extraction; one died a bachelor. A small village, Humansdorp, situated
near to Port Elizabeth, was the birth-place of my father. There he spent
the greater part of his life. He, too, married a Dutch lady; and we
children adopted the language of our mother, and spoke Dutch rather than
German.

My father took an active part in several of the early Kaffir Wars, and
rendered assistance to the Colonial forces in subjugating the native
tribes in the Eastern Province of the Cape Colony. With rapt attention
and enthusiasm we children would listen to him as he told the tale of
those early native wars. I then thought that there was nothing so
sublime and glorious as war. My imagination was inflamed, and I longed
intensely to participate in such exciting adventures. My experience of
recent years has corrected my views. I think differently now. Peace is
better than war. War is brutal and damnable. It is indeed "hell let
loose."

On the 20th of April, 1870, the arrival of a little Kritzinger was
announced on the farm Wildeman's-Kraal, Port Elizabeth District. That
little fellow happened to be myself. I do not recollect much of the days
of my youth--save that I was of a very lively disposition, with a
fondness for all sorts of fun, and often of mischief, which landed me
occasionally in great trouble. My parents obeyed the injunctions of Holy
Writ in diligently applying the rod when they thought it necessary. As a
child, I could but dimly understand, and scarcely believe, that love was
at the root of every chastisement.

At the age of five I met with a serious accident. While gathering shells
on the beach at Port Elizabeth, the receding waves drew me seaward with
irresistible power. But for the pluck and courage of my little