When the news came that the enemy had broken through our lines at
Donkerhoek, and that we had to retreat, my brother and I left Grobler's
commando. Thinking that the commandos would fall back upon the positions
of Belfast, we went to Middelburg to an uncle of ours, the missionary
Jan Maré, in order to give our horses a rest. We had lost sight of our
comrade Frans. On our way we bought bread at the farms, or had it given
us, cut a piece off an ox that had been slaughtered for the commando,
and slept either in a manger or, as was more often the case, in the open
air of the cold Hoogeveld. We arrived at Middelburg completely
exhausted, and are not likely to forget our uncle's great hospitality.

We accidentally met our former Commandant, Boshoff, who told us that he
was on his way with ten men to join General de la Rey, who had gone in
the direction of Rustenburg to cut the enemy's line of communication
between Mafeking and Pretoria, and we very willingly joined him, after a
delightful rest of ten days.

The commando of Commandant Boshoff consisted of nine burghers with an
ambulance waggon--that was used for the commissariat and for our
bedding--a French doctor, two Kaffirs and two tents. It seemed as if we
were going for a picnic. But it was necessary that we should be well
provided with all sorts of things, as our journey would be through the
Boschland, where fever and horse-sickness play havoc with man and horse
in summer. In winter it is endurable for a few months only, so the
country is very scarcely populated and almost uncultivated, and in
winter the Boers trek there with their cattle from the bare, chill
Hoogeveld. I had always longed to see that part of the Transvaal.