A Woman’s Wanderings and Trials During the Anglo-boer War

A
WOMAN’S WANDERINGS AND TRIALS
DURING THE
Anglo-Boer War

BY
Mrs (General) DE LA REY

Translated by Lucy Hotz

ILLUSTRATED

LONDON
T. FISHER UNWIN
Paternoster Square
MDCDIII

All Rights reserved

	PAGE
The Wanderers	Frontispiece
General De la Rey and His Staff	17
Mrs De la Rey beside Her Waggon	36
“The Picture of My Wandering Life”	63
“Our People”	96
Mesdames Ferreira and Bezuidenhout	134
Four of Mrs De la Rey’s Children, with Two Little Girl Friends	137
Three of Mrs De la Rey’s Children	139

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On the 4th of October 1899 my husband left for the western border. I wondered what would be the outcome for me, and I thought of the many now leaving, some of whom might never come back. After a short time my husband returned and spent one day at home, then he left again on commando.

A few days later I went to pay him a visit. I found that all was going well, and I met many friends, for the laager was a very big one.

I was in good spirits, but the same day came the order to move to Kraaipan with 1200 men. This was not very pleasant news for me.

All was soon ready for the start. It was a lovely evening, the moon shone brightly, and the 1200 horsemen rode out, the cannon clattering as they went.

I had to spend the night in the laager. Next morning I went home to wait there anxiously for what was to happen. That day I heard nothing. Next day there was a report that some prisoners of war had been brought by train to Kraaipan, and no one on our side was hurt in this first fight. A day or two later I returned to the laager, which had been moved some distance farther back.

There I found all of good cheer and courage. The same day an order came to trek for Kimberley, and I went on for two days with the laager, in which were many odd sights. When I had to return I felt it hard that all my people must go so far away. That afternoon it had been warm near the waggon, and my dear son had taken on himself to prepare our dinner. We ate it there all together, and Field-Cornet H. Coetzee, who was with us, said he must learn from my son how to make such good things to eat. My son had done it very well, though it was the first time that he had ever tried to act as cook.

We then took up our journey again. It was curious to me to see so many horsemen. That night I had to return; my husband came a little way with me and the laager trekked on.

I had now to take leave of my two sons, who were going with the laager. My heart was torn, for I did not know if I should see them again.

But time was passing; they had to go on, and I to go back; the waggons must be inspanned and the horses saddled.

Then I said to my two sons, “Adrian and Jacobus, let your ways be in the fear of the Lord. If I do not see you again upon earth, let me find you again in heaven.” And my beloved Adrian, when I said these words, looked at me.

We went to spend the night at Mr Du Toit’s house, where we had a welcome rest. Next morning my husband went back to the laager and I returned home, where I found all well. We kept hearing always of fighting. The commando trekked to Freiburg, and from there to Kimberley. I had a telegram saying that my husband had gone to the Modder River, and I thought of the dangerous work that he had to do. Then he had to go farther and farther away. News came of the fight at Rooilaagte; it was terrible to hear how many “khakis” had been there and how hard our men had had to fight. There were many from the Lichtenburg district among them, so that everyone was anxious.

Sunday, the 26th of December, was the nineteenth birthday of my son Adrian Johannes. When I went to the village in the morning I met my sisters on their way to church. Then we all began to speak of him and of how he would fare on his birthday; and we all grew heavy-hearted.

On Monday we were without news. On Tuesday evening a telegram came that all was well, which filled me with joy. Yet that night I sat on my bed, and could not sleep for anxiety and sorrow till I had earnestly begged of the Lord to make me fit to bear the burden He should lay upon me, and to let me sleep.

Early next morning I was awake, but the same feeling remained. I got out of bed quickly and then saw it was going to rain. On going out it felt pleasant after the rain. Suddenly someone cried out, “There is Juffrouw Martens.” She came from the village, and my first words were, “What am I going to hear?” She came through the house and met me in the backyard with these words, “Nonne,[1] I have sorrowful tidings. Your husband has sent me a telegram for you, and it says, ‘This morning our dearly-beloved son Adrian passed away in my arms from a wound received yesterday in a heavy fight, and to-day we shall lay him in the ground at Jacobsdaal.’”

It was heartrending for me, but there is comfort to be found at the feet of Jesus. All Lichtenburg knew him and loved him. I had not only lost my son, but many had lost their friend.

The Sunday after he died, Dominie Du Toit of Lichtenburg chose as his text Revelations xxi., verse 7:—“And I will be his God, and he shall be my son”—and he said that the Lord had more need of him than we.

A fortnight after my son’s death I went to join his father and brother. After travelling four days I came near the Vaal River. That morning we heard a terrible roar of cannon; a great fight was taking place at Maggersfontein. I thought then, “Whose turn shall it be to-day to give up his life?” When I came to the laager they had already come out to meet me, but we missed each other. Just then I met my brother, Jan Greef, and as I had heard nothing more about the death of my son I asked him to tell me everything. He told me what a great fight it had been all day, and how my son had been all day in the thick of the fighting and no hurt had come to him. At sunset he was walking with his father; suddenly a bomb burst between them. He asked his father if the bomb had touched him and his father answered “No.” He said nothing more, but went on 150 steps farther before he sat down, saying to his father, “The bomb that burst over there struck me.” Then they saw that a bullet had entered his right side. They carried him a little way, and placed him in a carriage to bring him to the hospital. At four o’clock in the morning they reached Jacobsdaal; they bore him into the hospital, and the doctor said he would come and take the bullet out after breakfast.

All night he had tasted only a little water; now they brought him some coffee. He told his father that he must help him to take it; his father raised him up in bed and he saw that he was near death. He asked him if he did not want to say anything. His answer was, “Nay, father, only lay me down.” With these words he drew his last breath. All was over with our son. This I heard from my brother.

