One of our officers, Captain Pretorius, dismounted one evening at the farm of a Mr. B. in the district of Bethulie.  The farmer, hearing a tap at the door, went and opened it.  Pretorius, who posed as an English officer, asked Mr. B., “Where are the Boers?” The latter, pointing to certain ridges in the distance, said in rather broken English, “Do you see those kopjes yonder?  They are full of Boers.”  But asked at the same time, “Do tell me, are you really an Englishman?  I must be clear on this point before I can speak to you.  There must be no mistake.”  On being assured by Pretorius and his party that they were not Boers and did not belong to the Boer forces, he told them very confidently all, and perhaps more than they wanted to know, for he began to express himself very strongly against the so-called marauding bands of Boers still roaming at large.  He promised the supposed English officer that, as soon as possible, he would report the Boers; he would, he said, have done so already had the opportunity come his way.  Just think how confused and embarrassed Mr. B. was when the English officer suddenly changed into a Boer, lifted his gun and said in his most harsh tone, “I feel inclined to send a bullet through your brains.  Are you not ashamed to slander your own people in this way?  It is because we have such Africanders as you in our midst that we suffer so much.”  This revelation proved almost too much for the farmer, who was of a timid and nervous disposition.  The Boers left his farm the following day for regions so distant that it was impossible to trap him again.  Once was enough for him.

The next victim resided in the same district.  Commandant Joubert, having crossed the Bethulie-Springfontein line, touched at the farm of a certain Mr. X. Joubert, accompanied by a burgher, went to wake up Mr. X. They knocked loudly at the door; knocks failing, they were followed by a kick.  But there was no response.  Inside it was as still as the grave.  Thinking that Mr. X. was out, the Commandant went to his brother’s room, where he learnt that Mr. X. was in, sure enough.  When Joubert heard this he went back to his room, tapped loudly once more, and then said, “Bring the dynamite, and let us blow up the show,” while the other burgher said, “Never mind the dynamite, let us fire through the door.”  On hearing of dynamite and firing through the door, the occupant could remain silent no longer.  He jumped up and cried out, “Wait, wait—­don’t fire!  I am coming.”  Peeping out at the door, he asked with tremulous voice, “What do you want?” “Come out,” said the Commandant; “I want to see you on important business.”  “The sooner you come the better for you,” added the burgher, who happened to be related to Mr. X. This remark, however, spoiled the rest of the game, for Mr. X. recognised the voice of his relative, and catching at the same time a glimpse of his face in the bright moonlight, he rushed out and flung his arms around one who had not killed his relative’s affection by his joke.