In the Shadow of Death | Page 3

me, but he was
prevented. The enemy, determined to drive me back or effect my
capture, concentrated numerous forces on my small commando. For
months I was dreadfully harassed, and had no rest day or night. But I
was resolved neither to retrace my steps nor to capitulate. How I
escaped from time to time I now tell. The Cape Colonist Boers began to
come in, and my forces increased rather than decreased. The burghers I
had at my disposal I subdivided into smaller commandos, to give
employment to the enemy, so that they could not concentrate all their
forces on me. Thus, as the Colonists rose in arms, the commandos
began to multiply more and more, until it was impossible for the British
forces to expel the invaders from the Cape Colony.
At the beginning of August, 1901, General French once more fixed his
attention on me. I was hard pressed by large forces, and had to fall back
on the Orange Free State, where I then operated till the 15th of
December. Again, and now for the last time, I forded the Orange River
at midnight, and set foot on British territory. The following day I was
wounded while crossing the railway line near Hanover Road. For about
a month I was laid up in the British hospital at Naauwpoort, whence I
was removed to Graaf Reinet gaol, and there I was confined as a
criminal until the 10th of March, 1902, when after a five days' trial for
murder I was acquitted. After my acquittal I was advanced to the
honour (?) of P.O.W. (Prisoner of War), and so remained till the
cessation of hostilities.
CHAPTER II.
DARK DAYS.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises.
_Shakespeare._
Up to the 27th February, 1900, the Republican arms were on the whole
successful. The Boers fought well and many a brilliant victory crowned
their efforts, and encouraged them to continue their struggle for

freedom. True, they had to sacrifice many noble lives, but that was a
sacrifice they were prepared to make for their country. Fortune smiled
on them; as yet they had met with no very serious reverses.
Magersfontein, Stormberg, Colenso, Spion Kop, were so many
offerings of scarce vanquished Boers to the veiled Goddess Liberty.
But towards the end of February, 1900, clouds gathered over the
Republics. The tide of fortune was turned; disaster after disaster
courted the Boer forces; blow after blow struck them with bewildering
force. Then came the news of Cronje's capture. No sooner had we
crossed the Orange River during the retreat from Stormberg than we
learnt that stunning news of the disaster at Paardeberg on the 27th of
February--the anniversary of Amajuba. Cronje captured--the General in
whom we had placed such implicit confidence and on whom we relied
for the future! Cronje captured--the man who had successfully checked
the advance of the English forces on Kimberley at Magersfontein; the
hero of many a battle; the man who knew no fear! His men
captured--the flower and pick of the Boer forces, with all their guns,
and brave Major Albrecht as well!
Many a burgher who up to that fatal day had fought hopefully and
courageously lost hope and courage then. Some, we regret to say, were
so disconsolate that they renounced their faith in that Supreme Being in
whose hands are the destinies of nations. Their reliance on their
country's God ended with Cronje's capture, as though their deliverance
depended solely upon him. This, however, does not appear so strange
when one recollects that the Boers could not afford to lose so many of
their best men at a time when all were precious for their country's
safety. As to the siege itself, we, not having been in it, cannot enter into
its details. One of the besieged, who, in spite of a terrific bombardment
and repeated attacks by the enemy, kept a diary of the events of each
day, gives this striking description on the 10th and last day:
"Bombardment heavier than usual. The burghers are recalcitrant and in
consequence the General's authority wanes rapidly. There is hardly any
food, the remaining bags of biscuits are yellow from the lyddite fumes,
so is everything, damp and yellow. The stench of the decomposed
horses and oxen is awful. The water of the rivers is putrid with carrion.

A party of men caught three stray sheep early on the morning of the
10th. In haste they killed them and started to skin them desperately; but
they had half done when a lyddite shell bursting close to them turned
the mutton yellow with its fumes and it had to be abandoned reluctantly.
The sufferings of the wounded are heartrending. Little children huddled
together in bomb-proof excavations are restless, hungry and crying.
The women