pation had been hitherto in receipt of
twenty shillings for every animal captured; and they not unnaturally
resented the curtailment of their commission. They declined to
jeopardise their lives on half pay, and went out on strike. From that
day onward the cow-catching industry languished; and though some of us
held that the Colonel personally was in matters monetary above
suspicion, like Caesar's wife, we did not forget that he was also an
Absolute Monarch, like Caeesar himself.

It was reported in the afternoon that news of Magersfontein had been
gleaned at last, but that owing to the presence of spies in our midst
efforts were being made to keep it secret. We gathered, however, that
the Highland Brigade had been sufferers in a sanguinary struggle. That
was all--except the usual accompaniment--the essential corollary to
every recorded battle--that the Boer losses had been numerically
frightful. Definite official reports were not forthcoming; nor
confirmation of rumour. But we were satisfied that Methuen had been
checked; we were constrained to confess, we consented to believe that he
had at least been checked.

Next day we were more fully convinced; the terrible truth was revealed
at last. All our sympathies went out to the brave men who had tried to
fell the barrier that blocked the way to Kimberley. Their failure was a
blow to our hopes; but personal considerations were for the moment
taboo. And, curiously enough, although the world was ringing with
criticism of Methuen we in Kimberley blamed nobody. Even the "Military
Critic" was dumb. Lord Methuen rose in our estimation to the level of a
hero, who had driven the enemy before him from Orange River, to fail
only in the last lap. Even now, perhaps, the people of Kimberley,
looking back at the events of the past, would be reluctant to join in
the criticism his name evokes. The facts, of course, speak for
themselves; and it did seem strange to see soldiers like Buller and
Warren being arraigned, and Gatacre getting recalled, while others
passed through the fire officially unscathed. Speaking of Gatacre,
we--having just been made acquainted with the Stormberg affair--were
saying nasty things of him. Monday was altogether a miserable day, with
the outlook far less bright than our fancy had painted it.

On Tuesday the muffled booming of the British guns at Modder River was
heard again. It was hard to credit the evidence of our senses, that
Methuen had retreated. Still,