To this they agreed, so I indited the following letter,
couched in terms which the secretary might peruse:
"_December 2, 1899._
"MY DEAR GORDON,
"I am at the laager. General Snyman will not give me a pass
unless Colonel Baden-Powell will exchange me for a Mr. Petrus
Viljoen. I am sure this is impossible, so I do not ask him
formally. I am in a great fix, as they have very little meal
left at Setlagoli or the surrounding places. I am very kindly
looked after here."
I then went to sleep in my strange surroundings, with small hope of any
success from my application to Mafeking. The next day, Sunday, was
observed by both parties as a day of rest. About seven one of the nurses
brought me a cup of coffee, and then I proceeded to dress as best I
might. So clearly did that horrid little room imprint itself on my
memory that I seem to see it as I write. The dusty bare boards, cracked
and loose in places, had no pretence to any acquaintance with a
scrubbing-brush, and very little with a broom. A rickety old chest of
drawers stood in one corner, presumably filled with hospital
necessaries, from the very strong smell of drugs emanating from it, and
from the fact that the nurses would bustle in and rummage for some
desired article, giving glimpses of the confusion inside.
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