to lie down full length in the rain. They did not
appear, however, and I concluded that they had camped at Rietfontein, so
I walked my horse to the farm of Mrs. Jansen, one of the few hospitable
women in that sparsely inhabited country. She hastily informed me that
the khakies had been there.

The eight burghers soon returned, among them a young man who was nursing
a wounded man on the farm. In the night we went into the veld with a
small brother of his, who rode a mule, and returned in the morning to
watch the enemy's movements from the roof of the house. My horse was so
ill with horse-sickness that it shook under me. The enemy suddenly
appeared on the long bult (hill) along which I had come the day before.
I carried my saddle into the house and fled into the veld. From behind
an ant-hill I watched the enemy shooting my poor sick horse. They passed
by me several times, but at last I was discovered, and had to give up my
beloved Mauser without a chance of defending myself. My two companions
escaped. This happened on April 3, 1901.

Fortunately, I fell into the hands of decent khakies who did not insist
on examining my old veld-shoes that I was using as a money-box, so I was
able to keep my precious four pounds. They took from me only a few
trifles by way of curiosities, and said I was sure to be robbed of them
sooner or later by the soldiers in the camp. I was told that I could
congratulate myself that I was made prisoner, as many columns were
coming down upon us from all directions, so that we would be obliged to
surrender that very day. I answered that the war had given sufficient
proof that their expectations were not always realized.

When the officers of the guard were told that I was taken under arms, a
curt order was given to 'Let him walk.' When I protested and pointed
out that I was a prisoner of war and not a criminal, I was treated with
consideration as an ordinary soldier. I was taken by Babington's force.

The following day the waggon lager arrived at Tafelkop, and the cavalry
that had been sent on to capture our lager joined the camp _minus_ any
prisoners. When the enemy's lager arrived at Potchefstroom a week later,
it brought along seventeen or eighteen 'hands-uppers,' one ambulance
doctor, several families, and one prisoner of war. Six of the
'hands-uppers' told me that the whole month we were camped at Tafelkop
they had hidden from us in their bedrooms so as not to be obliged to
break their oath of