It was the last Sunday of the Siege!  But no advance ray of light that was to come illumined our mental horizon.  We expected nothing; chimeras had ceased to satisfy, and were not the less sternly because tacitly taboo.  It was sought indeed to placate us with talk about “imminent developments.”  They told us that a meeting of leading citizens had been held under the presidency of Mr. Rhodes; that the naked truth of things had been telegraphed to the Commander-in-chief; that the Commander-in-chief had on receipt of the message sent a flying Column to relieve us.  All this was circulated to soothe; but it failed abjectly in its purpose.  We were not to be fooled “the whole of the time,” by cant about flying Columns—­whose wings, like those of Icarus, were only too likely to get detached in the heat of the Karoo.  Such was the temper, the inflexible pessimism of the people; the much-talked of change that was to come over the scene was voted a delusion and a fraud.

Business was of course entirely suspended; and further projects to ensure immunity from danger for the women and children were being discussed.  It was confidently expected that the bombardment would be resumed with surpassing fury at midnight.  An underground dwelling had been constructed at the railway station, and under the bridge great walls of sandbags had been erected for the protection of pedestrians.  In all parts of the town gangs of men were excavating the debris heaps and converting them into habitations in which thousands, irrespective of colour, social status, or nationality, were henceforth to commingle and waive all distinctions of class.  To the redoubts, where wonderful contrivances in the way of chambers had been fitted up, some men brought their families.  Shelters and “dug-outs” sprang into being everywhere; and the troubles of the inner man, in reality more poignant than ever before, were relegated for the moment to the limbo of forgotten tribulations.  Reliance on relieving expeditions was considered foolish; all our thoughts and energies were centred in a desire to stay the slaughter of the innocents, and thus in a manner to spike the enemy’s guns.

A wild craving to spike them in a more concrete fashion pervaded the minds of hundreds.  The cavil against the Colonel abated not a jot; the epithets hurled at his devoted head were as picturesque as of yore.  But side by side with this domestic hostility there had developed a deeper, less noisy feeling of resentment against the dear Boers themselves.  Volunteers in plenty were ready for any deed of daring that would enable them to give back blow for blow.  Not the least enthusiastic in this regard were the Regular soldiers; they wanted to destroy or capture the gun at Kamfers Dam, recking not the wildness, the impracticability of the enterprise, but eager for a try—­to be heroes in the strife.  Colonel Kekewich was waited on for his sanction; but he argued that the expedition would entail certain destruction for half