TWO HUNDRED DAYS OF SIEGE
MAFEKING, _April 15th, 1900_.
There is now happily no longer any doubt of the truth of the native
reports of important successes having befallen our arms in the
vicinity of Kimberley. We hear with infinite rejoicing that Kimberley
has pulled through, and is no longer invested by the enemy, and almost
so soon as these tidings reached us, natives brought in the
unconfirmed news of the capture of Cronje. This has since been
officially published, and the garrison here is beginning to feel at
last that their turn is about to come! We have waited long for this
moment, passing many black hours in the interval, but even now it
seems that the power of England may be successfully defied by these
federated South African Republicans. Yet we hope and, in the changing
of the fortunes which we anticipate, we express and share in the
felicitous congratulations which the Empire is offering to Lord
Roberts. The shrewdness and tactical genius of this gallant veteran
has been a source from which the entire garrison has drawn an
inspiring hope which encouraged one and all to resist to the uttermost
the attacks of the Boers.
We have already been besieged six months, and although the internal
situation does not appreciably differ from that which existed on the
first day of the siege, the signs of the times betoken the gravity of
our condition. During recent days there have been two separate
indications of the straits to which the siege has reduced us. Colonel
Plumer endeavoured to pass into Mafeking a mob of cattle; the Almighty
sent a flight of locusts in such numbers that for many miles the veldt
was brown beneath the thousands which alighted upon it. Now the locust
is an article of diet, though it has not yet attained the dignity of
the position enjoyed by the nimble prawn. At present the locust is
compared only to a tasteless prawn, but it may be that when the siege
of Mafeking be raised and the world knows that no small portion of the
garrison were reduced to locusts without wild honey, this somewhat
unconvincing appetiser may be relegated to the office of a _hors
d'oeuvre_. Dame Fashion is responsible for so much that she might well
introduce to the social world such a toothsome delicacy. To catch your
locust is almost as difficult as to eat it, but it may be done by
turning out at night and throwing a blanket over any patch whose
numbers suggest the possibility of a profitable return. This, of
course, is not the native mode: the native, being as nimble as the
locust, goes for them on the rush, and sweeps them into heaps before
they have quite recovered from the shock of the surprise. By this
method you certainly secure your locust, by the other you generally
catch a cold, for the process of catching an individual locust is
somewhat laborious. However, it may be done, more especially where
there is the tedium of a siege to while away. Having caught your
locust, you then immerse him in boiling water, a treatment which at
once subdues him. You then proceed to sun-dry him and pluck away his
wings and head. The locust is then ready for the table, when, after
eating him, you discover that he has all the aroma and subtlety of
chewed string. For all the world one might as well munch string, but
since the possibilities of imparting to him an especial flavour be so
numerous and so eminently calculated to test the qualities of the
_chef_, he should again be commended to the notice of society in so
much that it is possible to create an altogether original locust.
There is, of course, another way of eating locusts, and that is to eat
them alive. This practice, however, is not held in any very great
esteem, since the native who cannot afford to wait to cook his locust
is _declasse_, even if he be starving. Personally, I rather like
locusts if they be fried, more especially if they be curried, for just
now the great thing is to eat, and, having digested what has been laid
before you, discreetly to ignore any question which might verify the
truth of your suspicions: therefore in eating curried locusts, you
thank Heaven for the curry, and pass on quickly to the next course. To
eat just now upon this basis is to enjoy consolation, which, in
relation to our food, is our sole form of enjoyment, since when you
know that you are eating horse and you imagine that you are eating
beef, your imagination is necessarily so strong and so triumphant that
the toughness of the horse becomes the tenderness of beef. Moreover,
everything is only a question of comparison, and as a consequence the
toughness of horse-beef and the tenderness of ox-beef necessitates
merely an exchange of terms which imply similar standards of
perfection.
The pleasures of the table, however, are as nothing compared to the
delights of the bombardment by which the Boers assail the town almost
daily. We have had more time these days to recognise the precise value
of the enemy's shell fire and its wide area of demolition--more time
because the Boers have withdrawn "Big Ben," and we no longer fear to
walk freely in the streets, nor are we kept constantly upon the alert
listening to the clanging of the alarm. The guns remaining do not
appear to be able to reach the town from their distant emplacements.
They are an array of minor ordnance, uninteresting to us, since their
attentions would seem to be directed upon the outposts and the
outlying forts. "Big Ben," however, was no respecter of places, but
gaily hurled defiance at us from a variety of points, maintaining with
wonderful regularity an almost daily bombardment.
We who are anxious for his welfare, now spend many dreary hours upon
the housetops, for, if we show appreciation of his presence by taking
refuge in the cellars, we ascend to the highest points of our houses
in order to make sure that he is gone. The sense of gratitude which
inspires us to do these things is unrestricted, and were it not that
there were smaller guns around us, we might have waved a parting
salutation from a more adjacent point; but under the circumstances we
are content, and although we feel sorry that he has left us, we shall
more infinitely deplore his presence when he returns. It is almost
pleasant in Mafeking just now, and if it were not for the scarcity of
food, the coldness of the weather, the never-ending rains, the fever
which exists (and of which we are all frightened), the entire absence
of wood with which to make fires, and the appalling monotony of the
days, the dreariness of the situation and the dulness of the people,
we might be happy, possibly inclined to exchange our lot for that of
anyone else who was not in Mafeking; but as it is, we are really
rather anxious to get out and to see the siege raised. Our nerves are
altogether raw, our tempers soured, our digestions failing. We were
young men six months ago, impressed with the importance of our
situation, invigorated with a determination to stick it out; but we
have aged considerably since then, and we would willingly send the
siege to the devil if we, by way of exchange, were permitted to
indulge in the comparative comfort of another form of purgatory. It
has become quite the accepted fashion to draw a simile between
Mafeking and hell, and to give the early Christian fathers full credit
for their powers; they were nevertheless quite incapable of imagining
a punishment so deliberate as the mental and physical torture of a
siege. To use a colonial colloquialism, "we went in blind," but one
experience is sufficient to guarantee that every member of the
garrison just now would put a thousand miles between him and the next
beleaguered town. In the situation itself there is nothing to write
about, it so constantly repeats itself until the absolute monotony of
the days settles down upon the nerves, depressing one's spirit like a
wet blanket. The Boers still fire at us, and we still sit tight,
nursing our hopes by a sublime confidence in the relief column. If we
be sceptical at times, we endeavour not to take our scepticism too
seriously, and we talk airily about the date by which the van will
have arrived here. But in reality there are but few people who believe
in the practical existence of any relief column.