the composer of the despatch. The greatest losses the burghers had
sustained up to then in any one engagement were two killed and three
wounded. The spoils of war taken by the Dutch were of extraordinary
value, and apparently they had but to show themselves for every camp to
be evacuated. They were kind enough to translate these wonderful
despatches into a sort of primitive English, of which printed slips
could be bought for threepence. The hotel manager said if they did not
invent these lies and cook the real account the burghers would desert
_en masse_. So afraid were their leaders of news filtering in from
English sources that all messengers were closely watched and searched.
In the afternoon I drove up to the little hospital to see three of the
occupants of the ill-fated armoured train. They were all convalescent,
and said they were being very kindly treated in every way, but that the
Boer doctoring was of the roughest description, the surgeon's only
assistant being a chemist-boy, and trained nurses were replaced by a few
well-meaning but clumsy Dutch girls, while chloroform or sedatives were
quite unknown.

It was grievous to hear of all the Government military provisions,
police and private properties, being carted off by the "powers that be,"
and not a little annoying for the inhabitants to have to put all their
stores at the disposal of the burghers, who had been literally clothed
from head to foot since their arrival. The owners only received a
"brief" or note of credit on the Transvaal Government at Pretoria, to be
paid after the war. For fear of exciting curiosity, I did not walk about
much, but observed from the windows of my sitting-room the mounted
burghers patrolling the town, sometimes at a foot's pace, more often at
a smart canter. I felt I never wished to see another Boer. I admitted to
myself they sat their horses well and that their rifle seemed a familiar
friend, but when you have seen one you have seen them all. I never could