At break of day on Tuesday the Column’s guns were at it again.  This was disappointing, inasmuch as it led us to infer that some Boers were yet alive at Magersfontein.  And our ardour was further damped by the De Beers directors who instead of formally dispersing until the next day, once more adjourned their meeting—­sine die.  What did it mean?  A Special was shortly forthcoming and was bought up eagerly, while many eyes were being strained to catch a glimpse of Lord Methuen’s legions in the distance.  The Special gave us news of a fight, indeed; but not of the fight; it was Modder River over again.  In fine, we were sold again, for the Modder River fight was—­if not quite ancient history—­as remote from our thoughts as the “famous victory” at Blenheim in ages past.  Despatch riders had been coming and going, we knew all about the River battle, and after an interval of fifteen days an ambiguous “slip” was slipped upon a too confiding clientele!  It was sharp practice; and its employment at a moment when suspense had thrown us off our guard was superb.  We bristled with indignation, but the coup (as such) was splendid.  We, the victims, were not entirely blameless; we had had ample experience of the risk attached to speculation in Specials.  It was ever thus.  An ancient number of the Cape Times would drop from the clouds, and for weeks the news it contained would be administered in homeopathic doses to the public at three pence per dose.  It was good business.  “Slip” was the appropriate appellation bestowed upon the Special.  Sometimes two or three “Slips” would be issued on the same day.  One would come out early, after which a huge blackboard, intimating in chalked capitals that “important news” was to appear in a later edition, would be carried round the town by two black boys.  And though the news was never important, the enterprise was a success.  To the smart sets the limited reading matter the “half sheet of notepaper” contained was a positive recommendation; and at afternoon (Natal) teas there was many a “Slip” between the cup and the lip.

Time passed; and still the Column came not.  We felt disgusted rather than distressed; we were yet confident of the Column’s invincibility.  Various tit-bits of secondary interest were served out to humour us, and a startling rumour was put in circulation—­a rumour round which clung no element of justification to soften the wrath it aroused.

A meeting composed of the Military authorities and a few leading civilians had been held some days before, and the subject of its deliberations had at length come to light.  It was proposed and debated at this meeting that—­when railway communication had been restored—­all women, children, and non-combatants should be sent away to the coast!  This would mean some twenty-seven thousand whites, together with natives, coolies, etc.—­about forty thousand people.  The idea behind all this was to make Kimberley a garrison town, to stock it well with provisions, and afterwards to allow the Boers—­if they were so disposed—­to re-mutilate the line to their hearts’ content.  The “Military Situation” would not admit of the employment of a host of men to guard it.