Contrary to expectation, the ferocious assault was not resumed on Saturday morning.  It was a blessed interlude, too; there was so much to whistle about with unbated breath.  The prejudice against the Boers and the arrogant gentlemen who led and fed us was at its fiercest.  How was it all going to end?  A feeling of desperation, engendered by the sufferings of their families, permeated men’s hearts and filled them with a readiness to dare much, to sacrifice a great deal.  The situation was critical, and many a reckless plan to ease it emanated from minds normally prudent.  The outcry against the Military rose to a high pitch; the air was reeking with denunciations apropos of their culpability for—­things in general.  Their manipulation of the victuals, as I have endeavoured to show, did not pre-possess many in their favour, and fresh complaints in this connection were constantly forthcoming.  Information was being suppressed, we cried; our actual condition and circumstances were being misrepresented; the notoriety of individuals was being purchased at the expense of the “greater number!” Of course, these charges had been in the air for a long while; but after Friday they, though still much in the air, matured in intensity.  Dissatisfaction was expressed on all sides.  We—­some of us—­were willing to admit the necessity of Martial Law, its rigours, severity, and discipline; but it was too much to expect us to stand mutely by while the Military gabbled of the “Military Situation,” and (as we suspected) inwardly built temples of fame in the air, in which they would merit a prominent niche when, say, half a year had passed; when the last horse-chop had frizzled on the pan; and when incidentally numbers had been killed, maimed, or starved!

The clamour developed.  No fuel was needed to feed the spreading flame of resentment.  None was needed, but it was supplied all the same—­and from a most unexpected quarter, namely, the Diamond Fields’ Advertiser!  It was a startling denouement.  The chains that bound the “mighty engine” were burst asunder.  The spell of militarism was broken; the people’s paper was itself again, and the people took it to their hearts as the champion of their rights and privileges.  Its leading article on Saturday summarised the situation in a nutshell.  It is too good to pass.  Commenting on the version of our sorrows supplied by signal, the sturdy organ in a manner after our own hearts let flow the following deluge of consoling truths:—­

“...  What are the facts?  We have stood a Siege which is rapidly approaching the duration of the Siege of Paris; we have practically defended ourselves with citizen soldiers; for, thankful as we are to the Imperial garrison, their numbers have condemned them to play a secondary role; we have raised a large body of mounted troops, who have on two occasions attacked the enemy’s strongholds with the most magnificent gallantry; and through the genius of Mr. Labram—­whose