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self at its side. Continually the door would open for a message or telegram, now brought by MacGregor the military secretary, now by Elwes the aide-de-camp-both since gone with the rest.

"You will find Standerton an excellent position for defence," the General said. "Just get into the laager there, strengthen it, take care they don't get at you unawares, and hold till I come. Troops are starting already; we have wired to India for more. By the 20th of next month I shall be there, or thereabouts, and we shall march together on Heidelberg. Don't attack; act on the defensive, and wait till I come. Get up some volunteers; set the heliograph in working order; and look after the telegraph line."

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Suppose they come at me, am I to fire?" I asked.

"Yes: tell them to stop; and if they don't, make them!"

Then we shook hands, and I left him he to see others, and arrange further plans in that comfortable study; I to pack, wish good-bye, and bump up-country in a mailcart, doubtful if I should ever get beyond Newcastle. Who would have said that we were never to meet again? who, if that were granted, would have ventured to say that, of the two, he was to be the one taken?

Travellers by mail-cart in South Africa carry but a small amount of baggage, military men more than others, their allowance being 40 lb.; and my 40 lb. was soon made up. A saddle and bridle -absolute necessities in the country-took half at once; the moiety was a change of clothes, soap, toothbrush, and towel,-the lot to last through a campaign that promised to extend over several months at least. My sword I managed to smuggle in unperceived, with a

blanket and rug to sleep under; and with every pocket full, I climbed into the front seat beside the driver, and behind six spanking ponies, gave one last parting wave to those left behind, and was off down the dusty street towards the big hill behind the town, beyond which lies that terra incognita "up-country."

We were six, including the driver, a black man from the old colony; a young lady held on somewhat tenderly by a tall, blackwhiskered parson, who introduced himself as the chaplain to the new Bishop of Zululand; and a couple of storekeepers also bound up-country.

How we did roll, and sway, and bump, and tumble! "Bumps !" cried the black driver; and bumps it was, landing me as often as not on the foot-board, and the young lady, pleasantly enough, to judge by his face, on the parson's broad knees. Mail-cart travelling in Natal must be endured to be enjoyed; and it must be a strange, strong man who can enjoy it even then.

We passed strings of waggons hopelessly stuck in the deep mud; straggling lines of soldiers marching on towards the front; the two 7-pounders afterwards heard of in such terrible straits in the battles that were to come, the fat black horses only too good a mark for Boer rifles, and Charlie P- in command trotting cheerily by their side.

At night we put up at the so-called hotels by the roadside, timing our journey so as to reach one by nightfall, and starting in the cold grey of the following morning. Wretched little drinkingshops were these hotels, where we ate things indescribable, and turned in between blankets, in clothes, boots and all, glad to put honest. cloth between our bodies and the brown crust which age and previous travellers had laid upon the bed

clothes. A cup of coffee at five o'clock, the driver sloping in to beg another glass of schnapps; "All aboard" from the same, and "Bumps" again for the next dozen hours.

Thursday morning early-it was the 23d we reached Newcastle, having been just 46 hours in doing 180 miles, and we found on inquiry that the mail-cart on to Pretoria had ceased to run; for the last two days it had not come in, being detained by the Boers.

Here was what I had feared. I had still eighty miles before me, and the last telegram said that Standerton was expected hourly to be attacked. Let that once come off, and all hope of getting into the place was at an end.

I could hardly ride it, even if I had horses fit for the journey; and a soldier without his sword is halfway towards a civilian, while to carry one full-speed for eighty miles on a horse, means to let it go. At last I found a man who had a "spider," which he was willing to let out for the trip; and as luck would have it all through life I have always been a lucky fellow-the owner of the post-cart was in Newcastle, his horses still along the road, and he willing to run me through. In half an hour the "spider" was hired. Murray, the post-cart owner, had bought a new whip, and had gone out to drive in his first team; while I was hard at work putting down breakfast, the last it might be for some time, and I consequently made a good one.

I was still busy eating when Murray came in to say the road was infested with Boer patrols, who stopped every vehicle, and had already taken two officers prisoners; the houses where should change horses might be expected to be full of the same, and

we

it would be as well if I could disguise myself a trifle. An officer to a Boer was specially obnoxious: even if they let me pass, they would be sure to insult me, perhaps worse.