Then my husband returned, and I heard for the first time how he too had been wounded in the arm, and how very ill he also had been before I arrived.

From there we went to Maggersfontein and then to the village of Jacobsdaal. I had so longed to see my son’s grave, but when I came there I found only a mound of earth. Yet, knowing that his dust was resting there, it did me good to see it.

Then I went to the hospital. I thought, “If only I could find the clothes which he was wearing the last day!” They brought me to the room where the clothes of the dead were lying. His father found the trousers. We could tell them by the hole that the bullet had made. I saw the nurse who had looked after him; she said how patient and contented he had been.

There were many of our wounded lying there.

I went back to Maggersfontein. A little way from it was an empty house; I went into it as I did not wish to live in the laager. Every morning we could hear the firing at Maggersfontein.

Christmas was drawing near. From all sides people sent us dainties and anything that they thought would give us pleasure. I used often to go to General Cronje’s laager.

In the beginning of the new year 1900 General De la Rey had to retire to Colesberg. I went with him to Bloemfontein, and the evening we arrived there he had to go on to Colesberg. I went back home, where I found our children safe and well.

Every day we kept hearing of battles. I went on with my work on the farm, and that made the time pass less slowly. Two months later I went to Kroonstad and found my husband there. All the week he had not been well, but he got better quickly and started anew on commando.

I went home again, and had not been there long when General De la Rey was sent to Mafeking; but while on his way the siege of Mafeking was raised.

Then all the commandoes were ordered to Pretoria. My husband came home on the 23rd of May, and on the 25th of May the march to Pretoria began. That was a hurried trek, for the enemy were in great force.

We did not know now what their next movements would be, so the best thing for me to do was to wait for the coming of the enemy.

Five days after the Boers had left the district the Kaffirs came in such numbers that they stripped the whole border of cattle, and acted abominably towards the women and children.

A week after the Boers left Lichtenburg the troops[2] entered the village. I was then on my farm, which lies a quarter-of-an-hour’s distance outside.

Seven horsemen came to my house. I was then in the garden, but on seeing them I hastened to the house. Four armed men stood outside; the other three had come in and were turning everything upside down.

When I was at the door one of them came towards me with the question, “Whose place is this?”

I answered, “De la Rey’s.”

“The General’s?” he asked.

I said, “Yes.”

Then he told me that I must bring my husband out of the house.

I answered, “You have been inside, why don’t you bring him out yourself? I cannot do so, because he is on commando.”

“When did he go from here?” he asked me.

“A week since,” I answered.

After asking a few more questions and taking whatever he wanted he went away.

I went to the village; I could not remain on the farm alone with the children.

From that moment the troops did whatever they liked. I had two horses; the Kaffirs had taken all the cattle. I saw now that they were taking the horses out of the stable and were going to ride away on them. The hardest thing was that one of the horses had belonged to my dead son, and I could not bear to part with it. I asked to see General Hunter, and I told him about the farm and about my horses. He said he knew nothing about the horses, but would make inquiries. The next day my two horses were brought back, and I was told that no damage would be done to the farm; but all the same they did whatever they liked there, and I had to put a good face upon everything.

Every day more troops came past, and the only news I could get from them about my people was that they had driven General De la Rey into such a tight corner that he would never be able to escape.

I used to say to them then, “Very well. I hope that when you have got hold of him you will treat him kindly. Remember, he is only fighting for his lawful rights and property.”

Then again I heard that no, he had not been taken prisoner. (This was in June 1902.)

When General De la Rey and his staff were in the east, after they had been driven out of Pretoria by the superior numbers of the enemy, the people in the west country had a terrible time. The women were for the greater part alone on their farms, and their cattle were at the mercy of the cruel Kaffirs, who used to come and steal them away, generally at night. They would burst into the houses and make their way to the women, and tell them that they must have their money, using such threats and such violence that many a one fled in the night with her children, and often wandered for hours before she could find shelter. It was bitter enough for them then; but little could they think that all this was but a drop in the cup of their suffering. Many of the burghers returned home on this account to see what they could do to save their families. Three burghers from this neighbourhood were killed during the war—Adriaan Mussman, Adrian De la Rey and Petrus Biel. All three were still young, but they fought like the bravest for freedom and the right.

Adriaan Mussman was only twenty-two; he did not know the name of fear. In the thick of a fierce fight he saw that our guns were in danger. He rushed forward with the others who tried to save them. Bullets were raining all round him, but nothing could keep him back but death. He drew his last breath like a brave hero.

As each day drew to a close I was dreading what should happen on the next.

One day one of my friends came to tell me that the commandant wanted to have my daughter and myself out of the place, but that he could not find any pretext for sending us away. I used sometimes to go to my farm to see how things were getting on there, but so many “khakis” were about that I never knew how to come away quickly enough.

The village had been occupied for about two months when one day I saw to my dismay that the enemy were burning things wholesale. That same evening they withdrew from the village.

A few days after they had left, our people came back with big commandoes.

A week after the “khakis” had gone out of Lichtenburg General De la Rey came back to the village, but after spending only a day or two with us, he started again for the Rustenburg district.

Then General Douglas returned and occupied the village once more. He came to our farm and took away all our sheep. When the English had got all our cattle, they went off, and we could again breathe freely.

I went to the place where the cattle used to be kept, and there I found the shepherd waiting for me.[3] He had been able to recover one or two hundred of our sheep, so that I and my children still had something left to us to live upon.

Shortly afterwards General De la Rey returned to Lichtenburg.

But General Douglas had not moved very far off, and as soon as he heard that General De la Rey was in the place he came back with his troops at full speed. But General De la Rey was already far away in the distance. Just to show the “khakis” that we were not as starving as they thought, I made some bread out of the flour that my husband had brought us and sent two fresh loaves to Douglas. The English soon left to take up the pursuit again; and now the talk was that they were in their 20,000 after De la Rey, and that this time he would never manage to escape.

