“Are those Boers or English, outa?”

“Boers, baas.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, baas, it’s our own people.”

“Yes, look, that’s the commandant ahead on his roan.  Come along!” We near the horsemen.  The last man dismounts as we approach; his companions are disappearing over the rise; he shifts his saddle forward, staring at us intently.  A tall, well-built fellow, red hair, chin scrubby, dust-covered features.  A bayonet at his side—­by heavens! an Englishman!

“Frank, it’s a khaki,” I whisper, “keep straight on.”

The soldier looks me in the face as we slowly pass him.  I feel my cheeks burn and turn my head away.  His gun stands in the bucket; we can shoot him, but then, the others?  We wear top-boots and riding-breeches, hats pinned up at the side; he is in doubt—­perhaps we are scouts just come in.  He mounts his horse and rides after his comrades.

Now turn and away, over boulders and bushes for dear life!  Suddenly a dozen scouts file down the hill, two hundred yards off.  I wave my hat and beckon them to follow.  They halt, perplexed.  Then a few bullets whistle by, and we see the scouts come dashing after us.  But the bushes are high and the boulders loose; we are down the hill now, over the flats and away!  Down to the river—­the bridge is destroyed!  Never mind, through we go, and then turn round to smile at our pursuers.

DE WET ONCE MORE

The reason for all this hurry-scurry became plain when we learnt that De Wet, tired of playing at hide-and-seek with the enemy on the other side of the Vaal, had crossed over and passed by Potchefstroom the night before.  It was into the pursuing force that we had ridden.

Reaching the laager, we found the majority of our comrades there.  Of the fate of those who had delayed to leave the town we were ignorant.  The laager inspanned and followed De Wet, who had just passed here, and after a few hours’ rapid trekking caught up to him.  A halt was called for breakfast, but before the water boiled for coffee the enemy came in sight behind us.  The cattle were rapidly driven together, oxen yoked and horses saddled, and in about three minutes’ time we were on the move once more.  De Wet’s force and our own combined comprised nearly three thousand men, with six hundred waggons and carts, forming a train that made a splendid target for the British gunners.

There was not much difficulty in keeping the enemy back, but still they hung on persistently, worrying us day after day, until our horses, and even the tougher mules, began to drop in the road, and our men to grow weary of the saddle.

The oxen bore up best of all; we now made the discovery that they could trot just as well as mules, and with less effort.  But even they felt the strain.

As far as we went the road we left behind us was littered with abandoned animals.  It was pitiful to see these dumb creatures try to drag themselves after us, as if they too feared the pursuing foe.  But still the weary march went on, night and day, until a numbed indifference settled over us.