Still, considerable interest was taken in the performances of the old 16-pounder, which had been rigged up and christened by some “Skipping Polly,” on account of its skittish habits and its propensity to ricochet. This, though erratic in its proceedings, did good work, and struck the parapet of the enemy’s fort. On the 10th of January violent rains came down, and rendered most of the trenches in front of the town uninhabitable, and life in general almost unendurable. Never was there greater need for the inestimable virtues of pluck and patience, and if medals had been awarded for these united qualities, the inhabitants of Mafeking would all have possessed them.
The pinch of siege life now became terribly evident, for the Kaffirs were reduced to eating mules. The British feared their turn at this diet would come directly. But the garrison was still cheery, and their entrenchments were considerably improved. In these Colonel Baden-Powell took a just pride, and his activity in promoting the safety and comfort of the inhabitants was boundless. They declared that they could feed themselves for another three months, but the nature of the form of provision was not divulged. Hardships and privations were endured by the little force with really amazing pluck. Beds they had scarcely enjoyed since the commencement of the siege; baths were almost as foreign, few had had a chance to remove their clothes; and news—the stimulus of the outside world—was entirely lacking. Letters now and then were passed out, but the real truth could never be trusted to black and white.
The office of censor was undertaken by the Hon. A. H. Hanbury Tracy (Royal Horse Guards). His occupation was a hard and a thankless one, for constant vigilance had to be exercised lest reports concerning the inner state of Mafeking—reports most ardently craved by those interested at home—might fall into the hands of the enemy, and thus cramp the operations of Colonel Baden-Powell and those who helped him to present a bold and fearless front to the hovering hordes who were waiting smugly for what they believed to be the inevitable.
On the 17th General Snyman bethought himself of a new way of starving the garrison into surrender. He sent a party of natives to enjoy the hospitality of the already sparsely fed town. It had not a mule to spare for extra Kaffirs, and Colonel Baden-Powell sternly though regretfully refused admittance to the new-comers. According to Boer usage, the officer and orderly who conveyed the message, notwithstanding the fact that they carried a white flag, were fired upon by the enemy while they were returning. A dastardly trick this, and the garrison resented it.
At this time the news of the grand Ladysmith sortie was received with rejoicings, and the bellicose youngsters of the community began to rack fertile brains in hope to emulate the courage and dash of the sister garrison. On this day a shell hit the shelter occupied by Major Baillie and Mr. Stent, Reuter’s correspondent, and portions crashed through Dixon’s Hotel, but fortunately without injuring any one.
News now reached the benighted villagers that Colonel Plumer, with three armoured trains, had actually reached Gaberones, some three hundred miles north of Mafeking. The troops had some sharp tussles with the Boers, and drove them out of rifle range while the railway operatives mended the line. Where Colonel Plumer’s three trains came from was a mystery. He was known to have one, but there was no saying of what Rhodesia might not be capable in time of stress. Colonel Plumer had his work cut out for him, but he was not a man to sheer off difficult tasks, and there was intense hope that he might succeed. But there was always the Boer artillery—a terrible barrier between the relieving force and Mafeking—and in the face of this even the finest warriors, almost gunless, could scarcely be expected to advance alive.
On the 19th of January the small community celebrated the 100th day of the siege. All the corners of the square had been knocked off by the ever-active Boers, but the village maintained a suitable air of liveliness. Exhibitions were arranged, and some smart fighting showed that the right arm of the British had lost none of its cunning.
There were fat days and lean days in Mafeking. Though for the most part leanness prevailed, there was now and then to be found an oasis in the desert of the commissariat. Occasionally some successful raid made by the natives was productive of real meals—succulent beef versus old mule and husks. In the course of one daring foray the natives secured two dozen head of cattle; in another they carried off prizes of fat kine to the tune of a score. The excursions took place under cover of darkness, and, like all raids, were pursued without the consent of the Government. The natives had a process peculiarly their own in seducing the fat kine to follow them home. Devoid of clothing, and crawling snake-like over the veldt, they would approach the grazing cattle and gradually draw off such beasts as appeared goodly in their eyes, and which had been previously marked down with the acuteness of hungry instinct. Noiselessly the animals were enticed on and on till they reached the precincts of the staadt, where the raiders were anxiously looked for by their Baralong friends. These famishing individuals greeted the successful capture of the wherewithal to maintain life with shouts and dances of joy.
The garrison was soon put on a scale of still more reduced rations. These consisted of half a pound of meat and the same of bread daily. The luxuries of life—the people in England looked on them as necessaries!—tea, sugar, biscuits, jams, &c., were commandeered. In January the following housekeeper’s notes were made by the correspondent of the Times:—“Meal and flour have jumped from 27s. per bag to 50s.; potatoes, where they exist at all, are £2 per cwt.; fowls are 7s. 6d. each; and eggs 12s. per dozen. Milk and vegetables can no longer be obtained, and rice has taken the place of the latter upon the menus. These figures mark the rise in the more important food-stuffs as sold across the counter, but the hotels have, in sympathy, followed the example, they upon their part attributing it to the increase which the wholesale merchants have decreed. A peg of whisky is 1s. 6d., dop brandy 1s., gin 1s., large stout is 4s., small beer 2s. In ordinary times whisky retails at 5s. per bottle. This rate has now advanced to 18s. per bottle and 80s. per case. Dop, which is usually 1s. 4d., is now 12s. per bottle; the difference upon beer is almost 200 per cent., and inferior cigarettes are now 18s. per 100.”
On the good management of the contractors, Messrs. Weil & Co., every one depended for flesh and blood. On them rested the responsibility of issuing daily rations—bread and meat for the garrison, forage for horses, and food for natives—and very excellently they fulfilled their difficult task.