I said again, “Very well, you catch him if you can, but be good to him.” A few days later he was still free; the 20,000 had not been able to get hold of him.

Shortly afterwards Lord Methuen entered the village and took up his quarters. He sent to fetch my two horses, but I would not let them go. I said, “No, I will not give them up to you; I shall go and see the General himself about it.” “Very well,” was the answer, “you can see him to-morrow morning at nine o’clock; that will be the best time.” The next morning I started off, but when I got there Lord Methuen could not see me; he was too busy, they said. I felt very angry. I turned to go back, when just as I had got to my carriage, one of his orderlies brought me the message that Lord Methuen was ready to receive me, and they took me to him. He asked what he could do for me.

I answered, “For me you cannot do much, for as far as my cattle are concerned I have lost nearly everything. But I have still two horses left, and one of these belonged to my son, who is dead, and I hope that you will not take it away from me.” He gave me his hand and he said, “It shall not be taken away from you.” I thanked him and went home again. Lord Methuen remained in Lichtenburg for a week. When the place was once more empty General De la Rey came back to the village. He remained with us for four days. The day he left Lord Methuen returned.

There was a big fight that day not very far from the village. Towards nightfall the burghers beat a retreat under General Lemmer, and next morning the troops came back to Lichtenburg.

The following day the English commandant came to see me. He had a hard task before him, he told me; he had been ordered to burn my house down. I asked him where I was to go to with my children if my house were burned down.

“I shall leave one of the buildings standing for you.”

I thanked him, and I said to him, “Burn them down, burn the others down if you think it fit to do so. Even if you leave one for me, there will still be four to burn. However cruel you may seem to be, yet God is always gracious.”

He answered that it was very hard indeed for him; but that he had his orders and he must obey.

All the same, he went away without burning any of the buildings.

Then came another trial. One afternoon, at about three o’clock, they suddenly came to tell me that I must start for Mafeking with my daughter in half-an-hour.

“And what about my other children then?” I asked.

“Have you got more children still?” asked the man.

I called all my children together.

“Very well,” he went on then, “you can take all your children with you.”

“And for what reasons am I being sent away in this fashion?”

“When General De la Rey was here you took him in and sheltered him.”

“Yes,” I answered, “I did take him in and shelter him; and I shall do it five hundred times more if it please the Lord to spare him. I am prepared to go away as a prisoner of war, but I will not do it of my own free will. And you say to Lord Methuen that he knows very well that my husband is only fighting for his rights and doing his best for his country. I will tell you a parable for him. Instead of doing harm to our cause, every step you take against us makes it one hundredfold stronger. Where only one now calls for vengeance, hundreds shall come to be avenged. He can send me wherever he likes, but it will not do you any good. I never thought to be so badly treated in the Queen’s name. I could not have believed that because you cannot get the better of our men you would set to work against their women.”

“Well,” he said, “I must not talk too much, for we have very little time.” With that he left me and went to Lord Methuen; but he soon came back again, and then said that I had not been ordered to leave the place, but that it would be better for me if I were to do so.

“No, I do not think that it would be better for me to go away from my own land. I would choose far rather to stay and suffer with my own people than go away.”

“Very well, ask General De la Rey, then, what you had better do.”

“No, I shall ask him nothing of the kind. He has his own work, and I shall decide and make shift for myself.”

“Very good; then I shall send and ask Commandant Vermaas to take you away from here.”

“I can send one of my boys if you will only give him a pass through your troops. Then he can go to Commandant Vermaas and ask him to send me a span of oxen so that I can get away from here.” This was agreed to. Later on it was said that the officers had decided to let me stay on in the village, but that I had refused to do so, and had declared that I was going away as soon as my oxen arrived.

They kept coming to see me the whole time, and were always talking about the war, saying that the Boers had far better give it up.

I used to reply, Yes, it would be a good thing to see an end to the war; but it is no small matter for a people to give up their country, and that it would cost them a very great deal before they could put an end to it.

I asked them, “How strong are the forces that the English have sent to South Africa to fight us?”

“Nearly 300,000 strong,” was the officer’s answer.

“We have about 60,000 Transvaalers and Free Staters,” I said, “and we have been fighting with you now for over fourteen months; how can you possibly expect that we are going to give up our arms of our own free will? No! You will have a great deal of trouble before you bring that about.”

I was waiting meanwhile in great anxiety for the coming of my oxen, so that I should be able to make a start. It was five days more before they arrived, for the oxen were kept far away from the village. I got everything ready in the meantime to be able to go off as soon as they came, for I dreaded every moment that a fresh order would come and that I should not be able to go. At last the oxen arrived. When our friends saw that they were there, they came hastening from every side to wish us God-speed. It was a hard thing for our friends to see us sent away in this manner to wander without a home. I said that no, I was beginning my travels willingly, but all unknowing where they were going to end or what the future had in store for me. One thing I knew, and that was, if all my friends were left behind, my Heavenly Father would yet be with me.

I hastened to pack everything into the waggon, and prepared to start on my pilgrimage.

On Friday, December 1, 1900, I drove out of Lichtenburg after taking leave of my friends. The oxen were put to the waggon; the children got into it. I had still a couple of milch cows that I could take with me. I and my daughter followed behind in my carriage. It was raining hard as I left my village behind, not knowing whether ever I should step foot in it again. Lord Methuen’s order had been that I was to go ten miles away from the village and not to come nearer. Next day I came to the place where Commandant Vermaas and his commando were staying. He told me that I could go to his farm and remain there as long as I liked; but as my husband’s work then lay for the most part in the Rustenburg district, I preferred to go on, instead of staying at the commandant’s farm. So I went from there to Kafferspan, a place about eighteen miles from the village of Lichtenburg. When General De la Rey heard that I had been sent out of the village he sent my son Coos to come to fetch me. Then I heard that on the 3rd of December 1900 they had captured a convoy near Magaliesberg and had struck a good blow at the English. I said, “That is right! It is not only I who have been in adversity; they too” (the English) “have had their reverses.”

