htenburg, and Mafeking
was left with a small garrison to look after the sick and wounded. This
town, so long a theatre of excitement to itself and of interest to the
world at large, then resumed by degrees the sleepy, even tenor of its
ways, which had been so rudely disturbed eight months before.

FOOTNOTES:

[34] Later on, when I was at Zeerust, I met a telegraph clerk who had
then been in the employ of the Boers, and he told me how indignant all
were with General Snyman for deserting Eloff on that occasion. When one
of the _Veldtcornets_ went and begged his permission to collect
volunteers as reinforcements, all the General did was to scratch his
head and murmur in Dutch, "Morro is nocher dag" (To-morrow is another
day).

[35] Now Major-General Mahon.

CHAPTER XIV

ACROSS THE TRANSVAAL TO PRETORIA DURING THE WAR

"There never was a good war or a bad peace."--BENJAMIN
FRANKLIN.

On Sunday morning, June 4, we packed into a Cape cart, with four siege
horses in fair condition, and started to drive to Zeerust. It was a
glorious day of blue skies and bright sun, with just enough breeze to
prevent the noonday from being too hot. As we left Mafeking and its
outworks behind, I had a curious feeling of regret and of gratitude to
the gallant little town and its stout citizens: to the former for having
been a haven in the midst of fierce storms during all these months; to
the latter for their stout arms and their brave hearts, which had warded
off the outbursts of the same tempests, whose clouds had hung dark and
lowering on our horizon since the previous October. We also experienced
a wonderful feeling of relief and freedom at being able to drive at will
over the very roads which we had seen covered by Boer waggons,
burghers, and guns, and, needless to say, we marked with interest the
lines of their forts, so terribly near our little town. We noted the
farmhouse lately the headquarters of General Snyman, standing naked and
alone. Formerly surrounded by a flourishing orchard and a carefully
tended garden, it was now the picture of desolation. The ground was
trampled by many feet of men and horses; straw, forage, packing-cases,
and rubbish of all kinds, were strewn about, and absolutely hid the soil
from view. Away on the hill beyond I spied the tiny house and hospital
where I had spent six weary nights and days; and between these two
buildings a patch of bare ground nearly half a mile square,
inde