much pleasanter the sunlight is than the darkness; what joy will it
be for me when the sun of peace is shining for me again!” Then again
I would come to a whole district where not a tree or cool spot was to
be found. The only cool place would be just under the waggon, on the
ground, and that was so uncomfortable that I could not help sometimes
crying out, “Why should I have to suffer so grievously?” but the next
moment I would think, “After the bitter comes the sweet.” When I left
my house and went into Lichtenburg to live in the village, because I
felt so lonely on my farm, I thought I was going to stay there until
the war should come to an end. I never imagined that I should never
set foot in my house again. I was always particular to keep my house
neat and clean; it was the greatest pleasure I had to keep my home
in good order. I used to think sometimes, “Perhaps it is not right
that I should think so much of my house,” and yet I could not help
it. A pretty home on a farm, with abundance of cattle and all that is
needful, always seemed to me the happiest life. When I was wandering
over the veldt with a tent, and especially when I came to dusty and
sandy places, I kept thinking all the time of my house, so clean and
so cool. The day they told me that it had been destroyed I could not
keep my tears back. It was so hard out on the veldt and I had longed so
often for my house; now I had to hear that it had been broken up and
razed to the ground.
But I told myself quickly that I must not weep. “Why should I be better
off than all my fellow-sufferers whose houses had also been broken up
or burned down?”
I went back again, this time to Gestoptefontein. That evening General
De la Rey was in the neighbourhood, but I knew nothing of his movements
nor he of mine. But he arrived the next morning, for the English were
now closing up on every side. I got breakfast ready, and after the men
had had something to eat, off they had to go again, this time to trek
up against Methuen. I remained in Gestoptefontein so as to be able
to find out where the troops were moving; and it was soon reported to
me that they were coming in my direction. These were the troops from
Klerksdorp, so there we were again, exposed to the danger of being
surrounded. So many of us came trekking on that we kept getting into
one another’s path; but we could only say, “The more the merrier,” and
go on without losing courage. “Now we should have to go to Waagkraal,”
said everybody. I said, “Very well, the place has a good name, and so
we can venture it.” It was a very dark night when we reached there. We
were all hungry, and had first of all to get our food ready. After that
we went to sleep, and early the next morning a couple of hundred of our
burghers arrived also.
They were all going nearer now to see what they could do against the
English forces, but there were so many troops they could not tell where
to begin.
Most of them went on towards Methuen’s laager to see what they could
find to do there. The enemy’s troops moved forward to meet them. Our
burghers were now in Pretorius’s place, where I had been staying quite
lately; the English army was coming up along the Harts River.
I was now so far from the Boer laager that I began to fear that if the
English drove them away I should certainly fall into the hands of the
enemy. We waited in great anxiety to hear what would be the result of
the battle. The country was very bare and exposed just there, and as
the troops had many guns with them it was dreadful to think of the
fighting. Yet on the evening of the 1st of March there came a report
that the laager was taken and that Lord Methuen had been wounded. I
could not believe that Lord Methuen was really wounded. The following
morning I felt a great wish to pay a visit to the laager. I had my
horses harnessed and started. I had to drive a good way--it seemed to
me for nearly four hours--and although I had wanted to go back the same
day to my waggons, I found it would be too late to do so. I arrived at
the laager in the afternoon, and there I found an enormous crowd of
men and animals. I asked my husband if really Lord Methuen were here.
“Yes,” he answered, “it is the man who sent you out of Lichtenburg.”
“Then I shall go and see him,” I said. I went with my daughter, and we
found him, quartered with a few tents and waggons, a little distance
from the laager. When I got there, one of our people, a man called
Tom, said that he did not want to see any visitors. Yes, that I could
well understand, that it was not pleasant for him to see the Boers. All
the same, when he heard that I was there, he said that I might come
in--that he would like to see me. I went into his tent; there lay the
great, strong man wounded above the knee, right through the bone. When
I had come in he begged me to forgive him for all the annoyance he had
caused me, and he asked if I had suffered much discomfort from all
that running away. “No,” I said, “it all went much better than I had
expected. I did not even have to do my best to escape from falling into
your hands.”