I went from there to Zuurfontein, a place belonging to Mr Kritzinger, not far from Rustenburg; he gave me a house to live in. The people there were all kind and friendly. After I had been staying with Mr Kritzinger about a week, General De la Rey arrived with his staff; it was a great delight to see them all again. It was a good thing for them, also, that I was out of the village. But after having remained a few days they had to go off again to join the commando. Where I was living was not very far from the English camp; it was a mountainous district, and we could hear the cannon shots distinctly every day. On the 13th of December General De la Rey took General Clement’s laager, at a place called Nooitgedacht, behind the hills, and for a short time after that there was no more fighting. As Christmas was coming nearer and nearer, I had been wondering what sort of a Christmastide it would be for me; but as the English still kept quiet, General De la Rey and his staff came back to us again. They arrived just the day before Christmas, and once more I had the great joy of having my own dear ones round me. There were a great many people on the farm where I was then staying, and on Christmas Day many friends came together there. As soon as Christmas was over they all went away again to the commando; but, as there was nothing to be done that week, our people all returned for the New Year, and, owing to this, we were also able to spend a happy, though quiet, New Year’s Day together. A little while later they heard that many English laagers were trekking up, and that the place where I was staying lay right in their way, so that I had to pack up everything in the greatest haste ready for flight. The day was just over when I got this news, and we had to pack the waggon in the dark. Very early the next morning we left the farm behind us.

As I had some cattle and sheep this time to take with me, and as we did not exactly know which way the English were coming, we could not think where to move to for safety. After going some distance, we waited to hear from which side the laagers were coming. In a day or two we heard that the English troops had gone back again, and so I went back also to the farm belonging to Mr Kritzinger, whose family had accompanied me in my flight. I stayed with them there for two months, and often heard the booming of the cannon among the mountains.

For nineteen months after that I wandered round in my waggon, and, just as one gets attached to the room in which one sleeps, so did I grow to love my waggon. Many a stormy night, when it was blowing and raining, have my Kaffirs had a hard job to get the sailcloth covering firmly fixed, so that the wind should not blow it right away. Over many a hill and across many a river this waggon has taken me safely. For in my darkest and most anxious nights never did I fail to put my trust in the Lord, and never did His guidance forsake me. Sometimes in my journeyings I would come to houses which had not been completely destroyed, and where, perhaps, one room would still be under shelter; then I would have it cleaned quickly; we would stay there during the heat of the day. Sometimes I would come to a place where I had meant to spend a few days, and then at once would have to leave in all haste and continue my flight. One day we came to Mr Basson’s place (in the Lichtenburg district), and, almost the same moment, General De la Rey and his staff arrived from the Zwartruggen (in the district of Rustenburg). When he came up with my waggon he was tired out, and, after having some dinner, he got into the waggon to lie down a little and rest. But he had hardly been there half-an-hour when a man came hurrying up, crying, “Why are you all so quiet here? The “khakis” are upon us!” And there were the “khakis,” just half-an-hour’s distance on horseback from my waggon. There was no commando that could have turned them; General De la Rey and his staff flew to saddle their horses, and jumped up and rode out to see what the “khakis” were doing. When they (General De la Rey and his staff) had ridden up the rise they saw that the English troops were drawing back. Then I had to fly still farther. A bare country lay before me to be crossed, and I thought that this time I should never be able to get away safely, but we found afterwards that though the “khakis” had been so near us they had had no idea of it, and we managed to come away safe and sound. The same thing often happened, and it seemed wonderful that I was not taken prisoner. As they had blocked up all the roads with their blockhouses, it became so difficult to get through that I had to go in the direction of Harts River, a bare and unpleasant tract of country. As we went on we found thousands of dead sheep lying about, killed by the English. They had not been able to keep up with the march, and had been driven together and slaughtered, and there they were scattered, some shot, others cut down, and others with their heads taken off by a sabre cut. Many a time did I repeat, “Ah, this is indeed a cruel war! What bitter suffering has it not caused both to man and beast!” Often I have thought, “What is going to come out of all these trials and troubles!” Even when I looked at the comet I wondered what it could portend that it should appear three mornings running in the east, and then again every evening in the west, during a whole month—this was in the months of June and July 1901. As I was journeying on the open veldt I could see this star plainly every evening; and when this sign was no longer to be seen, then another made its appearance. Every evening after sunset this other token appeared in the sky; a bright red radiance filled the air, and would remain visible for about three-quarters of an hour.

I thought that the enemy were now so far away that we should be able to spend some time where we now found ourselves.

