--did not
scruple to publish. The "lovely liar" was hanged, drawn, and quartered.
The "Military critic" was satirised, too; he was the lynx-eyed gentleman
who had detected the Lancers approaching Kimberley at a fast gallop two
hours after the Column had departed from Orange River. We had strained
our eyes for weeks on the strength of that man's eyesight, for 'hope
springs eternal in the human breast.'

But all these far-seeing mortals had fallen discredited from their high
estate; and it was at this pregnant turning point in our fortunes that
the need of a little originality (for their credit's sake) appeared to
strike them. They set themselves to weave a romance as weird, as
diabolical, as their perverted ingenuity could suggest. And a
masterpiece it proved to be.

They began to tell us of horseflesh, to recite legends of how under
conditions similar to ours it had been eaten, positively eaten, in the
past by human beings, who without it would have died, and who _did not_
die when they ate it! For our part, we should have elected to die
first--but I must not anticipate. Gradually and tentatively--just as a
man who saw virtue in cannibalism would hem and haw before he advocated
its practice--the subject of horseflesh was furtively discussed in
whispers, which ultimately developed into audible commentaries in regard
to its odour, taste, and general nutritiousness. A plea for cannibalism
could scarcely encounter fiercer opposition or evoke greater disgust
than did the mere suggestion of horseflesh, even as a last resort, a
possible infliction, an alternative to surrender. In no circumstances
would we tolerate it. The very name of such a diet was revolting to our
conservative tastes, and filled us with horror; it was bad form to
mention it. If the British army ever brought us to such a pass terrible
things would happen; loyalty would be a memory of the digestive past;
wholesale forswearing of allegiance to the Queen would be the patriotism
of the day. Horseflesh indeed! The dish was hounded down as something
too utterly inconsonant with the culinary decencies of civilisation.

So strong and bitter was the feeling against the horseflesh fable--for
fable, our anger notwithstanding, we insisted it was--that thinking
meat-eaters began to look upon it as a bad omen, and to wonder why a
baseless rumour should stir up so much indignation. Tales of this kind,
whether or not they tallied with probability, had come to be
pooh-poo