completely taken by surprise, and
almost before we realised what had happened, we found ourselves
confronted by two rows of British soldiery, who shouted "Hands up,"
and fired simultaneously. Bullets whistled in every direction. The
first volley laid my horse low, and I found myself on the ground half
stunned. When I recovered somewhat and lifted my head, I discovered
myself surrounded, but the dust and the flash of firing prevented me
from seeing much of what occurred. It seemed hopeless to attempt
escape, and I cried excitedly that I was ready to surrender. So loud,
however, was the noise of shouting that my cries were drowned. One
soldier viciously pressed his gun against my breast as if about to
shoot me, but thrusting the barrel away, I said in English that I saw
no chance of escape, that I did not defend myself, and there was no
reason therefore why he should kill me. While I was talking he again
drove his rifle against me, and I, having grasped it firmly, a very
animated argument took place, for he strongly resented my grasping his
gun. Outstretching my hand I asked "Tommy" to help me up, and this he
did. I afterwards learned that the name of my assailant was Patrick,
and that he belonged to the Irish Rifles.

[Illustration: My Capture.]

Four or five soldiers now took charge of me, and at my request
consented to conduct me to an officer. Just as they were about to
lead me away, however, they all fell flat upon their chests, and
directed their fire at an object, which turned out later to be a bush.
I very soon discovered that the "Tommies" were not very circumspect in
their fire, and I sought safety by lying on the ground. Having
discovered the innocent nature of their target, my guards conducted me
before one of their officers, a young man named Walsh, who seemed to
belong to the British Intelligence Department. This officer enquired,
"Well, what is it?" I answered him in his own language, "My name is
Viljoen, and not wishing to be plundered by your soldiers, I desire to
place myself under the protection of an officer." He was quite a minor
officer this Mr. Walsh, but he said kindly, "All right, it is rather a
lucky haul, sir; you look quite cool, are you hurt?" I replied that I
was not hurt, though it was a miracle that I was still alive, for a
bullet had struck my chest, and would have penetrated had my
pocket-book not stopped it. The fact was, that my pocket-book had
served the providential service of the p