‘What are we fighting for then?’

’Because you hate us bitterly, and have armed yourselves in order to attack us, and we naturally chose to fight when we are not occupied elsewhere.  “Agree with thine adversary whiles thou art in the way with him.’”

‘Don’t you think it wicked to try to steal our country?’

’We only want to protect ourselves and our own interests.  We didn’t want your country.’

‘No, but the damned capitalists do.’

’If you had tried to keep on friendly terms with us there would have been no war.  But you want to drive us out of South Africa.  Think of a great Afrikander Republic—­all South Africa speaking Dutch—­a United States under your President and your Flag, sovereign and international.’

Their eyes glittered.  ‘That’s what we want,’ said one.  ‘Yaw, yaw,’ said the others, ‘and that’s what we’re going to have.’

‘Well, that’s the reason of the war.’

’No, no.  You know it’s those damned capitalists and Jews who have caused the war.’  And the argument recommenced its orbit.

So the afternoon wore away.

As the evening fell the Commandant required us to withdraw to some tents which had been pitched at the corner of the laager.  A special tent was provided for the officers, and now, for the first time, they found themselves separated from their men.  I had a moment in which to decide whether I would rank as officer or private, and chose the former, a choice I was soon to regret.  Gradually it became night.  The scene as the daylight faded was striking and the circumstances were impressive.  The dark shadow of Bulwana mountain flung back over the Dutch camp, and the rugged, rock-strewn hills rose about it on all sides.  The great waggons were arranged to enclose a square, in the midst of which stood clusters of variously shaped tents and lines of munching oxen.  Within the laager and around it little fires began to glow, and by their light the figures of the Boers could be seen busy cooking and eating their suppers, or smoking in moody, muttering groups.  All was framed by the triangular doorway of the tent, in which two ragged, bearded men sat nursing their rifles and gazing at their captives in silence.  Nor was it till my companions prepared to sleep that the stolid guards summoned the energy and wit to ask, in struggling English (for these were real veldt Boers), the inevitable question, ’And after all, what are we fighting for?  Why is there this war?’ But I was tired of arguing, so I said, ’It is the will of God,’ and turned to rest with a more confident feeling than the night before, for I felt that these men were wearying of the struggle.