It was at this stage in the vicissitudes of our siege existence that the authorities and the public were confronted with a fresh difficulty and made to feel the presence of a new danger.  The outbreak of hostilities had sent a large number of natives from the adjoining districts into Kimberley, and these added to the permanent coloured population increased our responsibilities.  There was not sufficient work for so many.  This idle host was a menace to the maintenance of law and order, and unless something was done for it internal trouble of a serious kind was sure to arise.  These men had no money wherewith to buy food, and although they could not get liquor to drive them to deeds of desperation, hunger would soon supply an impetus.  And so it came to pass that the philanthropic spirit was awakened in the breasts of philanthropists and simulated by others who loved themselves only.  That work must be found for the coloured horde was the unanimous verdict of the Upper Ten.  It was a problem, peculiarly complex at a time when the “first law of nature” (in a restricted sense) was so stern in its exactions.  But it was a problem which had to be solved and which puzzled everybody until—­Mr. Rhodes entered the breach with a solution.  He had been relieving distress in a quiet, unostentatious way, and he now settled the native question with characteristic celerity.  He held a short conference with the Mayor; evolved a scheme of road-making; had some thousands of men employed next day; and, in fine, completed arrangements to pay away two thousand pounds per week with as little fuss as another man—­or millionaire—­would make about a collar lost in the wash.  Indigent “whites,” also, were provided for; Mr. Rhodes made himself responsible for the formation of an auxiliary Fire Brigade for the behoof of refugees more accustomed to a pen than a pick.  The Colossus had some enemies in Kimberley; but they were less severe—­less numerous, perhaps—­from that day onward.

Our defences were by this time in thorough ship-shape, and the connection of the several redoubts by telephone had just been completed.  From the reservoir another brand new searchlight beamed down upon the Boers.  The Town Guard had taken up permanent residence in the camps.  Its members were supplied with soldiers’ rations; also with professional cooks—­who knew better hotels—­to cook them.  The camp cook was quite a character, much deferred to and patronised, and was ever eager to drop his ladle in favour of the refrigerator which he kept ready to make cold meat of the cool Boer who ventured within range of it.  The chef whose cooking-pot had been scuttled was particularly thirsty for “the vengeance blood alone could quell.”