"General, there's a doctor behind who has just come through the enemy's
lines. He asks you to wait for him."

"Tell him to hurry!"

We sat down and waited. In about half an hour's time another horseman
came hurrying along. Here at last! No. Only another messenger. Another
long wait, and finally the doctor arrived. He squatted down next to De
Wet, and in a low voice related how he had been unjustly captured by the
British some weeks ago, how they had sent him to Johannesburg and kept
him in prison until now, only liberating him after repeated requests
for a hearing. His tale was listened to in silence and with deep
attention. When it was told the order was given to mount, and on we
trekked again past the sleeping British camp. Presently the moon rose,
and by its light we passed a lonely farmhouse. Beware its slumbering
inmates when the British come along to-morrow, for are not they
responsible for the telegraph line which runs across the farm, and which
we have cut in half a dozen places! No doubt the house will be burnt,
and all the stock confiscated. But never mind, the owner has surrendered
and is living under British protection--protection whereof he is going
to get a taste now, so why should we pity him? On we go until long past
midnight, when we halt in a secluded little valley. Our horses greedily
swallow the icy water, and then eagerly crop the tasteless dry grass,
for our waggons are too far behind, we can give them no mealies
to-night.

The next morning a cloud of dust in our rear showed that we were being
pursued. Whilst we were hastily inspanning and upsaddling, Theron came
in from the right, bringing with him a captured Hussar. One old Boer,