Soon after sunset the various officers began to arrive.  First came riding into camp, alone and unnoticed in the darkness, that incomprehensible man, Schalk Burger, now Acting President.  He entered the tent moodily, nodded to us, and squatted down in the corner, absorbed in thought.  My colleague and I were just making a meal of coffee and biscuit.  We expressed our regret that we had no chair to offer him, asking him to accept a cup of coffee instead.  This he did, in silence.  Silence was his strong point.

Masterful Lukas Meyer next entered, and after him came the pride of the army, Louis Botha, soldier and gentleman, followed by several officers.  A general council of war was now held, General Joubert being consulted by telegraph throughout the discussion.  There was no sleep that night for the telegraphists who had to transmit the queries and replies to and from headquarters.

When the discussion was at its height, information was received that the Johannesburg laager was surrounded by the enemy.  This laager now constituted our right wing.  This intelligence was soon contradicted, but not before it had exercised a considerable influence upon the decision arrived at, which was to abandon Ladysmith.  The minutes of this council of war, could they be published, would probably make most interesting reading, and be of great value to the impartial historian.

At two in the morning we inspanned; at sunrise we were over Klipriver and trekking past Ladysmith.

The road was one long string of waggons, each straggling on at the pleasure of its owner.  Horses, thanks to the criminal neglect of those responsible, were already becoming scarce, and groups of men, many of them wounded, sadly stumbled along, carrying their unwieldy bundles of blankets, their little kettles, their knapsack, rifle and bandolier.  Some trudged along with a saddle slung over the back, hoping to loot a mount by the wayside.

We did not travel far that day, but the next the march became more rapid, every vehicle putting its best wheel foremost.  A heavy rain fell as Elandslaagte was reached, adding to the general depression.  Whilst the majority kept to the road, those who had no other means of conveyance entrained here for Glencoe.  The commissariat stores were being hastily cleared out, what could not be loaded being set alight.  The last train that left that evening carried the dynamiters, who destroyed the bridges after passing over them.

After a weary ride in the open trucks, seated on sacks of bread, a drizzling rain soaking down upon us, we reached Glencoe.  The platform and station buildings were crowded with the sleeping forms of the weary burghers, who, as yet unused to retreating, were somewhat mixed in more senses than one.  Louis Botha was still near Ladysmith with the rearguard, most of the other chiefs were coming by road, and there was no one on the spot to back up General Joubert in his attempts to reorganise the confused and ever-growing mass of undisciplined men.  The retreat, in fact, threatened to degenerate into a reckless flight.