After fifty or more waggons had crossed the drift a solitary cavalry officer with the rank of captain, riding leisurely along, followed one of them.  His coat had a rent in it and he was holding the torn parts together, as if he were planning the mending of it when he reached Bloemfontein.  A young Boer sprang toward him, called “Hands up!” and projected the barrel of his carbine toward him.  The officer started out of his reverie, involuntarily reached for his sword, but repented almost instantly, and obeyed the order.  General De Wet approached the captain, touched his hat in salute, and said, “Good morning, sir.”  The officer returned the complimentary greeting and offered his sword to the Boer.  De Wet declined to receive the weapon and told the officer to return to his men and ask them to surrender.  “We have a large force of men surrounding you,” the general explained, “and you cannot escape.  In order to save many lives I ask you to surrender your men without fighting.”  The officer remained silent for a moment, then looked squarely into the eyes of the Boer general and said, “I will return to my men and will order them to surrender.”  De Wet nodded his head in assent, and the captain mounted his horse.  “I will rely upon your promise,” the general added, “if you break it I will shoot you.”

General De Wet and several of his commandants followed the cavalry officer up the drift and stood on the bank while the horseman galloped slowly toward the troops which were following the waggons down the slope.  The general raised his carbine and held it in his arms.  His eyes were fixed on the officer, and he stood as firm as a statue until the cavalryman reached his men.  There was a momentary pause while the captain stood before his troops, then the horses were wheeled about and their hoofs sent showers of dust into the air as they carried their riders in retreat.  General De Wet stepped forward several paces, raised his carbine to his shoulder, aimed steadily for a second, then fired.  The bullet whistled menacingly over the heads of oxen and drivers—­it struck the officer, and he fell.[1]

[1] This incident of the battle was witnessed by the writer, as well as by several of the foreign military attaches.  Whether the British officer broke his promise by asking his men to retreat or whether his troopers were disobedient is a question, but it is more than likely that he endeavoured to act in good faith.  Whether the officer was killed or only wounded by General De Wet’s shot could not be ascertained.

All along the banks of the spruit, for a mile on either side of the ravine, and over on the hills where Peter De Wet and his burghers lay, men had been waiting patiently and expectantly for that signal gun of Christian De Wet.  They had been watching the enemy toiling down the slope under the very muzzles of their guns for almost an age, it seemed, yet they dared not fire lest the plans of the generals should be thwarted.  Men had lain flat on the ground with their rifles pointing minute after minute at individuals in the advancing column, but the words of their general, “I will fire the first shot,” restrained them.  The flight of the bullet which entered the body of the cavalry officer marked the ending of the long period of nervous tension, and the burghers were free to use their guns.