General De la Rey fell ill once more and had to join me and take to his bed. Early one morning I had just got up when suddenly we heard the sound of firing. The English were then only one hour’s distance from us; they had covered a great deal of ground in the night, and had been for five or six hours in the saddle, hoping to catch the burghers at Tafelkop. General De la Rey sprung out of bed. The horses were saddled in a moment, and off they rode. The firing was coming nearer and nearer. I thought to myself, “I am in for the fighting to-day,” but all the same I began packing everything into the cart as quickly as possible. Very soon I was in flight once more. It looked as if things were going very badly, for all round me people were hurrying as hard as they could. It began to rain. The waggons and the mule carts came tearing past, and it began to look as if I were going to be left behind. It was raining heavily. The booming of the cannon sounded closer and closer, and the danger became greater every moment. Then suddenly my waggon stuck fast in the mud, and I could not go on any farther. It kept on raining, and the burghers kept coming on in greater numbers. They stopped by my waggon and tried to drag it out of the mud. The fighting kept on, and I told them to go away and leave me before they too were forced to share my fate. “No,” they said; “that we will never do. What would the General say if we were to leave you here and the ‘khakis’ were to take you?” The oxen would not pull any more because they stood in so much water. Then the people took hold of the wheels and they managed to drag it out. After the waggon had stuck fast I went on farther in the spider. There were now so many waggons and carriages all close together that it looked like a big commando. In the afternoon we stopped to rest; the rain cleared up for a little and we had something to eat. Very soon came the order to get ready to start again. We had not gone very far when the waggon in front remained leaning against a steep bank, over which it had to climb. It was raining heavily again. I thought, “How will things go with us to-day, we have so many hindrances, and the ‘khakis’ keep on advancing?” However, there were a good many burghers, and they helped to get the waggons across. My spider also came to a standstill against the rocks, so that they (the burghers) had to drag it out. We were in danger, and yet we really enjoyed ourselves so much that time went quickly. It took several hours before all the waggons had got through. Then we drove on more quickly, and by sunset we came to where we meant to spend the night. I drove to a house to wait till all the waggons had arrived. There was so much water round the house that it was impossible to tell where there were ditches or hollows. When driving towards the waggons I went into a deep ditch and my driver was thrown off. I and my little son remained sitting in the carriage; the horses started off. They swerved towards the side of the house; fortunately there were some burghers there who ran in front and stopped them. It was already dark. I suggested that they had better be unharnessed; I would walk to the waggon. Just then my husband came up with his riding horse Bokkie for me to ride to the waggon. However, Bokkie’s back was too narrow; as sure as I climbed up, off I would slip. Then his other saddle-horse came up, and off we rode to the waggons. All were there now, and very hungry; it was dark and damp, but luckily, with some dry wood, we soon had big fires going to prepare food. The enemy had not come much nearer. After a good meal we went to sleep, and early next morning I went on again with the waggons. The men folk joined the commando, and at Rietfontein, where I had made up my mind to spend some time, I went into the school, then empty. There were a good many people in the place, and one could get vegetables and fruit. But I had been there for only about a week when suddenly a large number of English troops entered the Rustenburg district where we were. Off I went again in great haste, this time to the Lichtenburg district. I had to drive hard to get past. I was lucky, and came safely through. Passing Lichtenburg, I came to Badenhorst, and found a deserted shop in which I could take up my abode. Here also we had kind friends, who took care to keep us supplied with vegetables. One evening, a fortnight later, just as I had gone to bed, the report was spread that the “khakis” were coming. It was very dark and cold, but I was soon up and dressed and had the waggons packed, and off we went again on the road. Next morning it seemed true that the “khakis” were behind us; once again we drove past Lichtenburg. Now there seemed nothing left for me but to fly with all possible speed to the Zwartruggens. When I got there Mr Joubert came on with me and brought me far into the mountains. “Here,” he said, “no ‘khakis’ had found their way yet.” And there I had to stay. There were many big trees growing, and the Marico River looked lovely as it flowed along; it was a pleasant spot to stay in. I made an oven so as to be able to bake my bread. I set up my hut in the cool shade of the trees, where all looked so beautiful and green, and made a stable for my horses with some trees and a kraal for the sheep, just as if I were destined to live here a long time.

My soap was all finished and I began much to feel the need of it to keep my children clean.

I was advised to burn some vogelsent[4] to make soap out of the ashes. I gathered some “vogels,” had them burned, and succeeded in making some good soap. The children wandered on the mountain side searching for wild honey. I thought that if the “khakis” did not worry me, I should remain here for a long time. But after a fortnight my husband turned up, and said that it was too cold to live out on the veldt, and we went back to the farm belonging to Mrs Lombard. From there General De la Rey and his staff went on to the Free State, where they were to meet President Steyn and General De Wet. I had been here only twelve days when early one morning the cannon suddenly began to make such a threatening noise that I hastened to pack up my belongings and fled away once more. At Drinkfontein I thought that I would wait and find out where the “khakis” were moving to. But soon I heard again the roaring of the cannon. At that moment I was making some candles; water and fat were both hot. It was high time to be on our way, and I said, “Get ready and make a start; but I must somehow or other finish my work.” The oxen were not by the waggon, so that it was some little time before everything was ready; and I had finished my candles when the waggon was prepared to start. Then we were again flying as hard as we could through the Lichtenburg district across the Harts River. It is not a pleasant country to wander in; there are no woods or shady trees; and as soon as the “khakis” had gone back, back I returned also, to try to find better headquarters. And so the time passed till General De la Rey returned. Then he went away again, back to the Wolmaransstad district. Meanwhile I kept wandering around. Suddenly we heard that many of the enemy’s laagers were advancing together towards Klerksdorp. I went on some distance farther, and then from all sides the people began to hurry onwards, so that the flight was now beginning in earnest. The troops were advancing in great force. We fled in the direction of Makouwenkop and then were joined again by General De la Rey. At last the Boer commandoes managed to get through, so that they got behind the English. Then we had to fly as hard as we could so as to keep in front. Some people went back that night, hoping to break through the English troops. They said that I ought to go with them; but I said, “No, I shall go forward, and I shall see if I cannot escape that way.”

When we came to the Vaal River we were forced to turn about. We took another way back. After driving all day, we stopped for a little. We had to get food ready as quickly as possible. It was very dark; but later the moon began to shine. We fled on in great anxiety, knowing that at any moment the “khakis” might be upon us. My husband said that it would be too bad if they were to take me prisoner when he was near the waggon, for he would have to fight then, and to leave me to myself. I said, “Nay, do not let that disturb you; do what you can to escape when they come; the Lord has always preserved me until now, and He will continue to do so.” At midnight we stopped for a little to let the oxen take a rest; but after an hour or two we pressed forward again in good earnest. Bokkie was saddled and marched behind the waggon, and all were ready to meet the “khakis.” We hurried on; it was near the break of day, and I thought to myself how grateful I should be to the Lord if it pleased Him to guide the course of the night so that I might not be taken. It grew light and the sun began to shine. All was quiet and we stopped to rest. Then it was reported that the “khakis” had gone past us.