“Oh,” said he, “I have done my best to catch you.” And so we “chaffed”
each other. As it was a difficult position for both of us, I asked him
if his leg were hurting him very much. He said, “No, not very much.”
“Then it won’t be a good thing for us,” I said, “if your leg gets cured
so quickly, then you will come and shoot at us again.”
He laughed and said, “No, I am going away, and I will not shoot at you
any more.”
Then he told me all about Lichtenburg, and how things were going there,
and he said that my houses were still unharmed.
I said, “But my dwelling-house has been destroyed.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, “that had to be broken down. General De la Rey
might have been coming to it some fine morning and firing at me out of
it. That was why it had to be broken down.”
Then he told me how glad he was to be able to go back to Klerksdorp,
and he asked me to let the telegram to his wife be sent off as quickly
as possible.
Then, as I also wanted to send a telegram to my children in Pretoria, I
told him that he must take good care of it and forward it, so that they
too should be sure to get it. Yes, he said, he would not fail to do so.
And he was true to his word; for when I met my children later they said
they had received it.
Then it grew late and it was time to return. I wished him a speedy
recovery. When I came to the laager they gave me one of the waggons
which they had taken from the enemy to sleep in. It was late and I had
to see to our dinner. But everything seemed in such a muddle among all
these menfolk; I did not know where to lay my hand upon what I wanted.
There were a few Kaffirs belonging to the English there, and these
had to help me with my work that evening. It seemed just as if these
English Kaffirs were thinking, “How aggravating it is to have to do
with the Boer women;” but that did not help them a bit--they had to
work.
Fortunately, there was a water dam near the waggon, and we had an
abundance of water. I got dinner ready, but nobody made his appearance;
it was very late when at last the men arrived. They had been keeping
the prayer hour. General De la Key said, and I was very glad to hear
it; for does not everything depend on the blessing of God? After dinner
we went to bed; and the next morning, as it was the Sabbath, we went
to the laager where service was to be held by a missionary who still
remained with our commandoes. We had hoped to take part in a pleasant
service, but there was a good deal of discontent among the people
because Lord Methuen was to be set free, and the preacher took for a
text, “That it would be displeasing unto the Lord did we allow such a
man, who had dealt so cruelly with our women and children, to escape
untried.”
I said, “How bitter is the lot of man! We were all going to praise
the Lord, and now there is so much sin among us that we should rather
weep.” But it was true; it seemed almost impossible to be charitable
when one thought of all that had happened to so many women and children.
They made Methuen come back. General De la Rey said to the burghers,
“There he is, what do you want me to do to him?”
When they had all heard what General De la Rey had to say about the
matter, it was agreed to leave it to the officers, and these decided to
let him go free.
General De la Rey came up to my waggon, and just then Tom came straight
from Lord Methuen and told us how he was longing to go back, and that
he was quite ill from dread at the thought of having to go on again.
I had a fat chicken killed, and I took some biscuits and sent them with
the chicken to the wounded lord.
However it may be, I could not bring myself to think it right to be so
cruel. People kept asking me how it was possible that I could be kind
to such a man. I said that so far I had never learned to hate anyone,
and that therefore I could still do good to my adversary; especially
when God gave me the grace and the strength to prove to my enemy that,
in spite of all the desolation and destruction he had wrought, there
still remained something over for me.
We were camping here under some lovely trees. All my people had got
here now, and many others kept coming for clothes and tarpaulins and
all kinds of necessaries, so that fresh heart was put into them to push
forward with their task.
After a few days we heard that a large number of “khakis” were coming
on from Klerksdorp.
“Yes,” I said, “now they will be after the Boers again.” General De
la Rey went to the commando to see that all should be ready to receive
the “khakis” when they came. However, they kept quiet for the moment in
Klerksdorp.
I had pitched my tent in a lovely little wood. Everything was looking
very well; the veldt was in good condition; my cattle were all doing
very well when suddenly the pest broke out among my animals. This was
very disappointing; however, it did not go so very badly with them.
The week had come to an end, and I was just going to sleep on Saturday
night when suddenly General De la Rey and Ferreira and young Coos came
up to my waggon.
