And so the moons waxed and waned, and Mafeking patiently waited, and, luckily, had every confidence in the resource and ability of Colonel Baden-Powell. An old cannon had been discovered, half buried in the native stadt, which was polished up and named "The Lord Nelson," from the fact of its antiquity. For this gun solid cannon-balls were manufactured, and finally fired off at the nearest Boer trenches; and the first of these to go bounding along the ground certainly surprised and startled our foes, which was proved by their quickly moving a part of their laager. In addition a rough gun, called "The Wolf," was actually constructed in Mafeking, which fired an 18-pound shell 4,000 yards. To this feat our men were incited by hearing of the magnificent weapon which had been cast by the talented workmen of Kimberley in the De Beers workshops. In spite of there being nothing but the roughest materials to work with, shells were also made, and some Boer projectiles which arrived in the town without exploding were collected, melted down, and hurled once more at our enemy. Truly, there is no such schoolmaster as necessity.
On Sundays we continued to put away from us the cares and worries of the week, and the Church services of the various denominations were crowded, after an hour devoted to very necessary shopping. During the whole siege the Sunday afternoon sports on the parade-ground were a most popular institution; when it was wet, amusing concerts were given instead at the Masonic Hall. On these occasions Colonel Baden-Powell was the leading spirit, as well as one of the principal artistes, anon appearing in an impromptu sketch as "Signor Paderewski," or, again, as a coster, and holding the hall entranced or convulsed with laughter. He was able to assume very various rôles with "Fregoli-like" rapidity; for one evening, soon after the audience had dispersed, suddenly there was an alarm of a night attack. Firing commenced all round the town, which was a most unusual occurrence for a Sunday night. In an instant the man who had been masquerading as a buffoon was again the commanding officer, stern and alert. The tramp of many feet was heard in the streets, which proved to be the reserve squadron of the Protectorate Regiment, summoned in haste to headquarters. A Maxim arrived, as by magic, from somewhere else, the town guard were ordered to their places, and an A.D.C. was sent to the hall, where a little dance for the poor overworked hospital nurses was in full swing, abruptly to break up this pleasant gathering. It only remained for our defenders to wish the Boers would come on, instead of which the attack ended in smoke, after two hours' furious volleying, and by midnight all was quiet again.
During the latter part of this tedious time Colonel Plumer and his gallant men were but thirty miles away, having encompassed a vast stretch of dreary desert from distant Bulawayo. This force had been "under the stars" since the previous August, and had braved hardships of heat, fever districts, and flooded rivers, added to many a brush with the enemy. These trusty friends were only too anxious to come to our assistance, but a river rolled between—a river composed of deep fortified trenches, of modern artillery, and of first-rate marksmen with many Mausers. One day Colonel Plumer sent in an intrepid scout to consult with Colonel Baden-Powell. This gentleman had a supreme contempt for bullets, and certainly did not know the meaning of the word "fear," but the bursting shells produced a disagreeable impression on him. "Does it always go on like that?" he asked, when he heard the vicious hammer of the enemy's Maxim. "Yes," somebody gloomily answered, "it always goes on like that, till at length we pretend to like it, and that we should feel dull if it were silent."
Although the soldiers in Mafeking were disposed to grumble at the small part they seemed to be playing in the great tussle in which England was engaged, the authorities were satisfied that for so small a town to have kept occupied during the first critical month of the war 10,000—and at later stages never less than 2,000—Boers, was in itself no small achievement. We women always had lots to do. When the hospital work was slack there were many Union Jacks to be made—a most intricate and tiresome occupation—and these were distributed among the various forts. We even had a competition in trimming hats, and a prize was given to the best specimen as selected by a competent committee. In the evenings we never failed to receive the Mafeking evening paper, and were able to puzzle our heads over its excellent acrostics, besides frequently indulging in a pleasant game of cards.
In the meantime food was certainly becoming very short, and on April 3 I cabled to my sister in London as follows: "Breakfast to-day, horse sausages; lunch, minced mule, curried locusts. All well." Occasionally I used to be allowed a tiny white roll for breakfast, but it had to last for dinner too. Mr. Weil bought the last remaining turkey for £5, with the intention of giving a feast on Her Majesty's birthday, and the precious bird had to be kept under a Chubb's lock and key till it was killed. No dogs or cats were safe, as the Basutos stole them all for food. But all the while we were well aware our situation might have been far worse. The rains were over, the climate was glorious, fever was fast diminishing, and, in spite of experiencing extreme boredom, we knew that the end of the long lane was surely coming.
CHAPTER XIII
ELOFF'S DETERMINED ATTACK ON MAFEKING, AND THE RELIEF OF THE TOWN—THE MAFEKING FUND
"War, war is still the cry—war even to the knife!"—BYRON.