with—­our dreams.  There was the Column busy signalling and settling it all with the Colonel.  The Colonel was certainly a reticent man; he gave us precious little data, to supplement our faith.  But the nearness of Methuen was data enough for us.  It did not do, it was foolish when it was useless, to be too curious.  It was puzzling, to be sure, to watch the movements of the Boers, or rather their lack of movement.  That they saw the signals and knew what to expect went without saying.  And yet they perversely showed no signs of running away.  On the contrary, they kept improving their defences and generally indicating that they had come to stay.  We liked the hardihood of this attitude; but were on the whole inclined to pity the poor beggars.  Defiance, in the circumstances, could only mean annihilation for them.  Kimberley reasoned thusly:  Kimberley reasoned well.

Saturday made it still clearer that the ineffable enemy, so far from being frightened, was obdurate yet.  Large commandoes of Boers had joined the besiegers during the night.  All day long they toiled like Trojans, digging trenches.  At Oliphantsfontein they erected a new camp and made their fortifications unassailable.  We could only conclude that they purposed making a stand.  The fatuousness of such a course was clear to us; for with the aid of the Relief Column we would presently be in a position to attack the Boers from many sides; to hem them in; to cut off retreat; and to kill or make prisoners of them all.  It was a bold conviction; we still viewed things through Napoleonic glasses.

It was stated that President Steyn was outside, to stimulate the burghers with his presence and eloquence.  The news was interesting, and the hope was fairly general that no worse fate would be his than that of a prisoner of war.  There were also some particulars of the Modder River fight; the Boers had been driven from their kopjes; hundreds had been shot; thousands made prisoners; and whips of guns captured.  This was not quite a proper version of what happened at the Modder (it is questionable whether we were ever made acquainted with the actual facts); but we believed it all; it sounded well.  One of the funny features of the siege in its earlier stages was the readiness on the one hand with which a practical community swallowed good news, however false; and the stern disinclination evinced on the other to be “taken in” by the truth when it chanced to leak out and happened to be disagreeable.

Such was the condition of affairs when forty-nine long days had crept by.  As to the brightness of the immediate future no misgivings existed.  The days would soon shorten to their normal duration, and be all the happier for the antecedent gloom.  Relief could not in the nature of things be very far away.  Ah, no; it never was; that was the pity of it—­the irritant destined to deepen our disgust—­to nourish our discontent.  At Mafeking they were spared at least the galling