“I was not to wait for them,” they said, “there was such a large number
of troops in Klerksdorp, and we were not so very far from them.” After
they had had something to eat, we went to sleep. On Sunday everything
was quiet. President Steyn had also joined us. We all met in the
morning at service, and I asked President Steyn to come and dine with
us that day. We had a very pleasant time, and heard nothing more of the
English.
Early on Monday morning, just as I had got up, there came a man all
red with blood asking, “Where is the General?” “Here he is,” I said.
“General,” he cried, “there are the English.” The horses were quickly
saddled. I did not know how to hurry enough, to get all my things
packed, the “khakis” were now so near; however, we had all learned to
get ready quickly when the enemy was coming. Very soon we had finished
everything and off we started again, keeping a good look-out to see
that the troops were not closing upon us.
Very soon we had formed into a very large “trek.”
We started off from Brakspruit. At one o’clock in the afternoon we
stopped to rest, still not knowing what had happened in the night.
Later came a rumour that the troops had taken a great many prisoners
that night, and among others all the members of General De la Rey’s
staff. “What a fortunate thing,” I said, “that he had been in the
waggon that night; if it had not been for that he might very well have
been taken also. It was a merciful ordinance of the Almighty that had
so guided his steps.” We did not know at the time if all had been taken
or killed.
I went to the place of Roodewal; there we all waited, including
President Steyn. We kept a feast day there, Dominie Kestell holding
the service. We found a large community, with many women and children.
I was surprised to see how well they were looking. It was now Saturday.
On Sunday we had to fly once more, this time towards the Harts River.
From there we went on to Coetzee’s place, where we arrived late in the
evening. Still later, General De la Rey arrived with his men.
In the morning, after we had had breakfast, the burghers all went
back to the commando. I got everything ready for our dinner and set
it to cook, and then went for a moment to the waggon of one of my
friends. We were sitting there talking, when suddenly there were the
cannon reverberating again not very far from us. Everyone tried to get
ready before everyone else; it was not very long before we were all
once more on the “trek.” There was now a very large number of waggons
driving on together. Some went towards the clumps of trees, others went
on over the veldt where there was no road. “It will go hard with us
to-day,” I thought, “the whole country is so bare; they can see us from
a very long way off.” Little Coos was close to my waggons. He dashed
off alone towards the commando. I felt very nervous lest he might come
suddenly upon the troops. The battle went on; the people in the waggons
had to get away from it as best they could. Later it began to rain. In
the afternoon things were quiet, so that we were able to make a halt.
The food that I had half cooked in the morning had to go once more over
the fire. “It will soon be ready now,” I said.
In the evening we went on again. We heard that the camp of the “khakis”
was in Brakspruit, at no great distance from us.
Now we waited to hear in what direction they were moving. The following
day it began to rain very hard. I had no wood to make a fire. We were
standing there on a barren rise, looking out to see which way we should
have to go, and here and there I saw an ant-heap burning. I said to the
boy,[5] “Set one on fire for us, and put on the ‘kastrol’[6] and let us
try to get something ready to eat.” I had a large green sailcloth, and
out of this I made a screen, so that there was lots of room to keep dry
in, and very soon I had plenty of company round me. That helped to make
the time pass, but as for eating or drinking, we could do neither. It
took a very long time before the ant-hill began to burn. I thought, “If
only the ‘khakis’ would wait till our food could be cooked!” We got on
so slowly with the ant-hill, the “pap” would not boil. Simson was doing
all he could to make the fire burn up--we were all very hungry. At last
there was some good soup ready, and we had friends with us to help us
eat it, so that we began to enjoy ourselves. We had just finished when
there came the order, “inspan.” Very quickly we got ready, and away we
went once more. That evening we had to drive on till very late. It grew
so dark that we could scarcely see anything, and yet we could not make
a halt. My boy asked what he should do, as he could not tell whether he
were on the right path or not. My oxen toiled on slowly, and I said
that we had better stick to the path and go on. We could not outspan,
as I had no idea where we were, and we did not even know now if we were
still on the path that the people in the waggons had taken. On we went,
and at last, late in the night, came to the waggons. All was silent;
everyone was fast asleep. I had nothing that I could give the children
to eat; and the first thing I wanted to do was to milk the cows. We
waited a little, but no cows came up. We had gone one way and they the
other; we could not get to them that night. I told the boy to take an
ox-yoke and chop it up for firewood, so as to be able to get some water
boiled and make tea. After we had had tea I went to sleep. The Kaffirs
started out very early in the morning to look for the cows. The boy
had been very good; he had looked after them the whole night, and he
now came up to us with all the animals. The calves were close to the
waggons, and the Kaffirs set to work at once to milk the cows. How glad
the children were to be able to come to the pailful of milk!
