Meanwhile the excitement in town was great.  The situation, in all its bearings, was being eagerly discussed by gesticulating groups of men and women.  Intelligence arrived that the enemy had cut off our water supply; and the public were commanded to use what remained in the reservoir with circumspection, and for domestic purposes only.  The public became duly alarmed, and just retained sufficient presence of mind to take a drought by the forelock, by filling their buckets, crocks, and cooking utensils with water.  It was one of many little contingencies that had not been bargained for; the idea of water evaporating while there was yet tea to brew with it was both ridiculous and appalling.  But there was not much danger of such a calamity; the reservoir was yet half full, and when it was empty, ways and means could be devised—­with the permission of De Beers—­to fill the tea-pots.  The ladies were reassured.

Huge posters, proclaiming Martial Law, adorned the dead walls, and were being eagerly scanned by the populace.  The publicans of the town had been noting events with the composure of men who had already made their “piles”; but they were, nevertheless, smitten with sudden fury when they read that all bars and canteens were to be shuttered each evening at nine o’clock.  They showered anathema upon the Colonel, and gave expression to opinions of his administrative capacity which were at variance with the views of people outside the “trade.”  Pedestrians were warned against walking out before six in the morning, or after nine in the evening—­under pain of a heavy penalty.  All persons not enrolled in the defence forces, the proclamation went on to say, were to deliver up whatever arms and ammunition they possessed.  This was an article of much significance and importance.  We had in our midst a number of people, enjoying the rights and privileges of British subjects, whose “loyalty,” in the minds of the authorities, was an uncertain quantity.  Their sympathy with the Boers was natural enough; but it was at the same time too deep—­in the eyes of Martial Lawyers—­to be compatible with the duty due to the Queen.  A house to house visit was inaugurated by the police—­the sequel to which was the lodgment of some twenty persons within the solid masonry of the gaol.  The most prominent of the prisoners was one employed as a guard in the mines.  De Beers had always been credited with a desire to observe strict impartiality in their choice of servants, and the prisoner had hit upon a curious way of demonstrating his appreciation of such a policy.  Ever since they had learned to handle an assegai the pugnacious natives shut up in the compounds had been spoiling for a fight; and, having heard of the Ultimatum, they were just then particularly restless, and keen on expediting a Waterloo.  The obliging guard had thrown open the gates to gratify the “niggers”—­on condition that British heads only were to be hit!  The natives itched to hit somebody, and could not afford to let slip so good a chance by dilly-dallying over details.  They agreed to the terms; but were fortunately herded together again before they could strike a blow.  It may have been only a slip of the tongue on the guard’s part; but the canons of martial law held such “slips” to be unpardonable.  The one in question lost a man his liberty for two years, and his billet for ever.