back immediately--he would see to the burgher.

Accepting his generous offer, I rode back. But no sooner had I turned my
horse, than I felt a shock. In the twinkling of an eye a bullet had
passed through the muscles of my left arm and through my lungs, missing
the heart by a mere hair-breadth. It happened all so suddenly that for
the first few seconds I hardly knew that I was wounded. I remained in
the saddle for a time, until some of the men could attend to me. Gently
they took me from my horse, placed me in a blanket, and carried me along
to a safe spot.

It was now eventide, the shadows were deepening, and darkness was hiding
us from the vision of the foe. At first I was determined to accompany
the commando some distance from the line to a place where I could safely
remain till recovered. I, however, soon realised the serious nature of
the wound, and that if it were not well attended to, mortification was
sure to set in, and that would cost me my life. The men too considered
it absolutely impossible for me to accompany them any longer, and deemed
it advisable that I should be sent into the British hospital for medical
treatment.

And then came the _parting_ moment, the moment when I had to bid adieu
to the men whom I had led, and with whom I had fought against our common
foe for so long a time. In the life of every man there comes a day, an
hour, or even a moment, which he never can forget. That parting moment,
reader, was one in my life I never shall forget. My officers, adjutants,
secretary, and some other burghers gathered round me for the last time
as I sat on the ground supported by one of them. As they bade me
farewell--yea, perhaps for ever--the tear-drops sparkled in their eyes,
and gushed down their cheeks. Yes, we all did weep and shed tears of