IN THE MOUNTAINS

“I wish you a pleasant journey,” said our host the next morning, as we prepared to mount.  “Have you money enough?  Yes?  Well, in any case, take this biltong along in your saddle-bags; it’s my own make, you’ll find it good.  Keep a good look-out.  Good-bye!”

After thanking him warmly for his kindness, we rode off.  Halting but once to feed and water our horses, we reached a farm near Bethlehem towards evening, where we spent the night.  We were awakened by the sound of a heavy bombardment in the direction of Bethlehem, which informed us that the British were attacking the town.  With an optimism that now seems marvellous, we never for a moment doubted that the enemy would be driven back, and that we would at last be able to take a little repose, for twelve hours daily in the saddle was beginning to tell on us.  Quite cheerfully we rode down to the village, listening to the music of the bursting shells and the lively rattle of the small-arms.  Suddenly a cloud of Boers issued from a kopje to our right, and slowly retreated across our front.  We rode up to them and learnt that they had just received orders to retire, as the place could no longer be defended.  It appeared that the British general had informed De Wet that if he did not surrender the town it would be bombarded.  Most of the property belonged to British subjects, so De Wet ordered all loyal inhabitants to leave the town, and then told the general to bombard as much as he liked, which the latter forthwith proceeded to do.  De Wet had placed a couple of guns on the mountain overlooking the town, and this, together with Theron’s hundred and fifty men—­the only commando seriously engaged that day—­sufficed to keep the British back for three hours.  De Wet’s own men were kept in reserve to meet the usual outflanking movement.  The latter did not take place, however, the enemy coming straight on.  Finally something went wrong with one of our two guns, and Theron being hard pressed, with the reserve too far away to render immediate help, the order was given to retire.  The artillerists profited by the occasion to tumble the damaged gun down a precipice, saying that they had had enough of repairing it.  Here it was found by the enemy the next day.  A rush was made for the mountain passes, as it was feared the enemy might occupy them and cut off our retreat, but this was not even attempted, and we were allowed to gain our rocky fastnesses in peace.  The following day was spent in climbing up and down the steep footpaths over the mountains, and that afternoon we arrived at the end of our journey, Fouriesburg, having spent something like a hundred hours on horseback during the last ten days.  Our first move was towards the river, for we had not had a bath for several days.  After repeated splashes in the chilly torrent we bought a few clean things, put them on, and then gravitated towards the telegraph office.  Needless to say, our colleagues were surprised to see us, being under the impression that we had long since reached the Transvaal.  Whilst still busy giving explanations we heard someone on the instrument calling Winburg.  Now Winburg was in British hands; it could be no other than a British station calling.  Wishing to gain a little information, we responded.