“Where are they?”

Then the reply—­

“Don’t know where they are now.”

This was enough for us, and we sped forth as silently and as fast as possible.

On approaching the bonfire we heard more voices—­Dutch this time.  We rode up to the group standing round the fire.  Several friends came forward to greet us, and we became aware that this was the President’s party—­about thirty men in all.

“Where are your sentries?” I asked.

“Just going out now.”

“Who is in charge?”

“The President’s secretary.”

Calling the latter aside, I said—­

“I don’t wish to cause an alarm, but on coming along about a mile from here we heard men calling to each other in English.  At one o’clock the British were only fifteen miles from here; your bonfire may have drawn a patrol hither.”

“What is it?  Who has arrived?” asked Steyn, coming out of his tent.  We gave him all the information we had gained.  He immediately ordered all lights to be extinguished, and sent the guard to find out what the voices meant.  All were relieved when it turned out to have been merely a couple of the President’s bodyguard searching for their horses.

Early the next morning a couple of deserters were brought in.  They had been caught trying to slip past in the night.  One said he had a sick son at home, and was only going to see him, perhaps for the last time.  The other was going home to fetch better horses, and so forth.  They were so unfortunate as to call upon the Deity to testify to the truth of their assertions.  This roused Steyn’s ire.

“How dare you be guilty of such sacrilege?” he cried.  “It is this cursed habit of yours of using God’s name upon every trivial occasion that makes our enemies think us a nation of hypocrites!  Back to your commandoes at once!”

The men slunk away.  We enjoyed their discomfiture in a measure, for, with all reverence for true religion, it must be confessed that many of these gentry thought psalm-singing all that was required of them, and did not hesitate to leave their less “elect” brethren to bear the brunt of the fighting.

After breakfast I walked down to the telegraph line connecting Heilbron and Frankfort, which ran past this point.  Taking about ten yards of “cable” wire, I cleaned about a foot of it in the middle, tied one end to my spanner, and threw the latter over the line.  The swing carried it over a second time, the two ends hanging just above the ground.  Attaching one end to the instrument, I heard the English telegraphist in Heilbron calling up Kroonstadt, and the Boer telegraphist in Frankfort working to Reitz.