, but when you have seen one you have seen them all. I never could
have imagined so many men absolutely alike: all had long straggling
beards, old felt hats, shabby clothes, and some evil-looking
countenances. Most of those I saw were men of from forty to fifty years
of age, but there were also a few sickly-looking youths, who certainly
did not look bold warriors. These had not arrived at the dignity of a
beard, but, instead, cultivated feeble whiskers.

After I had seen and heard all I could, came the question of getting
away. The manager told me the Landrost had now forbidden any of the
residents to leave the town, and that he did not think I could get a
pass. However, my Dutch friend was equal to the occasion; he applied for
leave to return to his farm with his sister, having only come in for
provisions. After a long hesitation it was given him, and we decided to
set out at daybreak, fearful lest the permission might be retracted, as
it certainly would have been had my identity and his deception been
discovered, and we should both have been ignominiously lodged in a Boer
gaol. As the sun was rising we left Vryburg. On the outskirts of the
town we were made to halt by eight or ten Boers whose duty it was to
examine the passes of travellers. It can be imagined how my heart beat
as I was made to descend from the cart. I was wearing a shabby old
ulster which had been lent me at the hotel for this purpose; round a
battered sailor hat I had wound a woollen shawl, which with the help of
a veil almost completely concealed my identity. It had been arranged
that Mr. Coleman should tell them I was suffering from toothache and
swollen face. The ordeal of questioning my supposed brother and
examining our passports took some minutes--the longest I have ever
experienced. He contrived to satisfy these inquisitors, and with a
feeling of relief we bundled into the cart again and started on our long
drive to Mosita. On that occasion we accomplished the sixty miles in one
day, so afraid were we of being pursued.

On my return to Mosita I at once despatched old Boaz to Mafeking, giving
them the intelligence of the victories in Natal. This proved to be the
first news that reached them from the more important theatre of the war.
Our life now became uneventful once more. One day an old Irish lady,
wife of a neighbouring farmer, dropped in for a chat. She was a nice old
woman, as true as steel, and terribly worried by these dreadful times.