[5] A Kaffir, Simson.
[6] _Kastrol_, from the French _casserole_ = pot or deep pan.
It was a finer day; it had left off raining. We were now in the
neighbourhood of Schweizer-Renecke.
Then came General De la Rey to my waggons with the news that all the
Generals were to go the following week to Klerksdorp. I had a great
many people with me just then--General De Wet and many others.
On Monday, after we had spent a peaceful Sunday all together, the
Generals started for Klerksdorp. I went to a place not very far from
Schweizer-Renecke, for the troops were stationed in great force at
Rooiwal, and were also scattered about at many other places.
Here were a great many “treks” of women and children, who were also
very much afraid of the troops. Our commandoes were not very far away,
so that I could easily hear if the “khakis” were coming. I thought
that if only they would let me stay quietly till the Generals had left
them I should be happy. But we kept on hearing of more and more troops
advancing. I said, “How can that be? I thought that while the Generals
were with them there would be peace for the time.” But no; it grew
worse. I had a great many people and cattle with me, so that we kept
ourselves well informed as to what the “khakis” were doing.
We hardly knew now where next to go: the blockhouses were hemming us in
on every side--we had to be on the watch the whole time. Suddenly we
saw some horsemen come dashing on, and they called out to us, “Here are
the ‘khakis.’”
It was a dreadful commotion. Everyone was saddling and harnessing. My
oxen were not there, and I had no man with me to help. There were many
people, but they had to see to their own safety. “Ah!” I thought, “if
only my oxen would come!”
I did not want to be taken prisoner now after having escaped so many
times, especially when we were, perhaps, nearly at the end of the
terrible war. If only I could get off this time!
As people passed me they cried out, “Take your spider, and leave your
waggons and everything behind you.” I replied, “You go on.” And the
children began to cry, and to say, “What is going to become of us?
Everyone is hurrying on!”
“Let them go on,” I said. “All their women and children are prisoners;
why should they trouble about us?” The people who had waggons abandoned
them and hastened on. As my waggon stood by the way-side they kept on
telling me that I must come too--that the troops were close at hand. At
last there were my oxen coming over the rise. The children helped to
catch all the oxen that we could get inspanned.
Then I saw a troop of horsemen riding up over the rise. I asked the
people passing me who they were--if they were “khakis” or Boers?
“No,” they said; “they are Boers.”
“Good!” I cried, but I hurried my people all the same. As soon as we
were ready the whips touched the oxen, and off we went at a good trot.
After we had driven on some little distance the yoke broke.
Then for the first time a good Samaritan passed us. Ada said to him,
“Do help us so that we can get the ox yoked, and tell us where the
English are.”
The young man got off his horse and helped us, and he said that the
“khakis” were not so very near. We went on quickly, then presently we
heard that there had been a terrible fight. Many of our men had been
killed or wounded. Oh! what dreadful news for us! I went on. Towards
evening we halted for a while. After having eaten we started off
again, for we thought that the troops would be able to get through to
Schweizer-Renecke, and that we should be straight in their path. Late
at night we stopped to rest. Early next morning we went on again; then,
as we heard that they were not coming any nearer, we halted in a place
not very far from Schweizer-Renecke. As it was near the end of the
week, we wanted to stay there over Sunday, and this we did. That Sunday
I had a great many visitors.
I was astonished to see how many women and children were still out,
and how well they looked, although they were wanderers. We talked
about the peace that we were hoping for, though not for a peace that
should impair our independence. It was very pleasant that evening to
hear the sweet singing of the people as they sat near their waggons.
The following morning we went to Piet De la Rey’s place, and as he was
also with us we had made up our minds to stay there. But it did not
come off, for we found we could get no water there. We went on a little
farther, closer to Schweizer-Renecke.
