souls revolted at it, declined to pay, through sheer respect for
proportion. There was nothing to fall back on but "mealie-pap," an
imitation porridge, made of fine white mealie meal; the very colour of
if tired one; white stirabout, connoisseurs opined, was not a natural
thing. There were scores who would not touch "mealie-pap" with a
forty-foot spoon. But they changed in time; "I am an acquired taste,"
cries Katisha; so is "mealie-pap." We acquired the taste for it, just as
people do for tomatoes (where were they!) or a glass of vinegar and
water. This hew porridge was not new to the natives; they dissipated on
it three times a day, and were satisfied so long as they had sugar to
make it doubly fattening. It was all so unlike the piping times of
peace! Sunday was now a bore, productive chiefly of _ennui_. On Monday
one could at least scour the town in search of something to eat; and
many a coolie shop was invaded by bluffers, dressed in the "little brief
authority" of a Town Guard's hat, who endeavoured to bully the coolie
into unearthing hidden stores. But to no avail; the coolie was not to be
frightened, nor even excited, by hat or pugaree. His stock of good
things had indeed been reduced to lozenges, sugar-sticks, and other
dental troubles.

Nothing startling was expected on Monday; but we were disappointed. The
noise sounded like the roar of thunder; we had heard similar sounds
emanate from Modder River; but these were undoubtedly louder and nearer.
It soon became evident that they could not be thunder-claps; they were
too continuous and unceasing. We listened for six hours to the incessant
booming of British artillery--the finest in the world! What else could
it be! Would there be a Boer left, we asked ourselves, would one survive
to depict the carnage around him. The guns in action must have numbered
forty or fifty. Soon a great rush was made for the debris heaps on the
Reservoir side--whence, through a glass, the shells could be seen