Morning, noon and night he strolled, the one figure of interest in the ill-assorted company of passengers which the good ship--to my nostrils an evil-smelling tub--was carrying to the Cape. There were few others of importance upon this journey. There was a colonel of the Royal Engineers, who had a snug billet in the War Office, and who was leaving Pall Mall to inspect the barracks at Cape Town, St. Helena, Ascension, and all those other places to which certain preposterous War Office officials devoted that attention which should so much more properly have been paid to the defenceless condition of the frontiers in South Africa. But then, after all, what is the destiny of the War Office unless to meddle and make muddle? If Colonel Watson might be said to have represented the Imperial Government among the passengers, Mynheer Van der Merure, Commissioner of Mines in Johannesburg, might be considered as representing the Pretorian Government. It seemed to me that these two worthies were quite harmless, representing, each in his own way, the acme of good nature, the gallant--all colonels imagine that they be gallant--colonel by reason of his advanced age; the worthy--all commissioners imagine that they be worthy--commissioner because he lived off the spoil of the mines. But even the spectacle of these three--the grand old man, the War Office _attaché_, the wealthy Randsman--did not suffice to break the hideous monotony of a most depressing voyage. With the peace of nature enveloping us in a feeling of security, it was difficult to realise that each day we drew a little nearer to a possible seat of war. There was much rumour aboard; the stewards hinted that the hold was filled with a cargo of munitions of war. The captain flatly denied it, even the War Office pensioner thought it improbable. "You must understand, sir," said he one morning, across the breakfast table, "that it is contrary to the custom of her Majesty's Government, and, if I may say so, sir, especially contrary to the custom of her Majesty's War Office, to squander the finances of our great Empire upon unnecessary munitions of war because the _Times_ and other papers choose to send half a dozen irresponsible individuals to South Africa. Now, sir--pooh!" When Colonel Watson broke out like this the friend of the President would intervene, suggesting in his kindly, paternal fashion that "the War Office--given half a dozen colonels, gallant or otherwise--might well afford to follow the lead of the _Times_ newspaper." "It has been my experience," the Colonel retaliated on one occasion, "that when people begin to interfere they cease to understand." It was always quite delightful to watch these two cross swords; the elder invariably took refuge in his age when the sallies of the War Office could not be directly countered. "Experience! You are only old enough to be my son." The Colonel spluttered--colonels do. By these means the elder man usually carried