The air at the convent
had accomplished its healing work. We were both practically recovered,
and we had had a hairbreadth escape; but I was firmly convinced that an
underground chamber is preferable to a two-storied mansion when a 6-inch
100-pound shell gun, at a distance of two miles, is bombarding the town
you happen to be residing in.
CHAPTER XII
LIFE IN A BESIEGED TOWN (_continued_)
"And so we sat tight."--_Despatch from Mafeking to War
Office._
February came and went without producing very much change in our
circumstances, and yet, somehow, there was a difference observable as
the weeks passed. People looked graver; a tired expression was to be
noted on many hitherto jovial countenances; the children were paler and
more pinched. Apart from the constant dangers of shells and stray
bullets, and the knowledge that, when we were taking leave of any friend
for a few hours, it might be the last farewell on earth--apart from
these facts, which constituted a constant wear and tear of mind, the
impossibility of making any adequate reply to our enemy's bombardment
gradually preyed on the garrison. By degrees, also, our extreme
isolation seemed to come home to us, and not a few opined that relief
would probably never come, and that Mafeking would needs have to be
sacrificed for the greater cause of England's final triumph.
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