We were all very happy, and after we had had something to eat, and had taken a little rest, we went once more on our way. It was Saturday, and we hoped to be able to spend Sunday in peace. When we had gone on again, I sat in my waggon and felt very thankful that this time I had again escaped with my freedom. And then the words came into my head, “Offer your thanks unto the Lord, and call upon the name of the Almighty.” “Yes,” I thought, “that is what I have done in my need; praise be unto the Lord that He has preserved me from falling into the hands of mine enemy. The good God has saved me now and many a time before.”

On Sunday we found ourselves in Brakspruit, and there we spent a peaceful Sabbath day: on Monday we set out for Wolmaransstad, there we found our houses in ruins. It was dreary to return and find the place in such a plight.

A little way from Wolmaransstad we went to Mr Bezuidenhout’s farm and found that his house was fortunately still intact. We were able to bake bread there and make preparations for our next flight. After remaining there a week we went back to the Lichtenburg district. At Malgasfontein I found refuge in a house whose owners had been taken by the “khakis.” As I had a good number of oxen with me, and it was raining just enough, I had a lot of mealies sown there, for we were constantly doing whatever we could to keep things going. Everybody sowed and planted wherever possible. The “khakis” might destroy as much as they liked, the Boers were still full of courage.

I had great difficulty at that time to keep things straight; as I have many children it grew extremely difficult to keep them all clean. Soap was still very scarce; I could not get more anywhere. As far as clothes were concerned I was happy as long as they were only clean. A man told me he had scraped off some deposit of saltpetre from a wall at Schoonspruit and had made good soap. As soon as possible I got a bag of it and also made some very good soap, so that I had not to worry about that any longer.

After we had been here about three weeks General De la Rey came back from the Zwartruggens after the defeat of Colonel Van Donop, which took place at Kleinfontein on the 24th of October 1901. It was on the 24th of October 1901, the very day that we had been married for twenty-five years, that a terrible battle was fought, in which many people were killed or wounded, and among them one more good friend of ours, Commandant Kritzinger, and his son, both of whom were killed. So that we had on this day, instead of a silver wedding feast, a terrible shedding of blood. There were great losses on both sides. But the burghers were now, however, well supplied again with clothes and other things which they had been needing badly. We had made up our minds to stay here, when suddenly came the report that the troops were advancing. We made a hurried start in the direction of Harts River, and went on from there till past the Zoutspannen. When the enemy had gone off in another direction back we went again slowly all along the Harts River. Whenever we thought that we were going to be left in peace for a little while, we would find that the English troops were coming in such numbers that we would have to go on trekking backwards and forwards without any respite. With the approach of Christmas things grew quieter. I went to Doornfontein, Badenhorst’s place. The houses had been injured but not quite destroyed, so that I was able to make use of one during the time that I remained.

My people were all with me; we spent a pleasant Christmas. Still, we were not very far from Klerksdorp, where there were so many “khakis” that the day after Christmas we had to begin our march again. A few days later I got a message telling me to turn back to Doornfontein; and there we all met again and spent the New Year. That was in 1901. The day after New Year’s Day there were so many “khakis” about that I had to fly past Lichtenburg and take refuge in the Zwartruggens. Putfontein, where I next found myself, was utterly destroyed and burnt down. As I was greatly concerned because my people had no bread with them, I wandered round the desolate place hoping to find an oven which had not been destroyed. All the ovens had been broken down, but at last I found an attempt at one that the poor women had set up and used for preparing bread. I said, “It does not look of much use, still I shall try what I can do.” It was late in the evening and rain was falling. There was no wood to be got, but I went on with my breadmaking, and the boy (a Kaffir) had to try and make a fire somehow or other. He was a very sharp boy, and he succeeded in heating the oven.

General Kemps had his laager in the same place. In the evening all the burghers came together, and they asked me if I would join in their worship. “With pleasure,” I said. It was then quite dark. I went to the laager and we had a short service, and after that sang songs out of the “Kinderharp.” It was so pleasant that I quite forgot to bake my bread. We also sang beautiful hymns that they themselves had composed, so that I had a very pleasant evening. I hurried to the oven, where I found that the biscuit had risen. It seemed as if the oven were not hot enough, and yet I could not get any more fuel for it. I put all the bread in and thought “let it bake itself as best it can.” I waited till I thought that it was ready and then I sent Sampson, the boy, to bring it out of the oven. He came back with it and it looked still as if it were quite raw. However, it was always something to eat. I went to sleep. Next morning I had hoped to be able to spend a peaceful Sunday. A little way from my waggon were some big trees, and as many burghers were there, we all agreed to meet under the trees to hold our service. I and my children were there and many burghers; but as all had not arrived we waited a while until the leader said he would go on with the service, and then the people would come fast enough. After we had sung he began to speak to us, but it did not look as if any more people were coming. We were some distance from the waggons and could see that there everyone was hurrying backwards and forwards. I thought that the old man did not seem very much inclined to put a stop to his service, but things looked to me so grave that I said that we must really go to see what was happening. We hurried back to the waggons, and very soon we could hear the firing. I started off as quickly as possible. Very soon many people in their waggons were keeping up with mine. We fled for some distance and then sent out scouts a little way back. General De la Rey with his staff came up. It was he who had been under that heavy firing; a mark was on his back where a bullet had whizzed past. They had all escaped unhurt and were very hungry and tired. It was then that the bread I had baked the night before served in good stead. They ate some, and that same evening they had to go back. I was thus able still to supply them with bread. I went on to the Zwartruggens this time; I did not want to go so far into the mountains as it was beginning to be very warm there. On the slopes of the mountains large trees were growing. I set up my tent in the shade. There was fruit to be had: my children were happy.