Now I found how hard it is to put off the British officer at will. The moustache, the cropped hair, the cut of one's clothes, turn up as evidence against you. By regulation an officer may not shave his moustache, and this gave mine a respite, perhaps only too gladly; close-cropped hair won't grow in a day; slop-clothes can be purehased, it is true, but there is an affection innate in every man's heart for his own raiment. There was, moreover, the sword, helmet, and revolver, all indispensable. I bought a wide-brimmed slouch-hat of the kind much affected by the Dutch, took off collar and necktie, rubbed up my hair, forgot to wash my face, and called in on the manager of the bank to ask for a letter describing me as a young man sent up to the branch at Heidelberg to arrange business. This, after certain compunctions, he gave me, and I was ready to start. My sword was crammed under the seat; the helmet got in behind under the saddle; revolvers - Murray had his as well as I had minewere laid at our feet without an attempt to conceal them, both loaded, it was no time for ceremony; and so we started.

Across the river, then swollen with the the late rains, past Fort Amiel nestling on the hill beyond, and then up the face of the Drakensberg, mile after mile, always up and always steep. At the "outspans," where the tin stables of the relays were kept, we found the Kaffir boys away, and the horses straying far abroad on the hills; and it took both time and patience to fetch them in.

So we drove up the now histori

cal "Slanting Heights;" across the Ingogo; past Savory and Bates's store, the Amajuba frowning on our left; and at last, as dusk began to settle over it, climbed "The Nek." A few waggons, coming down with families 66 on the trek" from the threatening war in front, were all we met the road was deserted, and we were glad to pull up at Walker's neat cottage at Coldstream, and sit down to tea poured out by his pleasant-faced English wife, and have a romp with the children before starting.

It was now 9 P.M., and very dark. The stream which is the boundary of the Transvaal ran at the bottom of the garden; beyond lay a long fifteen miles of bog and morass, across which in daylight it took good pilotage to drive. Now it was pitchy dark, hardly a star in the sky; and the croakers, as usual, prophesied the worst if we attempted it. So we heard them out in silence, and then Murray asked me if I would try it.

"Can you do it, Murray?" I asked.

"Yes," was the answer, Murray not being very talkative.

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'Then we'll be off at once;" and by the light of a lantern, we got the ponies in, and Walker showed us down to the "drift," and wished us a hearty good-bye" and look out for the road, for it's precious bad."

And very bad it was, and very dark. I remember well on our left was the sky-line quite close to us. We were driving along the bottom of a small valley, and the clouds, which were thick and fleecy above this sky-line, looked like clumps of trees, spreading elms, just such as stand about in parks at home. Now and again we crossed this skyline, and drove into, as it seemed, these trees, and I involuntarily felt myself putting up my arm to ward off the branches.

Once Murray stopped dead after driving slowly for some time, and broke the dead silence

"We're off the road; take the reins, and I'll look for it."

So he got down, the "spider" following across slushy pits and boulders; roads everywhere in the ghastly light, and Murray just visible in front with his face to the ground.

All at once we had scouted about for a good half-hour-he

came up,

"All right; here's Meek's fence." And I could make out a dim line of posts, with wire stretched between, on our right. Then he climbed in and we drove on and by-and-by a light shone out ahead, and the light showed something black behind it; and turning towards it, we were in front of a long low building, known far and near as "Meek's store."

An elderly man was Meek, well known on the roads which met here. He wanted us to come in; but we had been warned against his house as a likely rendezvous for Boers, so we took the usual drain of "squareface," and set out again, with his parting words in our ears

"Take care how you drive-the road's mortal rutty; they've been mending it just now, and the Boers have stopped them. You'll pass Van der Schyff's ten mile on; you'd best keep close, he's bad against the British, and there's a lot of the same kind living with him."

The road lay along a stony valley perhaps half a mile in width, with low hills on either side. Now and then at intervals were vleys, marshes knee-deep in water, and often overhead in treacherous mud; and across these, drains had been cut to take the water off. Where the road crossed these vleys the water was deep and still, shining ghastly white across

it, warning us away. So with a plunge and a snort the horses wheeled round, and we went up the hill on our right till the stream must have narrowed, when we turned, and took it with a dash, the light trap jerking across, down one bank and up the other, with a shock that sent me down where the revolvers lay more than once.

"That's Van der Schyff's," said Murray, as we passed a dark thing on our left; and he didn't crack his whip for a mile or more. The man had been appointed general of the district by the Boers, and was putting up their patrols, which we know by day infested the roads.

All this time night was wearing on, and Sand Spruit, the next stage, seemed never nearer..

"I hope we'll find the horses at 'Wool Wash,'" said Murray; "if they have trekked, the horses will be gone too, and it's another fifteen miles to Paade Kop where the next are it will be a bit hard on the brutes."

"Wool Wash" is the local name for an establishment for sheep-washing which a couple of enterprising Englishmen had set up on the small river called Sand Spruit-a bad place at the best to cross, and one which, with tired horses, if the others did not turn up, would be almost impossible.

