must fight it out with the savages, and God help us!"

"God help us, indeed. Think of the children, Hans!"

"I can't bear to think," he answered, in a broken voice, looking at his
own little girl, a sweet, curly-haired, blue-eyed child of six, named
Tota, whom I had often nursed as a baby. "Oh, Heer Allan, your father,
the Predicant, always warned me against trekking north, and I never
would listen to him because I thought him a cursed Englishman; now I see
my folly. Heer Allan, if you can, try to save my child from those black
devils; if you live longer than I do, or if you can't save her, kill
her," and he clasped my hand.

"It hasn't come to that yet, Hans," I said.

Then we set to work on the laager. The waggons, of which, including
my two, there were ten, were drawn into the form of a square, and the
disselboom of each securely lashed with reims to the underworks of that
in front of it. The wheels also were locked, and the space between the
ground and the bed-planks of the waggons was stuffed with branches
of the "wait-a-bit" thorn that fortunately grew near in considerable
quantities. In this way a barrier was formed of no mean strength as
against a foe unprovided with firearms, places being left for the men
to fire from. In a little over an hour everything was done that could be
done, and a discussion arose as to the disposal of the cattle, which had
been driven up close to the camp. Some of the Boers were anxious to get
them into the laager, small as it was, or at least as many of them as it
would hold. I argued strongly against this, pointing out that the brutes
would probably be seized with panic as soon as the firing began, and
trample the defenders of the laager under foot. As an alternative plan