Of all the branches of the Transvaal Civil Service there was not one that stood higher in the public estimation at that moment, nor one that distinguished itself more during the war, than that to which I had the honour to belong—­the Department of Telegraphs.  Equipped with the most up-to-date instruments, composed almost equally of picked men from England and Holland and of well-trained young Colonials and Transvaalers, under an energetic chief, our department proved itself, both before and during the war, second to none, and, the Afrikander portion at least, worthy of the confidence of the Government.

I had just been transferred from Johannesburg to Pilgrimsrest, a quaint little one-street village near the Portuguese frontier, one of the oldest alluvial diggings of the early days, and now the centre of an important mining district.  Here we heard that our commandoes had invaded the enemy’s territory in every direction, and news of the preliminary engagements was awaited with breathless interest.  The male inhabitants of the village often spent entire nights under the verandah of the telegraph office, and the importance of the telegraphist suddenly grew almost too great to bear with becoming modesty.

One Sunday morning, however, the office wore a deserted look.  The Dutch inhabitants were engaged in courteously escorting those of British birth or sympathies over the border, and I was alone.  After a long interval of silence the instrument began ticking off a message—­

“Elandslaagte—­flight—­lancers!”

Then came the list of the fallen.  Name after name of well-known men fell like lead upon the ear.  Finally my colleague at the other end gently signalled that of my uncle, followed by the sympathetic remark:  “Sorry, old man.”

I could write no more.  What, my uncle dead!  General Kock, Major Hall, Advocate Coster—­all dead!  It seemed impossible.  We could not understand it, this first initiation of ours into war’s horrible reality.

Within a week reinforcements were despatched from our district.  I obtained a few weeks’ leave of absence and accompanied them.

We were an interesting band.  Two hundred strong, we counted among our number farmers, clerks, schoolmasters, students, and a publican.  My mess consisted of a Colonial, an Irishman, a Hollander, a German, a Boer, and a Jew.  It must not be imagined, however, that we were a cosmopolitan crowd, for the remaining hundred and ninety-four were nearly all true Boers, mostly of the backwoods type, extremely conservative, and inclined to be rather condescending in their attitude towards the clean-shaven town-dwellers.  The almost universal respect inspired by a beard or a paunch is a poor tribute to human discernment.

Every mess possessed one or two ox-waggons, loaded with a tent, portmanteaux, trunks, foodstuffs, and ammunition.  We made about twenty miles daily, passing through Lydenburg, Machadodorp, Carolina, and Ermelo, and reached Volksrust on the fourteenth day.  During the march we learnt that heavy fighting had taken place in Natal, Dundee being taken and Ladysmith invested, and a strong commando had actually made a reconnaissance as far down as Estcourt.