My tent had just been pitched when Johannes De la Rey, the son of Piet
De la Rey, suddenly appeared. He and his brother had both been wounded
in the last battle.
I had a bed made up in the tent and put him on it, for he was very much
fatigued from wandering about since he had been wounded.
He was delighted to be able to rest. That afternoon he was taken to the
hospital in Schweizer-Renecke, his father going with him. There were
many more wounded. I went to visit them, and found them lying in the
devastated houses. We thought, “We must make the best of it and take as
good care of them as possible.”
Going to the landdrost, I told him that as there were troops in
Bloemhof I thought it would not be advisable to stay any longer in
Schweizer-Renecke. “Oh, no,” he said; “it is quite safe here. If the
‘khakis’ do come I shall know it in good time, and you need not be at
all anxious.”
I said, “Very well, if it is really so then I shall stay on here;” but
I was not at all easy in my mind. I went to my waggon, which was about
half an hour’s distance from the village, and told the man who was with
me that if I were to follow my own instinct I should get ready at once
and leave the place.
He said that there was no need to go. I let myself be talked over, and
remained for the night, as they all thought that things were so quiet.
That night I slept well, and was still sleeping early in the morning
when up came my boy with these words: “Here are the ‘khakis’!”
This time they were right in the village, where all was in disorder. I
felt all the worse because I had remained there against my own instinct.
My people hastened to yoke the oxen. Everything was lying on the
ground, but they packed it all into the waggons very quickly. We had to
see what was to be done. I asked, “Is the hen-coop open?” There were
still a few chickens out then. I said still, “Get the chickens into
it;” but the fighting was coming so near that we had to hurry on.
Then there was such a crowd of men and beasts that it grew very
difficult to make one’s way through and get away. Commandant Erasmus
came up and said, “Don’t you run away; it is only wedding-guests who
are firing like that; those are no ‘khakis.’” I drew up and said, “Go
and get my chickens.” The boy went back and then came the news that of
course they were “khakis.”
Then our flight was doubly hasty. The fighting now was much nearer us.
I thought, “I shall fly to the last.” Then I had more misfortunes.
There were the chickens out of the coop again. I said, “Let us wait for
one moment and get the fowls in first, and let the boy come up with the
cows; for if I can get no milk I shall be very unhappy.”
The animals were all driven forward; the oxen were urged on and we got
on at a brisk pace.
The ground was vibrating from the firing of the “khakis.” The way was
full of sand and rocks. It was very rough travelling. I kept wondering
every moment where the boy could be with the cows; but it was now a
time when each one had to consider his own safety, without troubling to
look after me. I was waiting for the moment to come when I should be
taken prisoner. Fortunately, young Jacobus De la Rey, son of Pieter,
caught sight of my waggon and came up. He took the whip and began
driving the oxen onwards while he rode on his horse alongside. He came
out on the veldt with my waggon, and, as he knew the neighbourhood very
well, he said, “Aunt, I shall do what I can to get you out safely.”
“Very well,” I said, “but you must not go and get yourself taken for my
sake. If the English come up with us, then fly away, I shall not come
to any harm. If they must catch me--well, then, let them do so.”
The mountains were echoing back the sound of their firing. I said,
“There is one comfort, I cannot see any cannon; if they were to begin
to fire them at me I should have to give in then.”
We went on as hard as we could. Young Kobus De la Rey said, “They are
coming over the Rand.”
“Then we are in their hands,” I answered.
Then my boy came up with us and told me that the “khakis” had taken my
cows. They had so fired upon him that he had taken to his heels and
left the cows behind. That was bad news; I did not want to listen to
it, although we too were in great danger, and at any moment they might
come and take me prisoner also.
[Illustration: “Our people”.]
I told them that they could not go on any longer driving the oxen like
that. We should have to give in. But still the brave Jacobus kept on,
and said, “No, aunt, your oxen are getting on very well. Don’t you
worry about them.”
I could not understand myself how it was that my waggons were not
taken. There was not one commando there to keep the “khakis” back.
I told myself that when the Lord is working His will, then the greatest
wonders can happen.