olland and of well-trained young Colonials and
Transvaalers, under an energetic chief, our department proved itself,
both before and during the war, second to none, and, the Afrikander
portion at least, worthy of the confidence of the Government.

I had just been transferred from Johannesburg to Pilgrimsrest, a quaint
little one-street village near the Portuguese frontier, one of the
oldest alluvial diggings of the early days, and now the centre of an
important mining district. Here we heard that our commandoes had
invaded the enemy's territory in every direction, and news of the
preliminary engagements was awaited with breathless interest. The male
inhabitants of the village often spent entire nights under the verandah
of the telegraph office, and the importance of the telegraphist suddenly
grew almost too great to bear with becoming modesty.

One Sunday morning, however, the office wore a deserted look. The Dutch
inhabitants were engaged in courteously escorting those of British birth
or sympathies over the border, and I was alone. After a long interval of
silence the instrument began ticking off a message--

"Elandslaagte--flight--lancers!"

Then came the list of the fallen. Name after name of well-known men fell
like lead upon the ear. Finally my colleague at the other end gently
signalled that of my uncle, followed by the sympathetic remark: "Sorry,
old man."

I could write no more. What, my uncle dead! General Kock, Major Hall,
Advocate Coster--all dead! It seemed impossible. We could not understand
it, this first initiation of ours into war's horrible reality.

Within a week reinforcements were despatched from our district. I
obtained a few weeks' leave of absence and accompanied them.

We were an interesting band. Two hundred strong, we counted among our
number farmers, clerks, schoolmasters, students, and a publican. My mess
consisted of a Colonial, an Irishman, a Hollander, a German, a Boer, and
a Jew. It must not be imagined, however, that we were a cosmopolitan
crowd, for the remaining hundred and ninety-four were nearly all true
Boers, mostly of the backwoods type, extremely conservative, and
inclined to be rather condescending in their attitude towards the
clean-shaven town-dwellers. The almost universal respect inspired by a
beard or a paunch is a poor tribute to human discernment.

Every mess possessed one or two ox-waggons, loaded with a tent,
portmanteaux, trunks, foodstuffs, and ammunition. We