Poor child! his fear was only too well founded.  His arm was amputated, after which he went to his uncle’s farm to recuperate.  When the British arrived there he would not surrender, but took his gun and went on commando.  Three days later he was brought in, shot through the lungs.  That is the last I have been able to hear of him.

A few days after the battle of Spion Kop we moved forward and opened another office on our right wing.  The British soon after retired from the vicinity, and this wing was withdrawn.  The office remained, however, being utilised by scouts and patrols for the transmission of urgent reports.

One day Oberst von Braun called, accompanied by two Boers.  I asked him what had become of his lieutenant.

“Ah, poor von B——!” he said.  “The fighting on Spion Kop was almost over, and he had just risen and walked forward a few steps, when a chance bullet crashed into his forehead, and he fell a corpse.”

This was the same lieutenant who had caused a great sensation in Germany a few years before by killing an unarmed civilian in a moment of provocation.  It may seem a just retribution that he should have met with such a tragic fate, but those who knew him in Natal felt nothing but regret for his loss.  Oberst von Braun was taken prisoner a few days after, and the British reported that his mind was unhinged.  This did not appear improbable to us, for we knew how much he had been affected by the loss of his companion.

I stayed here for three weeks, without much occupation except wasting ammunition on turtle doves and hoping that the next patrol would not be a British instead of a Boer one.

The deserted houses in the neighbourhood had all been visited in turn by both British and Boer patrols, and between the two enormous damage had been wrought.  It must be pointed out, however, that the mischief done by our men was in no way authorised—­was, in fact, against express orders, whereas the British now burn our houses to the joyful fiddling of the London Times, and with a righteous unction eminently national.

A small but remarkably severe engagement took place about this time, in which a portion of Viljoen’s men suffered heavily.

This detachment, about forty in number, was guarding a Nordenfeldt stationed in an advanced position on an isolated hill.  One afternoon a large body of the enemy suddenly attacked the hill.  Ben Viljoen, who, as usual, was on the spot, is not what may be called an excessively pious man, but he rose to the occasion and inspired his little band by asking them if they did not fear God more than the British.  Thus encouraged to stand firm, they bravely held the hill till fully half their number were killed.  There was no hoisting of the white flag, however, our men at that time generally preferring almost certain death to surrender.  This instance was no exception.  Every man got out as best he could, Commandant Viljoen himself racing out with the gun.