We passed through Pieters without a check at the same toilsome plod and on to Nelthorpe.  Here we began to approach the Dutch lines of investment round Ladysmith, and the advance of half an hour brought us to a very strong picket, where we were ordered to halt and rest.  Nearly two hundred Boers swarmed round in a circle and began at once—­for they are all keen politicians and as curious as children—­to ask questions of every sort.  What did we think of South Africa?  Would we like to go in an armoured train again?  How long would the English go on fighting?  When would the war end? and the reply, ‘When you are beaten,’ was received with shouts of laughter.

’Oh no, old chappie, you can never beat us.  Look at Mafeking.  We have taken Mafeking.  You will find Baden Powell waiting for you at Pretoria.  Kimberley, too, will fall this week.  Rhodes is trying to escape in a balloon, disguised as a woman—­a fine woman.’  Great merriment at this.  ‘What about Ladysmith?’ ’Ten days.  Ten days more and then we shall have some whisky.’  Listen.  There was the boom of a heavy gun, and, turning, I saw the white cloud of smoke hanging on the crest of Bulwana.

‘That goes on always,’ said the Boer.  ’Can any soldiers bear that long?  Oh, you will find all the English army at Pretoria.  Indeed, if it were not for the sea-sickness we would take England.  Besides, do you think the European Powers will allow you to bully us?’

I said, ‘Why bully if you are so strong?’

‘Well, why should you come and invade our country?’

‘Your country?  I thought this was Natal.’

’So it is:  but Natal is ours.  You stole it from us.  Now we take it back again.  That’s all.’

A hum of approval ran round the grinning circle.  An old Boer came up.  He did not understand what induced the soldiers to go in the armoured train.  Frankland replied, ’Ordered to.  Don’t you have to obey your orders?’

The old man shook his head in bewilderment, then he observed, ’I fight to kill:  I do not fight to be killed.  If the Field Cornet was to order me to go in an armoured train, I would say to him, “Field Cornet, go to hell."’

‘Ah, you are not soldiers.’

‘But we catch soldiers and kill soldiers and make soldiers run away.’

There was a general chorus of ‘Yaw, yaw, yaw,’ and grunts of amusement.

‘You English,’ said a well-dressed man, ’die for your country:  we Afrikanders live for ours.’

I said, ‘Surely you don’t think you will win this war?’

‘Oh, yes; we will win all right this time, just the same as before.’

’But it is not the same as before.  Gladstone is dead, they are determined at home.  If necessary they will send three hundred thousand men and spend a hundred millions.’

’We are not afraid; no matter how many thousand penny soldiers you send,’ and an English Boer added, ’Let ’em all come.’

But there was one discordant note in the full chorus of confidence.  It recurred again and again.  ‘Where is Buller?’ ‘When is Buller coming?’ These merry fellows were not without their doubts.