figure, thus unceremoniously disturbed in the occupation
of stowing away papers, clothes, and campaigning kit generally, no less
a personage than my nephew, Winston Churchill, who had experienced such
thrilling adventures during the war, the accounts of which had reached
us even in far-away Mafeking. The proprietor was equally amazed to see
me warmly greet the owner of the rooms he proposed to allot us, and,
although Winston postponed his departure for another twenty-four hours,
he gladly gave up part of his suite for our use, and everything was
satisfactorily arranged.

Good-looking figures in khaki swarmed all over the hotel, and friends
turned up every minute--bearded pards, at whom one had to look twice
before recognizing old acquaintances. No less than a hundred officers
were dining that night in the large restaurant. Between the newly
liberated prisoners and those who had taken part in the victorious march
of Lord Roberts's army one heard surprised greetings such as these:
"Hallo, old chap! where were you caught?" or a late-comer would arrive
with the remark: "There has been firing along the outposts all day. I
suppose the beggars have come back." (I was relieved to hear the
outposts were twelve miles out.) The whole scene was like an act in a
Drury Lane drama, and we strangers seemed to be the appreciative
audience. Accustomed as we were to a very limited circle, it appeared to
us as if all the inhabitants of England had been transported to
Pretoria.

Early next day we drove out to see the departure of General
Baden-Powell[36] and his Staff, who had been most warmly received by
Lord Roberts, and who, after receiving his orders, were leaving to
rejoin their men at Rustenburg. As an additional mark of favour, the
Commander-in-Chief and his retinue gave the defender of Mafeking a
special send-off, riding with him and his officers some distance out of
the town. This procession was quite an imposing sight, and was preceded
by a company of turbaned Indians. Presently, riding alongside of General
Baden-Powell, on a small, well-bred Arab, came the hero of a thousand
fights, the man who at an advanced age, and already crowned with so many
laurels, had, in spite of a crushing bereavement, stepped forward to
help his country in the hour of need. We were delighted when this man of
the moment stopped to speak to us. He certainly seemed surprised at the
apparition of two ladies, and observed that we were very daring, and the