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 smooth rim of the horizon.  A short time developed the wave into the rocks and slopes of Robben Island—­a barren spot inhabited by lepers, poisonous serpents, and dogs undergoing quarantine.  Then with the darkness we entered Table Bay, and, steaming slowly, reached the anchorage at ten o’clock.  Another hour of waiting followed until the tugboat obeyed the signal; but at last she ran alongside, and there stepped on board a Man Who Knew.  Others with despatches pushed roughly through the crowd of soldiers, officers, passengers, and war correspondents to the General’s cabin.  We caught the Man Who Knew, however, and, setting him half way up the ladder to the hurricane deck, required him forthwith to tell us of the war.  Doubtless you have been well informed of all, or at any rate of much, that has passed.  The man told his story quickly, with an odd quiver of excitement in his voice, and the audience—­perhaps we were 300—­listened breathless.  Then for the first time we heard of Elandslaagte, of Glencoe, of Rietfontein, a tale of stubborn, well-fought fights with honour for both sides, triumph for neither.  ’Tell us about the losses—­who are killed and wounded?’ we asked this wonderful man.  I think he was a passage agent or something like that.

So he told us—­and among the group of officers gathered above him on the hurricane deck I saw now one, now another, turn away, and hurry out of the throng.  A gentleman I had met on the voyage—­Captain Weldonasked questions.  ‘Do you know any names of killed in the Leicesters?’ The man reflected.  He could not be sure:  he thought there was an officer named Weldon killed—­oh, yes! he remembered there were two Weldons—­one killed, one wounded, but he did not know which was in the Leicesters.  ‘Tell us about Mafeking,’ said someone else.  Then we heard about Mafeking—­the armoured trains, the bombardment, the sorties, the dynamite wagons—­all, in fact, that is yet known of what may become an historic defence.  ‘And how many Boers are killed?’ cried a private soldier from the back.  The man hesitated, but the desire to please was strong within him.  ‘More than two thousand,’ he said, and a fierce shout of joy answered him.  The crowd of brown uniforms under the electric clusters broke up into loud-voiced groups; some hastened to search for newspapers, some to repeat what they had heard to others; only a few leaned against the bulwarks and looked long and silently towards the land, where the lights of Cape Town, its streets, its quays, and its houses gleamed from the night like diamonds on black velvet.