David, my husband's black coachman, drove rapidly through the gate,
and, coming up to me, handed me a letter. It was from his master and
briefly written. Jameson had crossed the Border; Johannesburg was
filled with strange people, and he thought it wise for me to move with
our family and servants into town. Rooms had been secured for us at
Heath's Hotel, and he would meet us that night at dinner. This summons
was not entirely unexpected. For many months the political kettle had
been simmering. Johannesburg had grown tired of sending petitions in
to the Government to be answered by promises which were never
redeemed. An appalling death-rate of fifty-six in each thousand,
directly traceable to lack of proper sanitation, resulting from bad
government, spurred the general discontent, and a number of
representative citizens, unwilling longer to wait upon gods and
Government, finding all attempts to obtain redress of their grievances
by constitutional means ineffectual, determined to enforce their
demands for right by arms if necessary. As arms for the Uitlander
under the law of the Transvaal could only be obtained by a permit,
guns and ammunition were smuggled into the country, hidden away in oil
tanks and coal cars.

My husband had vast interests in his charge; many million pounds
sterling had been invested at his instance in the mining industry of
the country, and, actuated by a sense of duty and responsibility to
those who had confided in him, he felt in honour bound to take an
active part in the movement, for the protection and preservation of
the property placed under his control.

My leaving for the Cape, in case affairs should assume a dangerous
phase, was frequently discussed between us, but I could not make up my
mind to leave my husband, feeling that the separation would be more