Just at midnight we saw a small tin house, a tent, and an unfinished building peer out ahead.

"That's' Wool Wash,' and there's a light, so they are not off yet," remarked Murray, breaking another long silence as we drove up and stopped, while a shirt-clad figure shading a candle in a flat candlestick came out to greet us.

"Who's that? Murray? Oh, all right; thought it was a Boer sent to commandeer' us. Get down. Who's that with you?" were the observations we met, and in less

time than it takes to tell, we were sitting inside the little tent, with the 'Wool Wash,' two big fellows in their shirts, evidently roused out of bed, sitting on it opposite, calling for coffee, and asking us the news.

"Walker's not trekked yet? They're all off from hereabouts, and we start to-morrow: it's fighting, and no mistake. Van der Schyff has 200 at his farm. Didn't they stop you? There are lots they did. I don't think you'll get through, with an officer too. Barrett's news is bad, isn't it?"

"No! what is that?" we asked.

"He's just come down from Middleburg, and would have been here, only the patrol chased him back. Bad news too: the 94th cut up, 202 killed and wounded, 48 prisoners. They left two waggons and ten men to bury the dead, and took all the rest. The colonel's shot and eight others, and one of the women. Barrett told them the Boers intended to attack, but the colonel didn't believe it, and now they're all dead. Barrett's face was awful. I think he saw the whole thing. The Boers put up a white flag, and shot them down before they could shoot back."

And this was how I heard of the massacre of my poor regiment.

The tent was hot and stuffy, and I was glad to get out and walk about in the dark cool air, and try to think that it was not true. The friends of the last twenty years murdered, and I going on to meet, perhaps, the same fate. It was a bitter thought, and I paced up and down, and took the coffee they brought me, like a daft man, and walked again, and thought, and thought, and still only thought. It was one of those moments that can only come to a man once in his life, and I thank God that mine has come to me, and passed, and cannot come again.

Above was the dull, cloudy night;

close by the sullen river, just speaking over the rocks to tell me it was waiting for me presently; across the veldt a group of natives jabbering, and trying to drive in our horses; and at my elbow the "Wool Wash," kindly pressing me to drink more coffee, and stringing tales together of how the Boers were all about us. We got away at last, and dashed into the river, the water over the seat of the "spider," the opposite bank like a wall, and the horses, only two of them fresh ones, looking as if every moment they would topple backwards over us. But I seemed to care but little; my thoughts were all with that sad day, and the awful sight which met me everywhere in the darkness.

At 4 A.M. we got down under a low flat-topped hill, Paade Kop, at the door of a small inn, and after much calling roused up the proprietor, also in his shirt, who asked us in, and lit a candle, and pressed us to eat of the remains of supper still on the table-half a boiled fowl, some bread and lumps of butter, the dirty plates standing about, spilled salt, bread-crumbs, and slops of "square-face;" not a tempting meal, and one I neither ate nor wanted. One feeling only was present, to get on and be with my men before it was too late.

Dawn was already breaking as we set out, never less welcome than on that morning; and dozing off by starts, waking with some queer dream across my brain, I watched the red glow creeping across the grey, and thought it never came so fast before. Then the long level road grew out, and we stretched our necks, looking out for any figure riding down it, and caught each other glancing at the revolvers at our feet, and felt about as uncomfortable as most men can feel.

There was still a drive of good twenty miles before us, and there

was no knowing but what Standerton had been attacked-it might have fallen. Every farm about held men who hated us, and the country was so open we could be seen for miles.

Once a speck in front grew out of the horizon, and we watched it coming nearer, and at last saw that it was a man riding to meet us. We never took our eyes off him; one was as bad as fifty-he could give the alarm, and we should never reach our journey's end; and it was unspeakable relief when he turned out to be only a native, and one of Murray's servants.

However, we were fated to be in luck, and the little town came into sight, Stander's Kop on its left, a hill to be well known throughout the siege; and I saw the tents standing up below it, and the men walking about between them as if no Boers were near; and then we dashed into the river, and half wading, half swimming, got across and into the town, and in another minute I was in the middle of old friends, shaking hands, and answering their puzzled questions as to how I got through so safely.

Everything was naturally in the wildest confusion. In the foreground stood a second "spider," on the point of starting for Heidelberg with the Bishop of Pretoria, who, nothing daunted by the certainty of capture, resolved to get through, trusting to his cloth to enable him to do so in safety. Near him was a stout man, dressed as an Englishman, who by his well-shaved chin and ruddy cheeks might have been either English or Dutch. This was the Landdrost, the chief civil magistrate of the town and district, and a man I had soon, as matters turned out, constant work with. Most prompt and willing I found him, indispensable in his accurate knowledge of the people, almost the

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