Now we will go to the western border of the Transvaal and see what has been done at Mafeking. No one ever displayed any interest in Mafeking, yet some skirmishing and letter writing was going on daily. General Snyman commanded the Boers and Baden-Powell the English. Mafeking is situated in an open flat dotted with a few small hills here and there. Baden-Powell dug holes and put his men and some women in them. They lived like prairie dogs. He had three or four years' supply of good ammunition, and there was no reason why he should not have been happy and contented. He laid big mines, but they never caught any one. He loaded cars with dynamite and tried to explode them among the Boers, but he always failed. He would make bold attacks, lose a lot of men, then run back, crawl into his hole, and write a long letter complaining of ill-treatment. So it went on from day to day until the place was relieved. Captain Eloff had the place taken once, but old Snyman failed to come up with his 300 men, so the brave Eloff was left alone and captured. Snyman had given his solemn word to Eloff that he would not fail him. [Illustration: GENERAL DE WET] Of all of the many utterly worthless generals the Boers had at the beginning of the war, I am sure that Snyman was the worst, and I am not certain that he would be a success at herding sheep. After Baden-Powell was released from Mafeking, we heard but little more about him as a fighting man. Judging by the volume of insane letters that he wrote while imprisoned, it is easy to conclude that he had at least two screws loose in his head. Many of the constabulary police we captured told us that although Baden-Powell was nominally in command, yet he never exercised any authority over them. "Every little while," they said, "he would have to go home for private treatment because there was something wrong about his head." I fully believe this, for the papers would announce his departure for London on account of sickness, and, after a three or four months' absence we would see him in some of the London illustrated papers togged up in great style, with a huge Texas sombrero on his head, the loose flowing cowboy shirt, trousers to match, and a very tall pair of top boots. Then it was that he intended to return. To be shot--with a camera--is his greatest delight, and to write foolish letters is his hobby.