CHAPTER II

THE STATE OF THE GAME


Cape Town: November 1, 1899.

The long-drawn voyage came to an end at last. On the afternoon of
October 30 we sighted land, and looking westward I perceived what looked
like a dark wave of water breaking the smooth rim of the horizon. A
short time developed the wave into the rocks and slopes of Robben
Island--a barren spot inhabited by lepers, poisonous serpents, and dogs
undergoing quarantine. Then with the darkness we entered Table Bay, and,
steaming slowly, reached the anchorage at ten o'clock. Another hour of
waiting followed until the tugboat obeyed the signal; but at last she
ran alongside, and there stepped on board a Man Who Knew. Others with
despatches pushed roughly through the crowd of soldiers, officers,
passengers, and war correspondents to the General's cabin. We caught the
Man Who Knew, however, and, setting him half way up the ladder to the
hurricane deck, required him forthwith to tell us of the war. Doubtless
you have been well informed of all, or at any rate of much, that has
passed. The man told his story quickly, with an odd quiver of excitement
in his voice, and the audience--perhaps we were 300--listened
breathless. Then for the first time we heard of Elandslaagte, of
Glencoe, of Rietfontein, a tale of stubborn, well-fought fights with
honour for both sides, triumph for neither. 'Tell us about the
losses--who are killed and wounded?' we asked this wonderful man. I
think he was a passage agent or something like that.

So he told us--and among the group of officers gathered above him on the