The Commandant was a Mr. Wessels--and a very courteous gentleman his
note proclaimed him. After some conventional preliminaries, he commenced
by suggesting how natural it would be if the Dutch families living in
Kimberley desired to betake themselves to more congenial surroundings.
The Colonel thought it would be natural. Mr. Wessels would take it as a
favour if said families were permitted to trek. Mr. Kekewich would
gladly grant the favour; but the people concerned could not take a
natural view of the matter at all; they decided to remain where they
were. Mr. Wessels next graciously proposed that _all_ women and
children, irrespective of race, should be expatriated. The Colonel was
still anxious to oblige, but the women, unfortunately, were not. They
scouted the proposition. Its impertinence had attractions, but they
declined to leave. It was _too_ ridiculous; living in a desert as they
were, with railway communication cut off on every side. They never heard
the like! The surrender of the entire city was the final little favour
solicited by the Commandant; and lower down it was hinted that the
bombardment of Kimberley would be the painful alternative to a refusal.
Here all courtesy was brushed aside, and Wessels was challenged to "take
it--if he could."

In the evening a "special" was published which contained a few vague
assurances of the satisfactory progress of the war in Natal; also some
items concerning Mafeking, and the philosophic pluck of Baden-Powell.
"The British troops," the special protested, "were rapidly arriving." At
the redoubts the news was enthusiastically digested to the strains of
"Rule Britannia," "Tommy Atkins," and kindred national ballads. The
troops were arriving, but had not yet reached Kimberley. The prophets
were false; the three weeks were over; but not so the siege. One, two,
aye, three weeks more of it distinctly stared us in the face.