e heat of
the day, when the dust lay thickly about us, we sat in our ragged
clothes, with shaggy, uncombed beards, on our poor, hardly-treated
ponies, meekly staring in front of us, seemingly indifferent to the
moral hurt that we were suffering and the physical pain that we felt in
all our limbs after a long, tiring ride. At the start of one of our
journeys an animated conversation sometimes helped to pass the time, but
it soon flagged, leaving us staring in front of us in the usual
dispirited, dull way. Our talk became daily more prosaic and
superficial. We had not the energy to express our deepest sentiments,
and things which were formerly pleasant were strange to us now. We had
no spur to enliven our thoughts in our monotonous life. To the careless
there was nothing startling in this moral numbness, but the more
sensitive among us grieved over it, and were humiliated by the
shallowness that had come into our lives.

The small necessaries of our material existence had become essential to
our happiness. If we lost a knife, or if a pot or kettle broke, or a mug
was stolen from us, we were depressed for days, as if a heavy blow had
fallen upon us. It was not easy to fight against that bitter feeling of
depression. Our only safety lay in the fact that we were conscious of
the demoralizing effect of these small disappointments of commando life,
for to know one's self is always the first step towards conversion.

Some qualities of our highest nature were systematically suppressed. We
prided ourselves on our fierce hatred of the enemy, and considered it a
mark of patriotism, and we rejoiced when he fell beneath our bullets or
when the plague broke out. We even wished that a great European war
might begin, if only we might keep our country, and as a consequence of
our righteous patriotism an inclination to cruelty became one of the
predominant traits in the character of the burghers.

The commando life tended to make many of us melancholy. Wherever we came
the thought was forced upon us that our beloved country was deeply
injured, morally and materially. We ourselves saw everywhere homes and
fields destroyed, women and children taken away by force, and cattle
stolen; and rumours told of the most terrible outrages committed upon
helpless women and children. If it were not that one becomes hardened to
all outward impressions, our commando life would have been pitiful
indeed. So we became hardened to almost all these things, b