, though nobody was hit. But they burst; and that was
a visible fact that astounded a host of knowing people. There was a
story in circulation about a respectable refugee from Johannesburg who,
irritated by the fallacies that passed for facts in regard to Boer
armaments and resources, always made it a point to speak the truth on
the subject. He was an Englishman, quite loyal, and stimulated by a
glass of beer was one evening in his boarding house unfolding the facts
of the case. He discoursed fluently on the calibre and the accumulation
of modern instruments of warfare he had beheld in Pretoria with his own
eyes. His candour nettled his listeners, and on going outside he was
threatened by one with pains and penalties if he did not curb his tongue
and be careful. Another gentleman indulged in some vigorous criticism of
spies and traitors in the abstract; while a third produced a pocket-book
and took down the name of the frank offender, with a view to having him
arrested. They went on in this strain until quite eight or ten muscular
men had formed a cordon round the transgressor. "What did I say?" he
enquired, plaintively. "You said a lot too much," was the crushing
retort. One Ajax finally removed his coat and invited the Radical to a
fistic encounter in the garden--if he felt aggrieved. The challenge was
declined, more in sorrow than in anger, and the clamour subsided.

Contempt for the Boers, their methods of warfare, and their resources,
was so marked that facts--traitorous things--were best left unspoken.

We had been informed that the ranks of the enemy had been largely
augmented by commandoes from the north. Thus when on Saturday morning an
alarm was raised we expected a tug-of-war for sure. The Boers were
apparently massing for a concentrated attack on Wesselton, which was
situated a couple of miles from the city proper. The day was
particularly ugly; a dust storm blew with blinding fury. The portion of
the Town Guard on duty the previous night had just settled down to
slumber when they were obliged to jump out of "bed" and betake
themselves in hot haste to their posts. But the Boers were only joking;
they retired after an out-of-range demonstration of pugnacity. The
citizen soldiers went back to "bed," but ere their winks had totalled
forty they were again roused by the sacred goose-cackie of the hooters
and again running to their trenches. The scenes in the streets were
pretty similar to the pictures of the day