Shells fell to the right and left unnoticed; was the apathy, not of despair, for our faith would never let us feel that, but of sheer and utter exhaustion.

Haggard men, sunk in slumber, beat a mechanical tattoo on their horses’ ribs as the gaunt animals dazedly staggered forward.  And now came the stunning news that Prinsloo, Prinsloo with 4,000 men, had surrendered!  Only one hope sustained us—­the Magaliesberg.  There we would find shelter and rest.

But Clements was lying in wait for us there, waiting for us to walk blindly into the trap he had set.  Well was it for our straggling train that Delarey came dashing down on Clements in the night, slaying and capturing right and left, till the British general was glad to take refuge in entrenched Pretoria!  Else we were surely taken and the war ended.  When at last we struggled over Olifant’s Nek, it was to find the pass held by friends, not foes, many signs of the enemy’s occupation, from plundered farm-houses to hundreds of biscuit tins, strewing the ground.

Our waggons were drawn up in a line behind the mountain, and we manned the passes, confident in our ability to hold them.  But we were too wearied, and the enemy too persistent.  On the third day they forced the weaker of the passes, and we were forced to fly once more.  Had the British continued their stern chase our capture were almost certain; strange to say, with success within their grasp, they held their hand, halted, and followed us no further.  In the retreat the Free State and the Transvaal commandoes took different directions, myself remaining with the latter.  We marched all night, past frowning kopjes, and camped in a thick mimosa forest at dawn.

Here the commando decided to remain for a while.  I obtained a pass from Liebenberg and set off alone to make my way through the dense bush to Middelburg.

The first day I discovered De Wet’s “meagre commando,” about a thousand men, who had been ordered to conceal themselves here and feed up their animals, whilst De Wet himself, with the other half of his force, scoured the country to within ten miles of Johannesburg.

In the evening I arrived at a mission station, where the only whites were the missionary’s young daughter and her youthful brother.  Their father had left for a visit shortly before the war broke out, and had not been able to return.  They themselves had done the mission work, unaided, through all these anxious months.  And remember that at this time the bushveld Kafirs were waging war amongst themselves!

The next day I encountered a couple of waggons laden with ammunition for Delarey.  The escort told me they had left Middelburg eighteen days before.  Making circuits to avoid the enemy and taking wrong roads had delayed them.

Then—­it is wonderful how news travels amongst the Kafirs—­I heard that Steyn was also somewhere in the bush, on the way to join the Transvaal Government.  Fortunately for me, I rode right into his party that evening, just as they were starting off again.  I had only off-saddled once since sunrise, but the chance was too good to be missed, and I joined them.  The party consisted of barely fifty men—­not an extravagant escort, but sufficient, under the circumstances.