held by the enemy’s sharpshooters, and on the 7th another small sally kept the game going.  On the 18th Powell sent a message to Snyman that he could not take the town by sitting and looking at it.  At the same time he despatched a message to the Boer forces generally, advising them to return to their homes and their families.  Some of the commandos had gone south to assist Cronje in his stand against Methuen, and the siege languished more and more, until it was woken up by a desperate sortie on December 26th, which caused the greatest loss which the garrison had sustained.  Once more the lesson was to be enforced that with modern weapons and equality of forces it is always long odds on the defence.

On this date a vigorous attack was made upon one of the Boer forts on the north.  There seems to be little doubt that the enemy had some inkling of our intention, as the fort was found to have been so strengthened as to be impregnable without scaling ladders.  The attacking force consisted of two squadrons of the Protectorate Regiment and one of the Bechuanaland Rifles, backed up by three guns.  So desperate was the onslaught that of the actual attacking party—­a forlorn hope, if ever there was one—­fifty-three out of eighty were killed and wounded, twenty-five of the former and twenty-eight of the latter.  Several of that gallant band of officers who had been the soul of the defence were among the injured.  Captain FitzClarence was wounded, Vernon, Sandford, and Paton were killed, all at the very muzzles of the enemy’s guns.  It must have been one of the bitterest moments of Baden-Powell’s life when he shut his field-glass and said, ‘Let the ambulance go out!’

Even this heavy blow did not damp the spirits nor diminish the energies of the defence, though it must have warned Baden-Powell that he could not afford to drain his small force by any more expensive attempts at the offensive, and that from then onwards he must content himself by holding grimly on until Plumer from the north or Methuen from the south should at last be able to stretch out to him a helping hand.  Vigilant and indomitable, throwing away no possible point in the game which he was playing, the new year found him and his hardy garrison sternly determined to keep the flag flying.

January and February offer in their records that monotony of excitement which is the fate of every besieged town.  On one day the shelling was a little more, on another a little less.  Sometimes they escaped scatheless, sometimes the garrison found itself the poorer by the loss of Captain Girdwood or Trooper Webb or some other gallant soldier.  Occasionally they had their little triumph when a too curious Dutchman, peering for an instant from his cover to see the effect of his shot, was carried back in the ambulance to the laager.  On Sunday a truce was usually observed, and the snipers who had exchanged rifle-shots all the week met occasionally on that day with good-humoured