III

January 1, 1896.—­With the dawn of day I am out of bed and at the window waiting for the cry of the newsboy.

What will the New Year bring us?

With nervous dread I opened the paper brought to my door.  In large headlines it told of disaster.

The Natal train filled with refugee women and children has been wrecked, with great loss of life.  The papers say forty have been killed outright, and many fearfully injured.  Entire families have been wiped out in some cases.  Mr. ——­ has lost his wife, his sister, and three little children.  This is the result of a Boer concession.  The accident was caused by the Netherlands carriages being poorly built and top-heavy.  In rounding a curve they were swung off the track—­collapsed at once like card-houses, crushing and mangling the helpless and crowded occupants.

The deputation to Pretoria did not leave last night, as was expected.  They go this morning instead.

My husband is greatly disturbed at the delay.  He says time is all important, and the Reform Committee’s hands should not be tied while the Boers gain time.

Reports of Jameson’s meeting the enemy have been amplified.  Now it is said that fifty of his men have been killed and three hundred Boers.  Sir John Willoughby is believed to be shot.

I drove out to my home to reassure my women, Mr. Sharwood having brought in word that the coachman Adams had almost caused a panic by his garish tipsy account of ‘what was going on in town,’ and ’the many risks he ran when taking the mistress out.’

Parker was overjoyed to see me, and so was Totsey.  I found all staunch, and ready, not only to protect themselves, but to fight anything, particularly the valiant Adams.

On my way back to town I heard firing beyond the ridge east of us.  Some men at practice probably, but it gave me a wrench and detracted from Adams’s dignified bearing.  More organising and drilling of troops.  I hear there is much suffering among them.  The book-keeper, clerks, and indoor men find the unaccustomed exposure and fatigue trying in the extreme.  But they are a plucky lot, and stand for hours on guard in the scorching sun, and walk miles with their poor blistered feet with pathetic cheerfulness; swooning in many cases at their posts rather than give in; to a man, eager to fight.

Betty and I began our daily visits to the women and children at the Wanderers’ and Tattersall’s to-day.  At the Wanderers’ alone are nearly three hundred.  The wonderful provision made for their health and comfort spoke well for the intelligence as well as heart of the Reform Committee, and Mr. Lingham, an American, who has that especial department in charge.  We found the dancing-hall of the Wanderers’ converted into a huge dormitory, the supper-room into a sick ward, and the skating-rink reserved for women newly confined—­fright and excitement having