Then I heard that the enemy were coming with their blockhouses towards Lichtenburg. Then I knew I must go out of the mountains; I did not want to get blocked up. And we went away again, after having been a week there.

At Duikfontein I found large numbers of cattle and sheep that our people had brought through the lines. General Kemp’s commando had succeeded in doing this and in bringing cattle to other districts also. I was still waiting there when General De la Rey arrived with his staff. By that time I felt quite rested. He said that it was not necessary for me to go at once to Rustenburg. So we merely went to a place not very distant. A day or two later there were again so many “khakis” gathered in Lichtenburg that we did not dare stay longer, as it was only three hours’ distance from the village. We went from there to some untilled ground belonging to us, which we kept for the cattle, two and a half hours away from Lichtenburg. It was a good neighbourhood for fruit; there was plenty of water, and not very distant was a large fruit farm. We hoped thus to be able to stay for a while. We sent the waggon to get fruit, and we set up our tent under the cool trees.

And here you have the picture of my wandering life. When I could set up the tent under shady trees and cover the floor with green grass, then I felt thoroughly happy and content. Often when in such a good place I thought to myself, “If only I could stay here quietly for some time how happy and pleasant it would be!” And sometimes I had the good fortune to be able to stay for two days or a week in such a spot. But at other times it would happen that just as I had got everything in good order, then the “khakis” would be upon us and everything would have to be taken down quickly to make a fresh start. Often we fled until the middle of the night, and when we could stop to rest it would be so dark that it was impossible to see one’s hands before one’s eyes. Yet the tent would have to be put up before we could get to sleep.

When I saw the bright sun shining in the morning, often I thought, “How 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!

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.

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.

We came up to some steep ground when one of the yokes broke.

“Now they will be able to see us well,” I said; for we had to stand still, which was very dangerous. But I kept calm and told myself, “My Redeemer is here, and wherever I may go with Jesus it will always be well.” And I clung fast to the hope that we should come away safely.

When we had at last got away from these dangerous heights, it seemed at once as if the fighting were quieting down. However, we could not tell whether they might not fall upon us from in front, as in that direction lay a woody and uneven country.

Very soon we heard that they had not come any nearer. But still we went on, to get as far away as possible. Then we heard that nearly all the people who had been that night in Schweizer-Renecke had been taken prisoners, and that the very same landdrost who had told me towards sunset that he would be sure to know when the “khakis” were coming had had no time that very night to put on his clothes and escape before they appeared. I thought how sorry I was that I had not followed my own wish; had I done so, we should not have found ourselves in such danger. However, it looked again as if we were going to escape, now that the fighting was slackening.

After the Almighty I owed my freedom to brave little Jacobus De la Rey and Louis De la Rey, who also did his best to get us away safely. When the troops were so near that they could have shot at my waggons, so that I wanted to stop, they paid no heed, but continued to drive the oxen on at full speed.

I had so many children with me and dreaded so much to see them shot dead before my eyes that at one moment I thought it would be better to give in.

Fortunately, it was not necessary; the danger was now over. It was very late before we could make a halt. I had nothing ready in the waggons to give the children to eat; but none of them gave me any trouble, not even my little Janne, who was only six years old. It was so clever of him to understand that when there was nothing to give him he would have to wait.

After a short rest we had to go on again. At three o’clock in the afternoon we stopped. We had no wood, and my boy, who was thoroughly dead beat, did not know how he was going to make a fire. However, by the time the evening had come our food was ready.

Now I had no more cows, so that we had to do without the precious milk. If my little Janne could get nothing else, he used always to be contented with milk.

That evening we went farther. As we were going to unyoke the oxen and rest for the night a number of people came past, saying that there were troops coming on out of Vryburg. “Ah!” I said, “my oxen are so tired, how can I get on any farther to-night?” However, after resting a little, I went on again.

At sunrise we halted near a farm, where there were trees with undergrowth, so that we could get firewood.

Coffee was just ready when, before I could see to the rest of the breakfast, there came the news that the troops were only a couple of hours’ riding from us. We should have to go on again. We moved very slowly, the oxen being so tired. Fortunately, we found out it was not true about the troops coming from Vryburg.

Sometimes all my Kaffirs would be pulling at the sailcloth to hold it down and fasten it securely, so that I would think that the awning was surely going to be blown away from the waggon. It was dreadful to go through those storms in the waggon. However, man’s nature is such that when it is once again a beautiful calm evening he thinks no more of the storms and the lightnings that are over.

It was again a calm and pleasant day; the “storm” of the “khakis” was also over—they had gone back to Klerksdorp and we were able to take a little rest. I went to Delport’s place on the Harts River. I had lost all my cattle during the flight from Schweizer-Renecke. Here I found about fifty-two head belonging to me, which had been driven on with all the other cattle during the flight. But I did not get my cows back; those had been looted by the English. I waited anxiously to hear what our people were doing in Pretoria. A few days later they arrived. I said how disheartening it was to have been so worried by the “khakis.” They had been doing all they possibly could to harm us during the time that the Generals were away. I was very glad when they returned; then I could get news of my children in Pretoria, from whom I had not heard for so long. A few days later General De la Rey began his meetings. The brave burghers were having a bitterly hard life of it at that time and their families were in great want.

Nevertheless, they would not abandon their rights. They were determined to go on fighting for their freedom and their rights.

These brave men were depending, not on their strength, but on their rights.

It was a very grave question to consider.

