burghers were still there and thus rode on without the slightest
apprehension. Arrived at the foot of the hill, I looked up, and to my
astonishment saw a large greyhound with the men. This made me
suspicious. One of them at once called out: "Hands up! Come here, you
beggar!" I was with the wrong party. Surrender? Verily not. I turned my
horse, gave spurs, and off we went, horse and rider carried, as it were,
by bullets which whistled past my head with deafening noise. For a
considerable distance I was exposed to this shower of bullets. My horse
received two wounds, but brought me out unscathed. That night I was cut
off from the commando, and all the burghers thought that I was shot or
captured. To their delight and surprise I joined them the next day
again. That same day I was to have as marvellous an escape as the day
before.

From early morn we were engaging the foe. While the fight was going on I
took nine men to occupy a certain hill. This hill was already in the
possession of the enemy, but we were not conscious of that, and thus
unwittingly rode on to our doom.

The enemy had carefully hidden on the hill, and without challenging us
opened a terrible fire upon us just as we arrived at the foot of the
hill. Seeing that we were only a small party it certainly was not manly
on their part to fire before challenging us. All the men but one were
instantly wounded or killed, and their horses shot down. One of them
escaped on foot. Strange--perhaps incredible to some--I came out with my
horse and that uninjured.

At the close of the war I met the officer who was in command on that
hill. He told me that as we came riding up to the hill he recognised me
and told his men: "There, Kritzinger is coming; let us make sure of