became of the rest I do not know, as President Steyn was in a hurry and
our commando left first for the North.

The ford at Krokodil River was about fifty paces wide--made for the
occasion and difficult to cross. The trolleys and waggons that had to
cross to the lager on the opposite side gave us much trouble, as they
sank deep into the sand. We harnessed a double span of oxen to the
waggons, undressed ourselves, and had to swim alongside the animals to
get them through. Occasionally something dropped from one of the waggons
and had to be fished up in a hurry to save it from the strong current.
There was much shouting and laughter, and if any crocodile had been in
the neighborhood he would have suppressed his hunger until the storm was
over.

On the banks of the river there was a constant shooting at fish and game,
and even at crocodiles, who showed themselves occasionally. There was
game in abundance. It seemed as if all the game of the Transvaal, that
is becoming so scarce, had fled to this part.

We were on our way to Pietersburg through the Boschveld of South-East
Lydenburg, which might be called a desert in winter. It was a journey
difficult even for a trek Boer, and more than difficult for a large
commando. A man called Bester was our guide. Some two years before he
had made the same journey on a hunting expedition, and now he was able
to follow the ruts which the wheels of his waggon had made then, and
which would be in all probability deepened by the summer rains. Our
means of transport were chiefly carts and trolleys, on which we also put
our bedding to lighten the burden of our riding horses.