ry man born of woman's love
on British soil should die between the decks, or find a grave in foundering
ships of war, than that the foot of a foreign foe should touch the
Motherland. Better that your ships be shambles, where men could die like
men, sending Nelson's royal message all along the armoured line; better
that our best and bravest found a grave where grey waves curl towards our
coastline, than that our womanhood should look with woe-encircled eyes into
the wolfish mouth of war. Better that our strong men perished, with the
brine and ocean breezes playing freshly on the gaping wounds through which
their souls passed outward, than that our little maids and tiny, tender
babes should face the unutterable shame, the anguish, and the suffering of
a war within our borders.

Do not laugh the very thought to scorn and brand the thing impossible, for
fools have laughed before to-day whilst kingdoms tottered to their fall You
who stay at home miss much that others know--and, knowing, dread. If
England at this hour could only realise what manner of men control her
destinies, then all the lion in the breed would spring to life again. I do
not know if lack-brains of a similar strain control the supplies for
England's Navy; but if, in time of war, it proves to be the case, then God
help us, God help the old flag and the stout hearts who fight for it.

Lend me your ears, and let me tell you how our army in Africa is treated by
the incompetent people in the good city of London. I pledge my word, as a
man and a journalist, that every written word is true. I will add nothing,
nor detract from, nor set down aught in malice. If my statements are proven
false, then let me be scourged with the tongue and pen of scorn from every
decent Briton's home and hearth for ever after, for he who lies about his
country at such an hour as this is of all traitors the vilest. I will deal
now particularly with the men who are acting under the command of
Lieutenant-General Sir Leslie Rundle. This good soldier and courteous
gentleman has to hold a frontage line from Winburg, _via_ Senekal,
almost to the borders of Basutoland. His whole front, extending nearly a
hundred miles, is constantly threatened by an active, dashing, determined
enemy, an enemy who knows the country far better than an English
fox-hunting squire knows the ground he hunts over season after season. To
hold this vast line intact General Rundle has to march from point to point
as his