.

"Where's the Standerton laager?"

"This is where it was. Shifted yesterday; don't know where to. Others
gone to find out. Got a blanket?"

I had not. We had no idea where the waggons were. We lay down to
shiver, not to sleep, for the intense cold made the latter impossible
and the former obligatory. In the middle of the night we moved round to
the other side of the antheap, thinking it _must_ be warmer there. But
it wasn't.

At sunrise the others returned, saying that the Standerton laager had
moved much higher up, and that the Johannesburg laager was the next on
the list. They accordingly marched in that direction, laying the cable
as they went, past precipices and over mountain gorges. I followed on,
testing and repairing, very tedious work in the burning sun. Fortunately
I was able to buy a little fresh milk from a native, which refreshed me
immensely. The waggons were still missing, so we had very little food.

At midnight the cable led me up a high hill, so steep that the pony
almost fell over backwards as I led him up the face of it. Right on the
top lived an old native, who, hearing the barking of his dogs, rushed
out armed with an assegai, ready to defend his eyrie against all comers.
I persuaded him to take me straight to the Johannesburg laager, where a
good night's rest made all right again.

The next morning communication was established with headquarters, and I
had the pleasure of eating a decent breakfast with Ben Viljoen, then
commandant, now general, whose acquaintance I had made during the
Swaziland expedition.

A fiery politician and a reckless writer, his pet aversions were
Hollanders and Englishmen, and it was hard to say which he detested the
most. Brave and straightforward, he was most popular amongst his men,
but the official, non-fighting, salary-pocketing element bore him no
love. General in charge of these positions was kind-hearted, energetic
Tobias Smuts, of Ermelo.

During the night Louis Botha arrived here, accompanied only by his aide
and his secretary. He, Smuts, their staffs, all slept in one small tent
on the hard ground, and with hardly room enough to turn round in. Truly
our chiefs were anything but carpet knights!

For a couple of days my office was under a waggon, then my tent arrived,
and soon everything was in full swing. One afternoon I was honoured by a
visit from a Hollander Jew and Transvaal journalist, whose articles had
more power to sting the Uitlanders than a