How often a shell exploded like a thunder-clap in one's immediate
vicinity! How many a bullet just missed its mark as by a hair's breadth,
whizzing past the ear with lightning speed! Well I remember how, on one
occasion, a shell exploded right overhead with such tremendous force
that both rider and horse rolled in the dust by the violent concussion
produced by the explosion. The burghers, some distance away, watching
me, thought that would be the last of Kritzinger. To their surprise I
rose again, shook off the dust, mounted my steed, and rode on to the
position they were defending.

At present I shall not dwell on deliverances from the fire-spouting
machines of modern warfare, but confine my remarks to such escapes as
were connected with attempts on the part of the enemy, either to secure
my person or capture my commando. Here again I shall only cite some
instances; to relate all will be tedious to reader and writer alike.

In the beginning of July, 1901, just a few days after we had so
successfully attacked and taken James Town, we arrived at a farm
situated on the banks of the Kraai River, eighteen miles from Lady Grey.
Here was the enemy's opportunity.

The owner of the farm--Van der Merwe, a most loyal colonist--was not at
home, but, as we learnt afterwards, had gone to Lady Grey, or to the
nearest English column, to announce the presence of my commando in his
neighbourhood. Of this unfriendly deed we were altogether unaware.

As soon as we had off-saddled, our scouts were sent out in different
directions. In the evening they returned with the report that for miles
around us no traces of the enemy were to be seen. The pickets for the
night were then put out on the three main roads leading to the farm,