wood was new to him; he sympathised with the woodman, yet could not spare the tree.  Water (sold in casks) had evinced propensities to bubble over, and to prevent consequent waste it was necessary to make it simmer down to its normal tepidity.  Having settled these little difficulties, the worried autocrat was about to affix his signature to the magic manuscript, when the little feathered informer alighted on his shoulder and warbled “wacht-een-beitje, what price oil?” The Colonel had no hesitation in pouring it on troubled waters, by making eighteen shillings the maximum charge per case.

What the feelings of the syndicate were is not recorded.  There was only one thing certain, the deal was not a profitable thing—­for the buyers.  Rumour had it that one gentleman, “with a pigtail,” had paid fifty shillings each for two hundred cases.  The story was false—­rumour is never quite right; the man wore no pigtail.  A Celestial speculator indeed he was, but he had long since discarded, if he had ever sported, his national plait.

The afternoon brought a fight—­a fight at last.  Nothing less sensational could explain the wave of excitement that set men, women, and children struggling in a wild scramble for the debris heaps, which commanded a view of the match.  Yes; a battle at last, was the cry on all sides,—­varied with divers witticisms apropos of the “beans” the Boers were sure to be given.  The military critic, perched high above everybody else, held his glass to his eye, giving expression the while to a paradoxical longing to be “blind,” etc.  He criticised, candidly, the tactics displayed by both sides—­but this chapter would never be finished if I reproduced, in their entirety, the banalities of the military critic.

The railway line had been torn up again, and a patrol of mounted men under the command of Colonel Scott-Turner had been out since early morning to superintend repairs.  The repairs were soon effected, and after the patrol had rested at Macfarlane’s Farm it meandered in the direction of Riverton.  A large body of the enemy shortly became visible to the right of Riverton, and after a little seductive manoeuvring on the part of Turner’s men, they were drawn within range of Turner’s rifles.  The rifles went off; a few Boers toppled from their horses, while the rest drew rein and rode back at a goodly speed.  Reinforcements, however, were galloping to their assistance, and soon a lively duel was in full swing.  Colonel Kekewich, who was an interested spectator away back on the conning tower, thought he detected a movement on the enemy’s part to surround Turner; and to frustrate this design, he forthwith despatched a “loaded” armoured train.  The maxims (in the armoured train) came into play, and spread confusion in the Boer ranks.  Their Commandant was killed and left behind on the field.  The rifle duel was maintained with dogged perseverance on both sides for some time afterwards.