Vilonel was tried at Reitz, and sentenced to five years, the judge remarking that he was lucky to get off with his life.  The prisoner did not think so, and applied for leave to appeal.  This was granted, but owing to the nature of the subsequent military operations the Court had not found time to sit, hardly time to pause, in fact.

When the day finally arrived for the appeal to be heard the little court-room was crowded with interested spectators.  Judge Hertzog presided, assisted by two young advocates, Messrs. Hugo and Cronje, and Advocate De Villiers represented the State.  The prisoner, who conducted his own defence, asked for a postponement.  This was refused.  He then made an able statement, asserting his innocence of any evil intentions, pleading that he had acted as his conscience dictated, and eloquently praying the Court to reconsider his sentence.  It was a painful moment when the presiding judge, after a whispered consultation with the assessors, turned to the prisoner and confirmed the sentence, adding, in his clear, incisive voice, that the name of Vilonel would remain an eternal stigma upon the fame of the Afrikander race.  One could not help feeling a thrill of compassion at the tragic end of such a promising career.  To-day a noble patriot, to-morrow a black traitor, despised by the lowest of his countrymen!

President Steyn’s wife and family were installed in a house in this village, but the President himself preferred to camp in the veld and share the lot of his burghers.

With him were nearly all the members of the Government, if we except those who had chosen to remain behind in Bethlehem, and who, from what their delighted friends heard, had been compelled by the British to foot it all the way to Reitz.  We went out to the camp, and reported ourselves.  It was now bitterly cold, the snow-topped Drakensberg keeping the temperature at an uncomfortable proximity to zero.  But the men were nearly all well provided with warm khaki uniforms reaped at Roodewal, the mountains were full of cattle and corn, and we felt that we could easily hold these almost inaccessible heights against the British cordon formed outside.

But it was fated otherwise.  A despatch rider arrived from the Transvaal; the situation there urgently demanded the encouragement of Steyn’s presence.  To leave this impregnable stronghold and venture across the open plains below needed all the boldness of De Wet, all the steadfast courage of Steyn.  These leaders had never been known to falter; they did not falter now.  Everything was arranged in the utmost secrecy.  For a few days there was a hurrying to and fro of commandoes, and then one morning De Wet’s laager was seen to have disappeared.

Prinsloo was left behind over four thousand men, with orders to stand his own.

THROUGH THE CORDON