We were not without losses—­three men having been killed and nineteen wounded.  The enemy’s casualties were estimated to be thirty.  Our men had conducted themselves throughout with conspicuous courage and coolness, though many of them were quite new to the game of war.  To the Boer, too, a meed of praise is due; for, contrary to popular tradition, he could—­and did—­fight a good fight on the open veld.  Turner’s force returned to the city, well satisfied with their first brush with the enemy.  The news which appeared in a special edition of the Diamond Fields’ Advertiser, relative to the successful dash of Atkins at Elandslaagte (Natal), added to the enthusiasm that prevailed during the evening; and made optimists—­there were no pessimists—­more sanguine than ever in regard to the speedy capitulation of the Boers.

Our men, on Thursday, patrolled in different directions—­alert for a second encounter, if the fates were propitious.  But the foe declined to oblige; he lay low all day, presumably imbibing coffee.  In the afternoon, heavy rains, which made piquet duty none too pleasant, came down in torrents.  Tents had just been pitched at our redoubts in the nick of time.  The three men killed on Tuesday were buried with military honours.  The funeral was large—­the Colonel, his staff, and several sections of the Town Guard marching in processional order.

Meanwhile a detachment of the Cape Police were endeavouring, with all due prudence, to lure the Boers into battle.  But they did not succeed.  It was advanced as an explanation of this singular inactivity that the nerves of the enemy were shattered—­since Tuesday.  It was rumoured, too, that a number of our “friends” had gone off on a recuperating pilgrimage to Windsorton and Klipdam—­two villages which had been taken without the waste of a cartridge and placed under the Verkleur.  Looting operations, it was said, were being carried out on an extensive scale, and property was being destroyed.  Such was the local estimate of Boer shortcomings—­based on flimsy data, or no data at all.  In Kimberley, we only laughed at looting, and if the Boers effected an entrance we had no objection to the exercise of their talent for vandalism.  We said so; because we were profoundly confident of our collective capacity to keep them out.  Cynicism was the fashion.  There was so much to say on the great topic, and so little to read about it.  The evenings seemed so long; at half-past five, when the shops were closed, it appeared to be much later.  Nice people exchanged visits as usual, albeit they had to be home at the disgustingly rural hour of nine o’clock, sharp.  It was amusing sometimes to watch the abnormal strides of fat men and women, and to see them dodging the night patrol when they had to do a ten minutes’ walk in five.  The patrol was not a policeman.  Oh, dear, no; he was far more stern, and had banished his politeness for three weeks.  If at nine-fifteen you wished