en in the rocks, could easily
sweep off thousands of an enemy who attempted to take it by storm. But that
pass had to be taken before we could claim to hold the Free State in the
hollow of our hand. Slabbert's Nek was merely a huge gash in the face of a
cliff. It was the Boers' causeway towards the north, their highway to
safety. Retief's Nek lay to the westward, and formed a grinning death trap
for any general who might try the foolish hazard of a single-handed attack
Naauwpoort Nek, ugly and uninviting, faced south-east towards Harrismith.
Golden Gate, named by a satirist--or a satyr--was merely a narrow chasm
worn by wind and weather through the girdle of mountains. It looked towards
the east, and was a mere pathway, which none but desperate soldiers, driven
to their last extremity, would think of using.

The Boers never dreamed that it was possible for our troops to move with
such machine-like precision as to hold every nek at our mercy. But whilst
Rundle held the ground to the south, and kept the Boers for ever on the
move by his restless activity, Clements and Paget moved on Slabbert's Nek,
Hunter swept down on Retief's Nek, Naauwpoort Nek was invested by Hector
Macdonald, Bruce Hamilton closed in upon Golden Gate, and the great net was
almost perfect in its meshes. The enemy did not realise their danger until
it was too late for the great bulk of their force to escape. Commandant De
Wet saw the impending peril at the eleventh hour, and tried hard to get his
countrymen to follow him in a dash through Slabbert's Nek; but very few of
the burghers would believe that the sword of fate was hanging by so slim a
thread over their heads. In vain this able soldier of the Republic
harangued them. Vain all his threats and protestations. They could not and
would not believe him. Sullenly they sat in their strongholds and watched
Rundle--they could see him, and that danger which was present to their eyes
was the only danger they would believe in; and day by day, hour by hour,
the cordon of Britain's might drew closer and closer, until every link in
the vast chain was practically flawless. Then Commandant De Wet gathered
around him about 1,800 of his most devoted followers, and with Ex-President
Steyn in their ranks they passed like ghosts of a fallen people through
Slabbert's Nek on towards the Transvaal. How they managed to elude the
incoming khaki wave some other pen must tell. It was a splendid piece of
work on the Republican