of the proposed attacking force, and would result in failure.  The fortifications of the enemy, he maintained, were too strong, the gun was too well guarded.  In the excitement prevailing a practical view of this kind was apt to be misconstrued, as indeed it was.  The Colonel’s position was a delicate and responsible one; but, ignoring that, his refusal to countenance the proposed assault lowered him in the minds of individuals bursting to do something desperate, as well as in the valorous estimation of others who merely wanted to see it done.

It was the last Sunday of the Siege!  It was not stated; no credence would have been accorded to the suggestion.  The day advanced, and blood-curdling legends—­appertaining to the arrival of batteries from the north, to assist in the completion of Kimberley’s subjugation—­abounded on all sides.  The rumour-monger excelled himself; not one but four six-inch guns were to sing on Monday; our past experiences were to be proved but a foretaste of worse things in store.  The Mines had been talked of as a place of refuge, and when the hour at which we lunched (when luncheons were) was reached the dead walls of the city were placarded with great posters, inviting all women and children who desired perfect security to take up their residence in the caverns of De Beers!  The drastic nature of the prophylactic was objected to; it was feared by the quidnuncs that the treatment might prove more injurious in its ultimate effects than the ills it was intended to ward off.  But this element was silenced, and soon was witnessed a procession of people with bundles of bedding and crockery on their shoulders wending their way (in a thunderstorm) to their deep-level homes.  From all parts of the city streams of families were converging towards the “Kimberley” and the “De Beers” mines.  There were a few bejewelled dames whose ideal of good form and adoration of the convenances would not allow them to entertain such a “fall”; it was asking too much; what would Mrs. Grundy say?  There was again a timid set whose notions of a pilgrimage to the bowels of the earth were peculiar; who associated with it all the dangers attending a balloon adventure—­plus the probability of asphyxiation.  But as time wore on the crowds grew thicker and thicker, until the outstanding minority began to feel lonely, then to waver, and finally to take their places as martyrs in the “Lift” that was to lower them into regions infernal.  It was a striking ensemble that mustered at the mouth of the mines.  All grades of society were there, and specimens of almost every European nation, mingled with the Kafir the Zulu, the Hottentot and the countless shades and depths of duskiness that make up the coloured classes.  The process of lowering the “Lift” began at four o’clock.  It was tedious work.  Only eight or nine persons could be let down at a time, and some of the trippers had so many rugs, mattresses, cushions, antimacassars, and like lumber along with