At last came the appalling message that the British were victorious, and our men in full retreat!  High hopes had been built on this combat; no wonder if for a while we felt disheartened.  The end of regular warfare had been reached; it was imperative that an entire change of tactics be adopted.  Steyn was for beginning the guerilla system immediately, in which he was supported by Gravett, Pienaar, and Kemp; Kruger, however, determined to defend the railway to the last.  The British lost no time in following up their success.  It had been said that they would never venture down these precipitous heights, but, like all other prophecies about this surprising war—­except Kruger’s, that he would stagger humanity—­it turned out false, for down into the infernal mountain pits the enemy thronged after us, with a courage that made us marvel.

The Governments retreated by train to Nelspruit, and thence to Hectorspruit, the commandoes following by rail and road.

Here the forces were divided, those without horses being sent to entrench Komatipoort, while the rest made ready to slip past the approaching enemy’s outstretched arms.  It was decided that President Kruger should leave for Holland, Schalk Burger acting in his place.  Most of the burghers still fighting are Progressives, and therefore politically opposed to Paul Kruger, but there were few who did not feel a sincere sympathy for the venerable President in this, well-nigh the bitterest hour of his stormy life.  I say nearly every man still fighting is as fervent a Progressive as the world could wish, and as much opposed to Paul Kruger’s policy as the British themselves!  Then what are they fighting for? you ask.  For independence!  Let us gain that, and in one year’s time you will see the Transvaal merged into the model Free State, the Switzerland of South Africa!

After Kruger’s departure Steyn took leave of the Transvaal Government.  His last interview with Botha took place in the open air, in full sight of the burghers.  The two conversed in low, earnest tones.  Botha looked ill and haggard, he had aged since he had gained his spurs at Colenso; the weight of his responsibility lay heavy upon him.

Louis Botha is idolised by his men—­perhaps he has not an enemy in the world—­but it is to Steyn, and Steyn alone, that the honour belongs of the resistance still being offered by the Boers.  Let not this detract from the merits of those other and equally gallant spirits, leaders or men, who have nobly breasted the waves of adversity; who shall blame them if at times they felt the current overwhelming?

Steyn utters a last cheering word, then shakes Botha’s hand, mounts, and rides away at the head of his little escort.