telligence which tells so much and
leaves so much untold? To-morrow night we shall know all. This at least
is certain: there has been fierce fighting in Natal, and, under Heaven,
we have held our own: perhaps more. 'Boers defeated.' Let us thank God
for that. The brave garrisons have repelled the invaders. The luck has
turned at last. The crisis is over, and the army now on the seas may
move with measured strides to effect a final settlement that is both
wise and just. In that short message eighteen years of heartburnings are
healed. The abandoned colonist, the shamed soldier, the 'cowardly
Englishman,' the white flag, the 'How about Majuba?'--all gone for ever.
At last--'the Boers defeated.' Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

So Sir Penn Symons is killed! Well, no one would have laid down his life
more gladly in such a cause. Twenty years ago the merest chance saved
him from the massacre at Isandhlwana, and Death promoted him in an
afternoon from subaltern to senior captain. Thenceforward his rise was
rapid. He commanded the First Division of the Tirah Expeditionary Force
among the mountains with prudent skill. His brigades had no misfortunes:
his rearguards came safely into camp. In the spring of 1898, when the
army lay around Fort Jumrood, looking forward to a fresh campaign, I
used often to meet him. Everyone talked of Symons, of his energy, of his
jokes, of his enthusiasm. It was Symons who had built a racecourse on
the stony plain; who had organised the Jumrood Spring Meeting; who won
the principal event himself, to the delight of the private soldiers,
with whom he was intensely popular; who, moreover, was to be first and
foremost if the war with the tribes broke out again; and who was
entrusted with much of the negotiations with their _jirgas_. Dinner with
Symons in the mud tower of Jumrood Fort was an experience. The memory
of many tales of sport and war remains. At the end the General would
drink the old Peninsular toasts: 'Our Men,' 'Our Women,' 'Our Religion,'
'Our Swords,' 'Ourselves,' 'Sweethearts and Wives,' and 'Absent
Friends'--one for every night in the week. The night when I dined the
toast was 'Our Men.' May the State in her necessities find others like
him!

CHAPTER II

THE STATE OF THE GAME

Cape Town: November 1, 1899.

The long-drawn voyage came to an end at last. On the afternoon of
October 30 we sighted land, and looking westward I perceived what looked
like a dark wave of water breaking the