the effect on the stoical British mind of Baden-Powell's brisk
and witty telegrams. England at that time, let it be known, was in a
state of sullen wonderment. Every dispatch brought consternation to
our minds. Here were our troops pouring into South Africa, soldiers of
renown at their head, regiments famous throughout the world,
representing our courage and prestige, and yet check after check,
reverse after reverse--no progress, no sign of progress. In the midst
of this national gloom came telegrams full of cheery optimism from
little Mafeking--a name hardly known then to the man in the street,
now as familiar as Edinburgh and Dublin. Who, for instance, can forget
the famous message which ran: "October 21st. All well. Four hours'
bombardment. One dog killed"? In an instant the gloom was dispelled.
In 'bus and tram and railway carriage men chuckled over the exquisite
humour of that telegram. Leader writers, unbending, referred to it
decorously. The funny men on newspaper staffs made jests about it,
and the "Oldest Evening Paper" enshrined it in verse:--

Four long, long hours they pounded hard,
Whizz! went the screaming shell--
Of reeking tube and iron shard
There was an awful smell.

On us they wasted all their lead,
On us who stood at bay,
And with our guns (forgive it, Stead!)
Popped quietly away.

They could not make the city burn,
However hard they tried.
Not one of us is dead, but learn
A dog it was that died.

The reaction was extraordinary. The almost unknown Colonel
Baden-Powell instantly became "B.-P." to the general public, and in
the twinkling of an eye his photograph appeared in the shop-windows
beside those of Sir Redvers Buller, Sir George White, and Lord
Methuen. Everybody was cracking jokes about the war, and the Boers
seemed to be already under the heel of the conqueror. When men opened
their newspapers in the railway carriage it was with the remark,
"How's old B.-P. getting along?" The doings of other soldiers in more
important positions lost much of their interest, and the public mind
became riveted on Mafeking. Here was a light-hearted cavalry-officer
locked up in a little frontier town with seven hundred Irregular
cavalry, a few score volunteers, six machine-guns and two 7-pounders;
against whom was pitted the redoubtable Cronje with one 10-pounder,
five 7-pounders, two Krupp 12-pounders, and one Krupp 94-pounder, and
probably an