the beginning. To be without news for a fortnight at any time is
annoying. To be without news for a fortnight now is a torture. And this
voyage lasts more than a fortnight! At the very outset of our
enterprise we are compelled to practise Mr. Morley's policy of patience.

We left London amid rumours of all kinds. The Metropolis was shrouded in
a fog of credulous uncertainty, broken only by the sinister gleam of the
placarded lie or the croak of the newsman. Terrible disasters
had occurred and had been contradicted; great battles were
raging--unconfirmed; and beneath all this froth the tide of war was
really flowing, and no man could shut his eyes to grave possibilities.
Then the ship sailed, and all was silence--a heaving silence. But
Madeira was scarcely four days' journey. There we should find the
answers to many questions. At Madeira, however, we learned nothing, but
nothing, though satisfactory, is very hard to understand. Why did they
declare war if they had nothing up their sleeves? Why are they wasting
time now? Such were the questions. Then we sailed again, and again
silence shut down, this time, however, on a more even keel.

Speculation arises out of ignorance. Many and various are the
predictions as to what will be the state of the game when we shall have
come to anchor in Table Bay. Forecasts range from the capture of
Pretoria by Sir George White and the confinement of President Kruger in
the deepest level beneath the Johannesburg Exchange, on the one hand, to
the surrender of Cape Town to the Boers, the proclamation of Mr.
Schreiner as King of South Africa, and a fall of two points in Rand
Mines on the other. Between these wild extremes all shades of opinion
are represented. Only one possibility is unanimously excluded--an
inconclusive peace. There are on board officers who travelled this road
eighteen years ago with Lord Roberts, and reached Cape Town only to