By Herculean efforts the four ladies and myself got the place shipshape, and all was finished when the daylight failed.

As I ran back to my quarters, the bugle-call of the "Last Post," several times repeated, sounded clear in the still atmosphere of a calm and beautiful evening, and I knew the last farewells were being said to the brave men who had gone to their long rest.

Of course Mafeking's losses on that black Boxing Day were infinitesimal compared to those attending the terrible struggles going on in other parts of the country; but, then, it must be remembered that not only was our garrison a very small one, but also that, when people are shut up together for months in a beleaguered town--a handful of English men and women surrounded by enemies, with even spies in their midst--the feeling of comradeship and friendship is tremendously strengthened.

Every individual was universally known, and therefore all the town felt they had lost their own friends, and mourned them as such.
From that date for three weeks I went daily to the convalescent home.
The short journey there was not totally without risk, as the enemy, having heard of the foundry where primitive shells were being manufactured, and which was situated immediately on the road I had to take, persistently sent their missiles in this direction, and I had some exciting walks to and fro, very often alone, but sometimes accompanied by any chance visitor.

One morning Major Tracy and I had just got across the railway-line, when we heard the loading bell, and immediately there was a _sauve qui pent_ among all the niggers round us, who had been but a moment before lolling, sleeping, and joking, in their usual fashion.
Without losing our dignity by joining in the stampede, we put our best foot forward, and scurried along the line till we came to some large coal-sheds, where my companion made me crawl under a very low arch, he mounting guard outside.