"He is a wonderfully tireless man, ever on the alert, ever with one eye on the enemy and the other divided between the town and that nightmare, the native stadt. Some say that he never sleeps, and I half believe the statement. I have frequently seen him myself at the peep-of-day crossing the veldt on his return to town after visiting all the works, with the customary tune on his lips; and half an hour afterwards he was on the roof with his glasses glued to his eyes, having an early look at the enemy. Later on he takes a constitutional walk up and down before his quarters like one doing sentry-go. An hour or so later he is on the stoep writing his diary, generally with his left hand, for with his wonderful foresight he has recognized that in pursuing his trade he may lose his right, and he does not wish to be left in the lurch. Again he is on the roof once more, having another look at the enemy, and if everything is particularly quiet, he trusts the look-out men and goes to his nook to dip into a novel or have a stretch under his mosquito curtain. I always know that he is there as I pass when I see a pair of tan boots sticking out.
"He spends the rest of the day doing a thousand and one things, receiving reports, adjusting differences, learning from his staff all they know, powwowing with Lord Edward Cecil, his chief staff officer, discovering how much food we have from the D.A.A.G., and suggesting how it may be conserved, and how much per head shall be served out to each soul under his care--all the time with an eye fixed upon Snyman and his horde, reading their thoughts, knowing what they are about to do, and planning a checkmate. In the evening he goes up to the hospital to inquire after his wounded--he never misses this visit--and if a victim of the siege is to be buried it is ten to one that we see him at the graveside. The Colonel trusts his command, but like the good general that he is, leaves nothing to chance, and always has the concentrated knowledge of every officer in his head. Many stories are told by our sentries of one who silently steals out of the blackness of the night and is on them before they have time to challenge. He asks a question or gives a suggestion and a cheery word, and then departs as silently as he came. They even tell of a bearded stranger dressed in grey tweed who has the stature of B.-P., and strolls around the works and makes such remarks as 'Keep a keen eye in that direction; you never know what may be stirring or where they are.' He goes away and they know that he is the commander. Napoleon himself never kept keener vigil than B.-P., or had a greater grasp of what was going on around him. Added to this night-and-day round, our Colonel even directs the other force away up north that he never sees, yet every movement of which he is acquainted with. Nevertheless, the strain, the anxiety that must be there, despite the external show of light-heartedness, the constant watchfulness, and the worries connected with the interior economy of the town, would have soured and broken down and turned grey-headed many another man. But B.-P.'s temperament preserves him, and to-day (April) he is as fresh, as keen, and as full of vigour as when he started in October."