“Here, Winburg.”

“Here, Bethlehem.  Are you Winburg?”

“Yes.”

“Then give the name of the officer commanding.”

There was no time for hesitation, and in our haste we gave the wrong name.

“Go away,” came the answer; “you’re a way out.  Trying to fool us, are you?”

After a while we called him up again.

“Bethlehem!  Bethlehem!”

“Here, Lieutenant Sherrard, R.E.  What’s up?”

“Here, Winburg.  What’s the news?”

“That you are a lot of fools for keeping on fighting and murdering your men!” came the sharp reply.

“Oh, kindly allow us to know our own business best.  You’ll find some method in our folly.”

“Maybe.  How did you like the little bits o’ lyddite yesterday?”

“I believe it slightly killed one mule.  How did you like the hell fire from the Nordenfeldt?”

“Never saw it.  But honestly, why don’t you come in and surrender?”

“But honestly, what is your real opinion of those who desert their country in her hour of need?” He preferred not to say, but disconnected the wire, and we heard no more of our friend the Royal Engineer.

“Pity they were too sharp for us this time,” I said to the Postmaster.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” he replied, “we caught up their report of the engagement just after they entered the town.  It seems they had a pretty severe loss.  Ours was slight, but one lyddite shell burst over a group of horses and killed twenty.”

“And what is the situation now?”

“Well, all our forces are here in the mountains now, and we can hold out for years.  There are only two passes; they are strongly held, and the enemy will never get through them.  We tried to get our prisoners to take parole, but they refused, so we have driven them over the Drakensberg into Natal.  Last, but not least, the traitor Vilonel is here, waiting for his appeal to be heard.”

This Vilonel, a young man of prepossessing appearance, had been one of the most promising officers, and had early been promoted to commandant.  Whether through overweening ambition on his part or not I cannot say, but Vilonel, accused of insubordination, was thenceforth given the distasteful and inglorious task of commandeering.  He wearied of this, and applied for active service, but in vain.  Then, smarting under a sense of injustice, he took the fatal step—­deserted.  Not content with this, he wrote a letter out of the British camp to one of our field-cornets, urging upon the latter to surrender.  The letter fell into the hands of one of our Intelligence officers, who forthwith replied in the field-cornet’s name, asking Vilonel to meet him at a certain secluded spot.  Vilonel kept the appointment, accompanied by a British major, and both were made prisoners, the major protesting energetically against what he was pleased to consider as a breach of the rules of warfare, but his captors begged to differ, reminding him that all’s fair in love and war, especially in dealing with traitors and their associates.