army of something like 6000 wily Boers. And yet the
Goal-Keeper, 870 miles from English Cape Town and only 150 miles from
Boer Pretoria, was as light-hearted and optimistic as a general
leading an overwhelming army against a baffled and disorganised foe.
Englishmen were quick to recognise the virtue of the man who solemnly
sent the death of a dog to be recorded in the archives of the War
Office; quick to appreciate the peril of his position; and I do not
think I am screwing my string too tight when I say that the safety of
Baden-Powell from that moment became a personal matter to thousands of
Englishmen all the world over. Miss Baden-Powell at this time was
travelling in Scotland, and at some out-of-the-way station she and her
boxes detrained. The station-master passing along the platform
noticed the name of Baden-Powell on the trunks, and instantly rushed
towards her, with beaming face and extended hand,--"Gie me the honour,
ma'am," he cried, "o' shakin' your hand." And from this time gifts and
letters poured in ceaselessly upon Mrs. Baden-Powell in London,
letters from all classes of the nation, costly gifts, humble
gifts--all testifying to the giver's love and admiration of her
gallant son in Mafeking. One of these presents took the form of a
large portrait of B.-P. worked in coloured silks, another a little
modest book-marker. And in the streets gutter-merchants were doing a
roaring trade in brooches and badges with B.-P.'s face smiling on the
enamel as contentedly as if immortalised on a La Creevy miniature.
Finally, to complete this apotheosis, Madame Tussaud announced on
flaming placards that Baden-Powell had been added to the number of her
Immortals.

This, then, was the sudden fate of the man who had returned to England
from wandering alone within a stone's throw of the Matabele bivouac
fires unknown and unhonoured by the public. I wonder if Baden-Powell
had a presentiment of what was to be when, in the early days of the
siege, he corrected the proofs of _Aids to Scouting_, and came upon
his own words towards the end of that manual: "Remember always that
you are helping your _side_ to win, and not merely getting glory for
yourself or your regiment--that will come of itself."

The wit of Baden-Powell in some measure obscured from the popular view
the grimness of his task. Like the true Briton that he is, he
considered it part of his duty to make light of his difficulties. But
the holding of Mafeking was stern