In 1882 my parents, leaving Cape Colony in search of a new home in the Orange Free State, settled down in the district of Ladybrand.  It was, however, decided that I should remain behind with an uncle.  This uncle was my godfather, and had promised to provide for my education.  Having no children, he made me his adopted son.  However excellent these arrangements might be, I resolved that I too should go to the Orange Free State.  I succeeded in persuading my brother, who had charge of the waggons, to let me follow him on horseback under cover of darkness.  I left my uncle’s home alone and at dusk on the third evening after my brother’s departure.  How I felt, and in what condition I was, after riding thirty-five miles on the bare back of a horse, I shall not describe.  My parents, who had gone ahead of the waggons, were not a little astonished, and yet they were not angry, at the unexpected appearance of the boy that was left behind.

On my arrival in the Free State it so happened that there was then a dispute as to headship between two Barolong chiefs.  This quarrel called forth the intervention of the Free State Government.  The burghers were commandoed in the event of resistance on the part of the native chiefs; and I, though a mere boy, at once offered my services to the nearest Field Cornet.  He declined to accept them on the score that I was too young.  Like David, I was loth to go back home.  I borrowed an old gun, got a horse, and off I stole to the Boer commando.  The dispute was amicably settled.  Some thirty Barolongs, however, offered resistance.  Most eagerly I thus fired my first shot upon a human being.  I did not know then that it would not be the last; that I should live to hear the mountains and hills of South Africa reverberate with the sound of exploding shells, that the whizz of bullets would assail my ears like the humming of bees; that a bullet would penetrate my own lungs, leaving me a mass of bleeding clay on the battle-field.  I did not know that South Africa’s plains would yet be drenched with the blood of Boer and Briton until the very rivers ran crimson.

At the early age of seventeen I left the parental roof to earn for myself an independent living.  I went to the district of Rouxville, where I occupied a farm situated on the Basutoland border.  Several of the Basuto chiefs I got to know well.  They allowed me to purchase all I desired from their subjects.  Occupied thus with my private affairs while years sped by, I unconsciously drifted on to the disastrous war.

My mind was never absorbed nor disturbed by the many political controversies and problems of South Africa, not that I was indifferent to the welfare of my people and country, for, once war was declared by the leaders, my services were ready.  I attached myself to the Rouxville Commando, under Commandant J. Olivier, as a private burgher.  When Prinsloo surrendered, late in 1900, I was appointed Assistant-Commandant over that portion of the Rouxville Commando which had