e Seaforth Highlanders. He
wrote a vivid account of the attack, but there was nothing in it about
himself.

When the investment of Ladysmith shut the door on soldiers, townspeople,
and War Correspondents alike, Steevens set to work to do his share of
keeping up the good spirits of the garrison and of relieving the
monotony of the long days. Through the first three months of the siege
no local event was awaited with more interest than the publication of a
'Ladysmith Lyre,' and the weary defenders had many a good laugh at its
witticisms.

Sun, stink, and sickness harassed the beleaguered. The bombardment was
perpetual, the relief always delayed; hope again and again deferred. But
nothing daunted Steevens, depressed his courage, or curbed his wit. What
such a man is worth in gloomy days those may appreciate who have seen
the effect of public misfortunes on a modern community.

At last he was himself stricken down by enteric fever. When it seemed
that the worst was over there came a fatal relapse, and the brightest
Intellect yet sacrificed by this war perished; nor among all the
stubborn garrison of Ladysmith was there a stouter heart or a more
enduring spirit.

Dismal scenes were to be found at the hospital camp by Intombi Spruit.
Here, in a town of white tents, under the shadow of Bulwana, were
collected upwards of two thousand sick and wounded--a fifth of the
entire garrison. They were spared the shells, but exposed to all the
privations of the siege.

Officers and men, doctors and patients, presented alike a most
melancholy and even ghastly appearance. Men had been wounded, had been
cured of their wounds, and had died simply because there was no
nourishing food to restore their strength. Others had become
convalescent from fever, but had succumbed from depression and lack of
medical comforts. Hundreds required milk and brandy, but there was only
water to give them. The weak died: at one time the death rate averaged
fifteen a day. Nearly a tenth of the whole garrison died of disease. A
forest of crosses, marking the graves of six hundred men, sprang up
behind the camp.

It was a painful thing to watch the hungry patients, so haggard and worn
that their friends could scarcely recognise them; and after a visit to
Intombi I sat and gloated for an hour at the long train of waggons
filled with all kinds of necessary comforts which crawled along the
roads, and the relief of Ladysmith seemed more than ever worth the hea