Contempt for the Boers, their methods of warfare, and their resources, was so marked that facts—­traitorous things—­were best left unspoken.

We had been informed that the ranks of the enemy had been largely augmented by commandoes from the north.  Thus when on Saturday morning an alarm was raised we expected a tug-of-war for sure.  The Boers were apparently massing for a concentrated attack on Wesselton, which was situated a couple of miles from the city proper.  The day was particularly ugly; a dust storm blew with blinding fury.  The portion of the Town Guard on duty the previous night had just settled down to slumber when they were obliged to jump out of “bed” and betake themselves in hot haste to their posts.  But the Boers were only joking; they retired after an out-of-range demonstration of pugnacity.  The citizen soldiers went back to “bed,” but ere their winks had totalled forty they were again roused by the sacred goose-cackie of the hooters and again running to their trenches.  The scenes in the streets were pretty similar to the pictures of the day before.  We waited six hours, in expectation that “the hope which shone through them would blossom at last.”  It was all in vain; the Boers—­incorrigible humourists—­would not be serious, or draw close enough to be shot at.  It was suggested that the hooters told them a march was not to be stolen on us; hence so many postponements of the “fall” of Kimberley.  The sound, the weirdness of the hooters in itself, would keep back a braver foe.  We wanted them silenced, however, and were beginning actually to desire a fight.  All the hardships of active service, minus its real excitement, were ours; and the cadets of the Town Guard—­who cared not whether they lived to be one-and-twenty—­were dying to fire and definitely to learn from the “kick” of a gun whether there was really “nothing like leather.”

Other things contributed to the eventfulness of Saturday; the Boers continued to display the same ominous energy, digging trenches, erecting forts, and making themselves generally comfortable—­pending our submission to the inevitable like practical men.  To emphasise the wisdom of surrender on our part, it was freely stated that the town was to be bombarded from Kamfers Dam.  There was a feeling—­it was in the air—­that mischief was brewing.  In obedience to a sudden order, the women and children of Otto’s Kopje and the West End were hurried into the city for better protection.  Finally, a letter from the Boer Commandant was received by the Colonel, the contents of which went far to justify the feeling of anxiety which was abroad.