The prisoners, who followed in the wake of their conquerors, were the
great objects of curiosity and interest. One or two spectators started
groaning; but a nudge, or failing that, a kick sufficed to correct their
bad taste. A weary, travel-stained group the captives looked--with their
unkempt locks and unshaven faces. No need to throw mud at them. The
universal feeling was rather one of sympathy, even of admiration, for
brave men whom fortune had omitted to favour.




CHAPTER VII

_Week ending 2nd December, 1899_


Three and three make six weeks. We were not yet free--not quite. Our
period was doubled. The wary seers who "told us so" had triumphed; and
they exploited their intuition for what it was worth, or rather for a
great deal more, since clearly it was not worth much. They had triumphed
(by a short head, so to speak), or said they had. What matter. They were
minor prophets; and the nearness of Methuen and his Column enabled us to
bear the trumpet-blowing with equanimity and good humour. The monster
head-lines of the _Advertiser_--delightful paper!--proclaimed it "the
last week of the siege!" It was placarded on the walls. The newsboys
shrieked it abroad. The man in the street confirmed it. The populace
believed it. The grocer beamed, and the haberdasher made bold definitely
to state the date on which a particular reel of cotton could be
purchased. It even stimulated the hotel-keepers to discover hidden