Mr. Hordern was talking to a starved wreck of a man one day, and he asked him what was the first thing he wanted when the relief came through.  He expected to hear him say food of some sort.  But no; this absent-minded beggar said, ’The first thing, sir, medical comforts for the sick.’  He then asked him what was the next thing he should like.  He thought he would say food this time; but no, his reply was, ’The English mail.’  He then asked what would he like after that, and the soldier replied that he would then have his food.[17]

Of such stuff were British soldiers made in Ladysmith, and of such stuff are they, with all their faults, the wide world over!

[Footnote 17:  Burnley Express, May 5, 1900.]

=Lads, We are Going to be Relieved To-day.’=

But the time of deliverance was drawing near.  Hope deferred had made the heart sick.  Time after time had Buller’s guns seemed to be drawing nearer, and time after time had the sound grown faint in the distance.  They were on quarter rations again, and that meant that Colonel Ward, careful man as he was, had feared a longer delay.  One of the chaplains—­he has told the writer the story himself, but prefers that his name be not mentioned—­was lying on his back in his tent at Intombi, reading the morning service to those gathered round.  He was weak from disease and starvation, and it was no easy task to stand or walk.  As he read the Psalm for the day (Ash Wednesday, Psalm vi.), it seemed to him a very message from God.  His eye caught the tenth verse, ’All mine enemies shall be confounded and sore vexed:  they shall be turned back, and put to shame suddenly.’  He read it again and again.  Surely God was speaking to him through His Word.  ‘Turned back,’ he said to himself; ‘ashamed suddenly.’  It seemed as though it was a personal illumination from God.  He rose to his feet, and going into the tent which contained the worst cases, he said, ’Lads, I’ve come to tell you we are going to be relieved to-day or if not to-day, at any rate very soon—­suddenly.  Listen, lads; this is my message from God.’  And he read them the passage.  Every face brightened as he read, and his own was doubtless lit up with a light from another world.

That night, as he was lying down worn out with fatigue and excitement, he heard a British cheer, and everybody rushed out to inquire what it meant.  There in the far distance a column of mounted troops, were slowly marching along.  Who were they—­British?  ‘No,’ said one of the soldiers; ‘they are marching too regularly for that.’  ‘Boers?’ ‘No,’ said another; ‘they are marching too regularly for Boers.’  ‘Who can they be?’ ’I know,’ said a third; they are Colonials.’  He was right.  ’But wait a minute,’ said another; ‘let us see if Caesar’s Camp fires upon them.’  But no, Caesar’s Camp kept on pounding away at Mount Bulwane as it had done for months, only with more energy than usual.  And then cheer upon cheer broke from these poor emaciated wrecks in Intombi.  Hand clasped hand, and tears rained down all faces.