an increasing feebleness suggestive of the Column’s return by easy stages to Orange River.  Our disappointments had been manifold, and whispers with reference to the ultimate terms of surrender were not uncommon.  Not that there was in any mind a disposition to give in until it was humanly impossible to hold the fort.  But it was coming to that stage.  Horseflesh on the top of other trials had implanted the canker of despair in more than one sensitive soul.  We had a great deal of horseflesh of the tram and cab kind, and much as the obligations of Empire might induce us to perform, it was too much to expect us to rise to the occasion on foreign food.  The physical needs of the moment demanded something less repulsive to the palate.  No wonder the gloomy picture of digging trenches for the Boers obtruded itself on our mental vision.  Opinions conflicted as to the aggregate quantity of meal and flour in the military stores; most people held the view that it was much less than was actually the fact.  The scarcity of fodder, too, was felt acutely, and necessitated the curtailment of the tram and cab services.  More horses had to be unharnessed and sent out to graze on the veld!—­to live, as it were, on their wits.  It was even rumoured that some Indian members of the community were inviting tenders for a supply of cats, and were prepared to pay for them as much as two shillings per puss.  No evidence, however, in support of this tale from the Hills was forthcoming; nor was it in any event likely to prove a remunerative venture, since rabbit pie—­ever a convertible term—­would be the last delicacy to inspire trust where all animal food was suspect.

In the afternoon, two visitors entered the city.  One had little to tell, but the other made amends for his companion’s taciturnity with a graphic, Othellonian description of the dangers he had passed, and his wondrous experiences for many days and nights.  He had, it appeared, a regard for Mr. Rhodes, (who is less popular in the Free State than in Kimberley), and the Government across the border had arraigned him on the charge of being “a Rhodes man” (whatever that is).  For this high crime and misdemeanour he had been sentenced to three years’ imprisonment.  But the Rhodes man resented the injustice, and, with his friend, contrived to escape.  After a series of peripatetic adventures they were more dead than alive when the head-gear of De Beers burst upon their view.  The spectacle revivified them, and with a desperate rally they crawled undetected through the Boer lines, to an asylum in which they were glad to find even horseflesh to eat.

Wednesday was in no way eventful; lassitude had gripped the people.  This was the more noticeable in that our friends outside appeared to be uncommonly vigorous.  They devoted great attention to their redoubts, to strengthening them, and conducted themselves like men who were sanguine of the fall of Kimberley.  They bombarded us lightly in the afternoon, on the chance of stretching hors-de-combat a unit of the garrison—­not more than one or two, as they had no special desire to prejudice the appeal they felt sure we must soon make for food.  They did not want that consummation delayed a moment longer than was necessary.  It would leave them free to establish railway communication between Kimberley and Bloemfontein; they had such a scheme in contemplation.