The afternoon was taken up by a sort of gymkhana, when a happy holiday crowd assembled to see the tilting at the ring, the lemon-cutting, and the tug-of-war.  At this entertainment Colonel Baden-Powell was thoroughly in his element, chatting to everyone and dispensing tea from a travelling waggon.  In the evening I dined at Dixon’s with our old party, and, really, the two months that had elapsed since I was at that same table had effected but little change in the surroundings and in the fare, which at that early stage of the siege was as plentiful as ever, even the stock of Schweppes’ soda-water appearing inexhaustible.  Besides this luxury, we had beautiful fresh tomatoes and young cabbages.  The meat had resolved itself into beef, and beef only, but eggs helped out the menu, and the only non-existent delicacy was “fresh butter.”  This commodity existed in tins, but I must confess the sultry weather had anticipated the kitchen, in that it usually appeared in a melted state.

The most formidable weapon of the Boers was, naturally, the big siege Creusot gun.  The very first day I arrived in Mafeking “Creechy” discharged a shell that killed a trooper of the Protectorate Regiment, who happened to be standing up in the stables singing a song, whilst four or five others were seated on the ground.  The latter were uninjured, but the dead man was absolutely blown to bits, and one of his legs was found in the roof.  A few days after two more shells landed in the market-square, one going through the right window of the chemist’s shop, the other demolishing the left-hand one.  Some of the staff were actually in the shop when the second shell came through the window, and were covered with dust, broken bits of glass, and shattered wood, but all providentially escaped unhurt.  Others were not so fortunate, for a nigger in the market-square was literally cut in half, and a white man 100 yards away had his leg torn off.  Again, in Mr. Wiel’s store a shell burst while the building was full of people, without injuring anyone; but one of the splinters carried an account-book from the counter and deposited it in the roof on its outward passage.  Indeed, not a day passed but one heard of marvellously narrow escapes.

As the heat increased, the shelling grew certainly slacker, and, after an hour or two spent in exchanging greetings in the early morning, both besieged and besiegers seemed to slumber during the sultry noonday hours.  About four they appeared to rouse themselves, and often my telephone would then ring up with the message:  “The gun is loaded, and pointed at the town.”  Almost simultaneously a panting little bell, not much louder than a London muffin-bell, but heard distinctly all over the town in the clear atmosphere, would give tongue, and luckless folk who were promenading the streets had about three seconds to seek shelter, the alarm being sounded as the flash was seen by the look-out.  One afternoon they gave us three shots in six minutes, but, of course,