had seen squadrons
of our cavalry and even Staff officers galloping on the further limits
of the Great Plain. But beyond the wish, there is no need to believe
what they said.

In the morning Steevens, of the _Daily Mail_, was so much worse that we
sent off a warning message to Mrs. Steevens by heliograph. At least I
climbed to all the new signal stations in turn, trying to get it sent,
but found the instruments full up with official despatches. Major
Donegan (R.A.M.C.) was called in to consult with Major Davis, of the
Imperial Light Horse, who has treated the case with the utmost patience
and skill. Strychnine was injected, and about noon we recovered hope. A
galloper was sent to stop the message, and succeeded. Steevens became
conscious for a time, and Maud, of the _Graphic_, explained to him that
now it was a fight for life. "All right," he answered, "let's have a
drink, then." Some champagne was given him, and he seemed better. When
warned against talking, he said, "Well, you are in command. I'll do what
you like. We are going to pull through." Maud then went to sleep at
last, and between four and five Steevens passed quietly from sleep into
death.

Everything that could possibly be done for him had been done. For five
weeks Maud had nursed him with a devotion that no woman could surpass.
Two days ago we thought him almost well. He talked of what it would be
best to do when the siege was raised, so as to complete his recovery.
And now he is dead. He was only thirty. What is to most distinguished
men the best part of life was still before him. In eight working years
he had already made a name known to all the Army and to thousands
beyond its limits. Beyond question he had the touch of genius. The
individuality of his power perhaps lay in a clear perception transfused
with an imaginative wit that never failed him. The promise of that
genius was not fulfilled, but it was felt in all he said and wrote. And
beyond this power of mind he possessed the attractiveness of courtesy
and straightforward dealing. No one ever knew him descend to the tricks
and dodges of the trade. There was not a touch of "smartness" in his
disposition. On the field he was too reckless of his life. I saw him
often during the fighting at Elands Laagte, Tinta Inyoni, and Lombard's
Kop. He was usually walking about close to the firing line, leading his
grey horse, a conspicuous mark for every bullet. Veteran officers used
to marvel that he was not h