le for the sake of their posterity, which one day would judge
their acts.

"Whither would you flee?" he asked us. "The enemy will pursue you, and
tear you from the arms of your wives. The man who surrenders takes the
first step into exile. Brothers! Stand firm, and you will not be
forsaken!"

As the father of his people spoke, the doubts and fears that had filled
the breasts of the multitude disappeared. Forgotten were the days and
weeks of hunger, heat, and thirst; forgotten the ghastly shrapnel
showers, the soul-crushing crash of the awful lyddite shell, the
unnerving possibility of sudden death that for months had darkly loomed
across their lives, and every man felt the glorious fires of patriotism
rekindle in his bosom.

Then General Joubert spoke.

"If I be the stumbling-block in the way of our success, then I pray God
to remove me," was the humble prayer of the warrior grown grey in wars,
who now found himself too feeble to direct the forces with his wonted
vigour. He then reminded us of brave deeds done in the past, and
expressed his confidence in the future, provided we did not lose heart.

When the General had finished, he sent officers round to marshal the men
into some sort of order. It was wonderful to see the change in the
spirit of the burghers. Where but a moment before had been disheartened
mutterings and sulky looks were now smiling faces and cheerful
conversation. With alacrity the men came forward, gave their names, and
that of their respective commandoes, and took in the positions assigned
them. The danger was past. Even the news of Cronje's surrender, which
was soon after made public, did not have more than a transient effect.
The anxiety as to his fate had been so keen that even to know the worst
was a relief.

For two disquieting days, however, nothing was heard of the rearguard.
To our relief it turned up on the third day. Several weeks of quiet
followed, the British resting after their giant efforts, whilst we
prepared to stem their further advance when it should take place. During
this period of inaction on the part of the enemy I was sent down into
Zululand, and stationed at a small spot named Nqutu, near Isandhlwana,
Rorke's Drift, Blood River, and other scenes of stirring battles fought
in former days. At Rorke's Drift could be seen, in good repair, the
graves of the gallant men who fell in defending the passage through the
river against the Zulus after the British disaster at Isandhl