and with leave of the Colonel made an effort to get there.  Unhappily, they were not allowed a choice; the Boers drove them back “to die with the English.”  Unlike the Basutos, the Fingo tribe was not physically or geographically in a position to make reprisals for such indignities.  Besides, the English, the Boers knew, would be bound to share their last crust with their black brethren, and they wanted us to get to the last crust stage at our earliest convenience.

Contrary to expectation, nothing exciting occurred on Tuesday.  The enemy again concentrated their fire on the Sanatorium; they evidently esteemed starvation, however expedient as a means for shuffling off the common herd, a little too good for a thinker in Continents.  According to documents which had been found in the pocket of a Boer prisoner, Mr. Rhodes was awaiting a favourable opportunity to escape in “a big balloon!” This strange idea may have been responsible for the efforts made to lay the great balloonist.

A cricket match was played in the afternoon by twenty-two disciples of Tapley; and sundry flashes of congratulation—­adulatory of our gallant stand—­were exchanged between our Mayor and Port Elizabeth’s.  These messages were soothing, but none of us acknowledged it.  Soft words, alas! only reminded us of parsnips.  And soon we should be without bread.  The bread question was the topic of the hour, and gave rise to more acrimony than had any antecedent injustice.  Such unwonted severity in the administration of Civil affairs was a strain on the loyalty of a people self-governed since they were born.  The view was stoutly maintained that the situation was not so bad as to warrant the adoption of such drastic measures.  They were straining the limits of human endurance too callously.  Nothing could alter our resolve to dispute with the Boer every inch of the ground we defended.  So much was agreed.  But the tendency to famish us displayed by our Rulers was not calculated to improve the morale of a civilian, or any, army.  It did not bespeak the early relief of Kimberley.  Actions like Kekewich’s and Gorle’s in the matter of bread fostered feelings of indifference.  They would not stimulate the town’s defenders to shoot better or to fight the more tenaciously in a crisis.  With troops pouring into the country, wherefore the need of so much supererogation?  A hungry man capable of demolishing a ten ounce loaf—­a siege product—­in ten bites might well echo wherefore indeed!

On Wednesday Lord Methuen could be heard banging as usual.  In the early days, the halcyon days of optimism, the banging would have been exhilarating to a degree; but the march of events had compelled us to reason better.  The day was uncommonly quiet; even the diurnal fling at Mr. Rhodes was omitted.  Lies, rumours, sensations, fabrications were still rampant.  A poster in all the paraphernalia of Official authority, proclaiming the relief of Mafeking—­four months too soon!—­adorned the walls of the Town House.  General Buller, we were informed, was about to unlock the door of Ladysmith—­“the key had been found.”  But evidently the lock had not, as was proven by the subsequent disastrous retreat across the Tugela.