Rumours many and fantastic were brought in by the natives. It was believed that a new year's gift of three waggon loads of ammunition had been received by the Boers from Pretoria, and also a new gun. This weapon it was afterwards discovered was provided with more combustible bombs, horrible missiles that disgorge a chemical liquid which ignites in contact with the air. Here was a continual horror, and one that was only combated by extreme precautions. Though Colonel Baden-Powell in his nook on the stoep of his house continued to whistle his insouciant notes, his busy brains needed to be Machiavellian in their ingenuity. Some declared he slept with one eye open; others, that he never slept at all. Certain it was that when all were hushed in slumber he was "on the prowl," either on the roof or in the open, reading from the heavens above or the earth beneath the enemy's approaching machinations. Some find sermons in stones; B.-P. found inspiration in sand and sky. [Illustration: THE MARKET SQUARE, MAFEKING.] The Boers continued their bombardment, the sun continued to blaze, to smite the tin roofs and glaring sandy roads. After persistently directing shells on the women's laager the ruffians succeeded in murdering three little children. These were of Dutch nationality, and it was hoped that their loss might possibly awaken a feeling of humanity and remorse in the breast of those who had prompted the assault on the defenceless position. But their conduct was rendering those within the town exasperated almost to madness. They panted for a chance to mete out annihilation to the blood-lusting rascals and untamed savages who were harassing them. They did their best, and sat down to the business of clearing off as many as possible of the polyglot horde who worked the guns. The work done by the Bechuanaland Rifles and the British South Africa Police was prodigious. They shrunk from no toil and no exposure so that they might reduce the number of the besiegers. Early in the New Year the Rifles entrenched themselves within 900 yards of the enemy's big guns, and spent days and nights in the trenches, relieved at intervals by the Police. From nine on one night till nine the next they would occupy their unenviable position, carrying with them their day's food and water, and employing themselves during the hours of light by keeping up a persistent fire on the Boer siege gun. On occasions their fire was so accurate that the Dutchmen had entirely to abandon the work of loading and training the gun. So smart, at last, grew the British sharpshooters, that during each Sabbath the gun was shifted farther and farther away.