war. They had decided on no definite course of action; or said they had
not--to save their face. Their plans were essentially tentative; and,
besides, the railway train--an important factor--was not just yet able
to carry far a scheme of compulsory migration.

Thursday came; but not so Methuen. It was allowed that the Noble Lord
could hardly be expected to gauge accurately the violence of our hurry;
nor to conceive, however noble his imagination, that our hens laid eggs
at eighteen pence apiece. We got another glimpse of the balloon to cheer
us, and were also edified in the course of the day with news of the
_Belmont_ battle. The Belmont battle was a stale story when the Modder
River fight was fresh, and the latter was now in all conscience stale
enough. Of Magersfontein, not a word. This reticence in regard to
Magersfontein intensified our curiosity; it was the parent of a
pessimism that was to thrive. Common sense and the dictates of reason
_would_ clamour for recognition. Between the struggle at Modder River
and the publication of its result there had been no interval to speak
of. The fight of Belmont had occasioned no departure from the exercise
of the "new diplomacy." We had heard of the collision and of the victory
at Graspan almost simultaneously. But we were not yet acquainted with
the sequel to the clash at Magersfontein; it was a solemn secret. There
was news that Cronje had decamped from Mafeking and was at Modder River
with an augmented force; but this did not for the moment interest us. In
his (Cronje's) alleged quarrels with the Free Staters we had no
immediate concern. What they told us of his inglorious retreat from the
north was not to the point; it was enough that he had been wafted south
by an ill wind that might blow us no good luck. All these tit-bits made
news in the abstract, but were foreign to the mystery surrounding what
happened at Magersfontein. Something was wrong; but the policy of
prolonging the suspense was not right. Every nook and cranny in the