their own austere sense of justice; and it was
felt that in suffering death they were bearing the punishment for more
than their own misdeeds.

Incidents such as these marked the days of our march to Lichtenburg. But
our family was breaking up; Colonel Rhodes and Sir John Willoughby, who
had worked so hard on the relieving march, left us at Maribogo; one by
one my fellow-correspondents were departing; one officer after another
who had been with us on some special service was being withdrawn.

And suddenly my own summons came. Over thousands of miles of sea-bed it
found me at a spot where the telegraph instruments never spoke before,
and may never speak again until the end of Time. We were encamped
fifteen miles from Lichtenburg, in a place made green by a clear and
brimming river. I had wished to send a telegram, and the obliging
orderly had undertaken to tap the temporary wire and "call up"
Lichtenburg. So the instruments were connected in the green field, and
soon the voice of the man at Lichtenburg was heard. The first thing he
did was to ask if anyone of my name was with the column, and when he
found I was there he said there was a cable for me. He read it to me
over the wire, with the result that I did not send my telegram. And
presently the voice ceased, the wire was disconnected, and (although I
had been hoping that the message would come) I went about like one under
sentence of death.

We came on into Lichtenburg the next day, once more passing the Irish
Brigade with its childish pipes. General Hunter's division was now
complete, and I had not seen so great an encampment of tents since
leaving Lord Methuen at Boshof. They surrounded the pretty town--long
lanes arched by great willows trembling over streams such as run clearly
through the streets of all South African villages. On the next day
Mahon's column, proceeding in advance of the Division, was to set out
towards Rustenburg, while I rode forty miles westward into Mafeking.

The day at Lichtenburg was very busy, occupied by those miserable duties
that affront the softer feelings. To dismantle and sell the moving home
that, as though by a miracle, has been nightly disposed through hundreds
of miles of road travel, and to part from horses that have served you
well and shared your dangers, if not your alarms, is to suffer a new and
painful damage to the affections. It was here, also, that I had to say
good-bye to Major Pollock, with whom I had been living f