them as to make the downward flight of eighteen hundred feet a pleasure-trip distinctly modern.  With exemplary patience the emigrants waited, until it suddenly dawned on them—­so slow was the progress made—­that there was every possibility of the dread hour of twelve anticipating them.  And then the pushing and the shoving commenced.  It was past eleven, and there were yet hundreds to go down when “house full” was shouted.  Arrangements were hurriedly made to domicile the surplus in the debris heaps.  Midnight came; not a gun was heard.  Morning dawned; and the weak and young were safe from the ravages of shot and shell.  Thus had closed the last, eventful Sunday of thraldom.  The work achieved did much to ease men’s minds, to revivify their hope, and to strengthen their readiness to immolate themselves, if need be, on the altar of duty.

Monday was awaited with calmness and a determination to meet the worst with fortitude.  The carnage predicted, and painted in such sanguinary colours, was slow to begin.  It was not until the respectable hour of seven that a commencement was made.  Several untenanted houses were damaged; four were set on fire at Kenilworth, and though the Brigade were on the spot as fast as they could be conveyed from Kimberley, the conflagration was inextinguishable, the houses were burned to the ground.  The intervals between the coming of the shells were much longer than heretofore.  This was due to the fact that a number of our best marksmen had at length managed to make themselves felt.  They had gone out on the Sunday night and secured cover so close to Kamfers Dam as to necessitate the exercise of caution on the part of Long Tom’s manipulators.  The “snipers” lay alert, invisible, and ready when they saw a head to hit it.  It was alleged that the polls in which the marksmen were interested had the Red Cross—­a useful talisman—­waving over them, the better to enable the gunners to devastate Kimberley with impunity.  Whether this was true is not certain; at any rate, the finesse did not deceive; every cranium that loomed upon the horizon received a volley.  Sometimes the gun would be fixed partially into position, and, as the bullets whistled by, lowered, jerked up again, and fired.  Even these hide and seek tactics did not long nonplus the “snipers”; their adaptability was equal to the occasion.  Rumour spread it that two or three of the Kamfers Dam gunners had fallen; one victim was certainly vouched for by a number of people who had seen him throw up his hands, in the very act of firing, and disappear from view.  The success of the “snipers” was the talk of the city.  It was tactlessly conveyed to the bottom of the mines and made some of the women anxious to get to the top—­to breathe gunpowder in preference to brimstone.  Reports went to show, however, that all was as well down below as could be expected in a “settlement” so new and so congested.