These good people were thenceforward obliged to submit to the indignity of being searched, as a condition precedent to permission to come or go like ordinary mortals.  The right to read their newspaper across the breakfast cup was also denied them; the duty had to be performed In town, lest the wind should blow the local journal into the hands of the enemy and reveal—­nothing at all.  The position of the barrier guard ceased to be—­if it ever were—­a sinecure, and he was kept busy picking pockets, examining bills, perusing love-letters, written in all sorts of prose, and in verse which was homely, if not exactly Homeric.

As already pointed out, the day was fine, and the Boers were silent; so that, recent disappointments notwithstanding, there was little credit in being jolly on such a Sunday.  The Tapleys of the city had accordingly no great trouble in inducing us to amuse ourselves.  The united bands of the Kimberley and Lancashire Regiments were to give a concert in the Public Gardens; and at four o’clock some thousands of people, arrayed in their best, had gathered there.  The Gardens were crowded; cares were forgotten; the Boers were chaffed; while the strains of the melodists were awaited with pleasurable anticipation.  At the psychological moment the music began.  The tune was not unfamiliar; we had heard it before—­and prayed that we might not hear it again!  It was not from the bandstand the discord was wafted; when I say, in a word, it was the hoot of the hooters, sounding the alarm, it will be understood how far from soothing was its spell.  The exodus from the grounds was a treat to watch; the ladies in their finery made a dash for home, while the gentlemen rushed for their rifles with equal despatch.  The bandsmen laid aside their lutes for more deadly instruments, and prepared themselves to give the Boer as much music as he cared to face.  It was altogether a magnificent dissolution, rapidly accomplished.  And, of course, it was as usual, all for nothing.  Wessels was a wag.

Monday morning revealed the Boer clans foregathering in force on the south side of the city.  The citizen soldiers were quietly directed to get behind their sandbags, while a mounted body was ordered out to anticipate events, and, if practicable, to knock over a few of the clansmen.  But it was only bluff again.  Our women folk, although they dreaded a fracas, were particularly impatient of this time-honoured game.  During the day, a good many shells were expended on the Premier Mine.  The mines, it may be said, were the objectives of special bombardments until the end; but, so far, we were not inclined to think highly of the enemy’s marksmanship.  The shells fell a long way short, albeit not so short as at first; the aim was improving.  Given time, the Boer would yet hit his target; but of course he would not get time.