Moments, every one long as days, sped on; hours passed, night waned, day broke. Still the tiny British band of braves behind bush and boulder stayed with rifles cocked and pointed at the bridge. They dared not approach, but they defied the enemy to venture. Then, with morn, the eternity of anxiety was ended--they were reinforced by the Cape Police! Later the artillery came up. Oh, the sigh of relief! The bridge was saved! Oh, the rejoicing to hear the grand bark of British guns, and see the great earth mushrooms opening up to the sky on the opposite side! Then, at eventide came the supreme deed, among deeds no less worthy. Shot and shell were now falling on all sides of the mined bridge. The Boers were firmly ensconced across the front; hidden and sniping, and now and then appearing and firing boldly. The gloaming was otherwise peaceful, the purple shades of evening blending with the gentle, rippling golden grey of the river. Then from his fellows advanced one Lieutenant Popham of the Derbyshire Regiment. Straight to the threatened bridge, already peppered with the storms of the enemy, he went, crossed to the other side, and quick as thought deftly cut the connecting wires for firing the mines! By a miracle no Boers observed the act, an act that rendered abortive all their ingenious efforts and made the British masters of the situation. Then followed more plucky feats. Young Popham, on advancing through the trenches, had come across large, suspicious-looking boxes. He returned to the British lines. He gathered together some of the goodly men of his regiment, and with them again made his way to the threatened bridge. The sight of the party was the signal for a volley from the Dutchmen, but still they pursued their way to the boxes. "Dynamite, by Jove!" said one; "Kingdom come!" said another. But up they took them, and there and then, under a storm of bullets that now meant more even than death, the splendid fellows marched back again. The astonishing feat cast dismay over the Federals on the other side of the water, as it filled with admiration and pride all in the British camp who were privileged to view a sight seldom seen in a lifetime. And then, later on, as though the quality of heroism were inexhaustible as the widow's cruse of oil, another splendid act followed on the heels of the foregoing ones. In the dead of night Captain Grant of the Royal Engineers groped his way to the bridge. The Boers were on the alert, but he groped cautiously. The soldier's martial step gave way to the catlike burglarious tread! It was ticklish work that had to be done--work that needed time and nicety of touch. But he meant to do it, and one hint, one rumour of activity would have roused the whole Dutch horde and ruined his plan. The bridge, as we know, was mined. Lieutenant Popham had cut the wires. But the charges of dynamite were somewhere. These Captain Grant found, removed, and dexterously dropped, buried for ever in the purling river! Then with