then
gravitated towards the telegraph office. Needless to say, our colleagues
were surprised to see us, being under the impression that we had long
since reached the Transvaal. Whilst still busy giving explanations we
heard someone on the instrument calling Winburg. Now Winburg was in
British hands; it could be no other than a British station calling.
Wishing to gain a little information, we responded.

"Here, Winburg."

"Here, Bethlehem. Are you Winburg?"

"Yes."

"Then give the name of the officer commanding."

There was no time for hesitation, and in our haste we gave the wrong
name.

"Go away," came the answer; "you're a way out. Trying to fool us, are
you?"

After a while we called him up again.

"Bethlehem! Bethlehem!"

"Here, Lieutenant Sherrard, R.E. What's up?"

"Here, Winburg. What's the news?"

"That you are a lot of fools for keeping on fighting and murdering your
men!" came the sharp reply.

"Oh, kindly allow us to know our own business best. You'll find some
method in our folly."

"Maybe. How did you like the little bits o' lyddite yesterday?"

"I believe it slightly killed one mule. How did you like the hell fire
from the Nordenfeldt?"

"Never saw it. But honestly, why don't you come in and surrender?"

"But honestly, what is your real opinion of those who desert their
country in her hour of need?" He preferred not to say, but disconnected
the wire, and we heard no more of our friend the Royal Engineer.

"Pity they were too sharp for us this time," I said to the Postmaster.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," he replied, "we caught up their report of the
engagement just after they entered the town. It seems they had a pretty
severe loss. Ours was slight, but one lyddite shell burst over a group
of horses and killed twenty."

"And what is the situation now?"

"Well, all our forces are here in the mountains now, and we can hold out
for years. There are only two passes; they are strongly held, and the
enemy will never get through them. We tried to get our prisoners to take
parole, but they refused, so we have driven them over the Drakensberg
into Natal. Last, but not least, the traitor Vilonel is here, waiting
for his appeal to be heard."

This Vilonel, a young man of prepossessing appearance, had been one of
the most promising officers, and had early been promoted to commandant.
Whether through overweening ambition on his part or not I cannot say,
but Vilonel, accused of insubordination,