with us. Kimberley would be free. The siege was over! Hurrah,
the people shouted with an enthusiasm only transcended in degree by the
resolute contempt with which the reported approach of French was greeted
in the following year. The Queen was sung of with rare earnestness and
lung power. The Colonel was toasted and praised at the bars.
Baden-Powell was promised help; the Mayor was patronised. The column was
drunk to, not wisely, but too well; while Tommy Atkins' glories as a
soldier and a man were chorussed in unmeasured terms--and time. For the
rest--we were generous--the Boers we could forgive. But they must all be
captured; in the interests of the campaign it was not expedient that one
should escape. Where should they be housed? The gaol was not large
enough. The Town Hall was suggested. But the mines were finally
selected--with exquisite irony; for we little dreamt that the thousands
destined eventually to be driven there should be--our friends, indeed,
but not our friend the enemy!

Friday was quiet, and a very jovial day in town. The Boers--in blissful
ignorance of their approaching doom--occupied themselves in disfiguring
the railway line still more. It was not easy to do; but it was done. In
the afternoon two tremendous explosions were heard. "There go the
culverts," was the expression in every mouth. And so it was; the
culverts were blown to pieces.

The Colonel and his officers were getting weary of the cautious methods
of warfare of which the enemy never seemed to tire; and the opportunity
of inflicting a good and stunning blow was a consummation devoutly
wished for in military circles. The Column was coming, and nothing in
the way of a telling stroke had yet been struck--nothing worthy the
vaulting ambition of a soldier accomplished. Fighting is a soldier's
profession, and the peculiar opportunities afforded by a siege, for the