Another night assault had been considered probable, but there was no firing until Tuesday morning when the bombardment was briskly resumed. Throughout the day the attack was well sustained, despite the strategy of our "snipers." Shells crashed in close proximity to vacated houses; half a dozen were broken into; and the Sanatorium, where a strong impenetrable fort had been constructed, was well attended to. But there was really a better chance of finding Rhodes in the open, for he peregrinated here, there and everywhere, too much of a fatalist, or too fond of fresh air to be intimidated by what was flying in it. It was rumoured that the heel had been knocked off one of his boots; and fabulous sums were forthwith offered in the souvenir market for the heel. The story had no foundation in fact—though not for lack of likely heels; they were as numerous as the pieces of shell that had killed George Labram. The multiplicity of these fatal fragments was one of the marvels of the Siege. A single piece had struck Mr. Labram, but the commercial legend pointed to a score!
The shells continued to tear up the streets until mid-day; after which all was peace for some hours. The information reached the ears of the ladies in the mines; and the inevitable consequence was an exodus of the bolder spirits therefrom, to get a glimpse of the sky; for (as the poet says):—
... the sky we look up to, though glorious and fair,
Is looked up to the more because Heaven lies there;
and had a superlative fascination for people doomed to deplore their nearness to "another place." The ladies granted interviews with almost disconcerting alacrity; their narratives of life down below, its joys and drawbacks, its good intentions, its climatic conditions and difficulties, were glowing and diversified. Some were happy and cheerful, while others, fastidious and accustomed to feathers, would never be happy until they were—dead! The chorused howling of so many young ladies and gentlemen, ranging in ages from a fortnight to three or four (years, not fortnights) kept reasoning people awake o' nights, it was protested; and other inconveniences like the water—tributaries of the Styx—in the mines made the atmosphere, and the blankets sometimes, rather humid. These little discomforts, however, were felt only on one or two floors; and the fair sex in the main were grateful for the efforts made to make things cosy for everybody. Sanitation was of course the paramount difficulty; but altogether to their eternal credit must redound the indomitable energy and labours of the floor managers, the mine employees generally, and even the directors, in their new sphere of caterers for half the population. It was a heavy task, all things considered, but it was done. Through the long, sweltering day the men wrought and perspired. Many a missile hissed near them; many a risk they ran; but they went on doing their duty with unflinching devotion. What was chivalrous in their nature was stirred, and the good, latent in most men, shone out brilliantly in all. The ladies acknowledged it freely. Unexpected little dainties—sent down in the "Lift"—were supplied them to strengthen their toleration of a home in a warm corner. Baskets, with the "compliments" of Mr. Rhodes, bunches of grapes, more precious (and softer, too) than the encrusted gems around, were relished down in the mines and worth going still deeper for.
The horrisonous whiz of the ostrich eggs from Kamfers Dam was heard again, and back to the "Lift" flew the ladies. Not a few preferred to wait until 'night was again descending' to descend along with it. One or two sturdy amazons refused point blank to be terrorised into descending at all; they expressed a preference for surface risks. This attitude was not by any means unintelligible. The babel down below was incessantly audible; as was the subdued roar of machinery; the heated competition entailed in the pegging out of claims; the high words excited by the petty larceny of pilferers who borrowed utensils to break, or keep as souvenirs. Yet no wayward fragment of shell contributed its quota to the perpetual din of gem-land. Better still, no exterior sound could be heard; no boom, no faint intonation of the shocks that blighted the earth's surface ever ruffled its centre. It was the solitary advantage the centre (as a residence) had over the surface; but it was a substantial advantage, though rather testily appreciated.
The town was as hushed as a cemetery; and it was not easy to gather knowledge of the damage done, or of its extent. The hospital was the recipient of a grant-in-aid, which a gentleman resident in its vicinity participated in—his face getting chopped by some startled pebbles. One young lady who had left the mine, who could better hear the shells above than the confusion of tongues below, was penalised with a gash— happily slight. A little boy was wounded in the leg. A number of empty houses were battered; and the headgear of the "Kimberley Mine" was hit by a passing missile, which occasioned not a little consternation among the families who, finding no room at the bottom, were quartered at the top of the shaft. The Opera House was again struck; and at the Presbyterian Church a dextrous effort was made to discover the "lost chord," which resulted in the organ's being for ever incapacitated to shed the soul of any music whatsoever. The caves dug out of the debris heaps were all inhabited; the teething community never let us forget it. A number of the mine emigrants had returned to their native land and joined their friends in the debris heaps. The protection of the debris heaps was not quite so good as that afforded by the mines, and the music of the cannon the troglodytes had always with them. But there was more liberty and comfort in the caves, which were dry as dust and—no slang intended—not too dusty.
Signs and portents of the approaching revolution were not wanting. Rumours transcended in sensationalism all past products of inventive fertility; but though men of weight were beginning to respect the fama the populace hi the mass were too "ware" to fondle her. With the women hi the mines it was different; their newly-acquired appreciation of "Home, sweet home" had induced symptoms of their primeval predisposition to believe all they heard—and they heard all sorts of loving lies. The enemy, it was noticed, evinced signs of uneasiness at last; he cast furtive looks behind him, as if some danger lurked unseen. The traditional stoicism of the Boer was perturbed, and an air of violent agitation was conspicuous in the portion of the cordon nearest to Modder River. The "star" shining down on the Free State suggested an undesirable destiny; it was filled with reconnoitring Britons. For ourselves, we noted the point from which the balloon had ascended, and the obvious confusion in the Boer ranks, with curiosity; and though we still resolutely adhered to belief in the folly of expecting relief, instinct whispered nil desperandum. From out the camp at Alexandersfontein the enemy appeared to be clearing—all of which phenomena were the more mysterious because of the silence that prevailed.
The next day to dawn was Saint Valentine's (Wednesday). The valentines were delivered by an early post, but the intended recipients had happily changed their addresses and were not at home to be caricatured. The Sanatorium received a batch of compliments—as a kind of satire on its pretensions to salubrity—one of which played havoc with its bakehouse, and, what was still more serious, a batch of bread in process of baking. The City Fathers, as per immemorial custom, were not forgotten. One of them had his house and furniture damaged; another missile struck Mr. Bennie's dwelling; while, at Beaconsfield, the beauty of Councillor Blackbeard's verandah was marred, as also nearly were the persons of half a dozen workmen close by. A few shells shot appallingly close to the bugler perched on the summit of the headgear. The "sniping" still went on, but the Boers at Kamfers Dam appeared to be little affected thereby, or by the signs of alarm betrayed by their fellow-besiegers at other camps. There was, alas! to be yet one more fatality ere emancipation was to burst upon us like a thunderbolt. In the afternoon, while making his ablutions at a tap outside his bakehouse door, an unfortunate baker was struck down and killed.
Meanwhile proceedings pregnant with meaning were taking place at Alexandersfontein. The evacuation of the position was going on apace, and was being watched with bated breath by the Beaconsfield Town Guard. The numbers of the enemy ensconced at Alexandersfontein had diminished so materially that Major Rodger with a picked force of one hundred men ventured to try conclusions with the residue. A sharp, decisive fight ensued; the few Boers left to defend the place were so startled that they soon fled, leaving bag and baggage behind them. A few on the Boer side were killed (or wounded) and half a dozen were taken prisoners. Of the Major's men, two were injured. Despatches found in the pocket of a prisoner went to show that Alexandersfontein had been used partially as a women's laager; and I regret to have to record that a woman and a young child were severely wounded in the battle.