They had struggled for so long; they had given up wives and children, and all that a man holds most precious; there might be thousands of the enemy rising up against their small band, and even shutting them in on every side; nevertheless, they had long since grown to be convinced that it was not they who were fighting, but a Power superior to the might of man. But many had been killed or taken, so that they were greatly weakened, especially of late.

And worst of all were the defections and treachery.

When a man behaves treacherously it is a terrible thing.

For only think to what all that has brought them. Some became traitors; too spiritless to help their own people, they were courageous enough to take up arms to help the English; on all those rests the guilt of their brothers’ blood. The result was to render those who held on still more steadfast and to teach them still greater abhorrence of treachery and of bad faith.

As they had struggled and suffered for so long, and it had not pleased God to deliver them into the hand of their enemy, they did not wish to be themselves the ones to do it. And I was entirely at one with them, for their story and mine were one and the same. It still remains inexplicable to me how for seventeen months I had been able to fly with my children, many a day not knowing what to do.

It is often hard and difficult to “trek” round with so many children and not to be able to get clothes and other necessaries for them. And yet I was able to say every day, “The Lord has helped me and strengthened me, like He helped the widow of Zarephath, so that her cruse never failed her, but always remained full.” Often as I lay in bed at night, feeling so depressed by the thought of what would come of it all, did I repeat Hymn 22, “Rest, my soul, thy God is King,” and the last verse, “Your God is King, be contented with your lot.”

And every day the Lord strengthened me in this manner, so that I had no right to be faithless. And it was the same with our people.

They went on with their meetings, and every time they decided to persevere and not give up. Everywhere it was the same.

I thought, “Who is it that makes the burghers so strong? It is beyond man’s comprehension.”

Yet if one remembers the place of Golgotha, then one can better understand.

That the Saviour must suffer so much, and yet be innocent, was a difficult thing for His disciples to understand at the time. It was known throughout the world that the Saviour must die, and undergo the most cruel treatment, but men could not tell why it should be.

And we do not know why this people should suffer so bitterly; some day we shall learn the reason.

When the meetings were over in the Lichtenburg district they went to the Zwartruggens and Marico. I was then in the Lichtenburg district.

As soon as the General had left Lichtenburg the “khakis” began to “trek” on.

They were already advancing rapidly towards Vryburg. I heard that they were coming on in such large numbers that I thought, “Why is it that the ‘khakis’ can never let me have a little peace? I shall go somewhere where I can stay in some little comfort, and I will not fly any more, for they are busy making peace. Let the ‘khakis’ come if they like.” People were all flying away with their cattle as hard as they could. They advised me to let my cattle also go with the rest. I said, “I do not know what will be best. I have not come across the troops for a long time, and I do not know what they would do now if I were to meet them.”

I let myself be talked over, and sent all my cattle away. I had two waggons; I let one go with the cattle. I remained with one waggon, a tent, a spider and four cows. All the rest went in the flight.

The “khakis” came on in large numbers. They came swarming over the ground. I said, “Where can all these ‘khakis’ have come from that there should be such crowds of them?” Still I did not go away, but stayed on at the place called Corsica, belonging to Mr Meyer, where his wife was still living and some other women besides.

We kept on hearing of large armies that were advancing. All our men were away.

Suddenly we heard the sound of fighting not very far from us. Then all at once we saw horsemen coming up over the rise. We saw that they were Boers, and we asked where the troops were. “Not far from here,” they said. “We have just been fighting with them.”

It was already late and the burghers went away.

In the morning we got up early, knowing that the troops would be getting here very soon. We had not even breakfasted yet when we saw them coming over the rise.

I thought to myself, “What will they do to me now? I have been fleeing before them for eighteen months and they were doing all they could to catch me, but in vain. Perhaps they will revenge themselves on me now. But,” I thought, “the Lord has always watched over me till to-day, and He will continue to do so.”

They stopped a few hundred paces away from us and rode up and down there for a little while. Suddenly they dashed up to my waggon, came up to where I was sitting behind, and one of them asked me where the Boers were.

I answered, “There are none here.”

“When were they here last?”

“They went away from here yesterday afternoon.”

“Where are the commandoes?” he asked.

“I know nothing about the commandoes.”

Then I told him that as the Kaffirs that were among the troops behaved so badly and cruelly to women and children I did not want to have anything to do with coloured people. I only had to deal with white people, and so they must just keep the coloured ones away from me.

He was polite, and said, “Very well, Mrs De la Rey, you shall not be troubled by the Kaffirs.”

But they kept coming continually to the waggon. I thought, “It is rousing their appetite for burning.” A Kaffir had already told my boy when he was by the fire that this waggon and tent would have to be burnt.

Colonel Williams came to my daughter in front of the tent and asked whose waggon it was. When she had told him came the cruel order, “It does not matter to me whose waggon it is. The woman must get out, were she the Queen herself, and the waggon and tent must be burnt.”

Then I thought to myself that I must now undergo that about which I had heard so much from others. To think that poor women must see their things taken away from them and burnt.

I was very angry, and I thought, “Do what you like, I shall say what I think and what is right.”

I told them again then who I was, and said that I was not going to let them burn my waggon.

For eighteen months long, ever since Lord Methuen sent me out of Lichtenburg, I had wandered round with my children. If they wanted to burn my things they would have to get an order from a superior officer. I was not going to let them do it themselves.

The soldiers kept pressing closer. They had quite surrounded me. I thought, “Who knows how cruel they are going to be?”

But here again I remembered that only as far as the Lord would let them could they go and no further, and I did not lose faith.

Then suddenly the one with whom I had been talking drew his pocket-book out and wrote an order that the waggon, the tent and the cows which I had kept should not be touched and that no harm should be done on the place. And this was just when, a little way off, in a dwelling-house, they had completely taken and destroyed everything. They had taken away from there all the blankets and more or less everything that the women had had by them. They used to let this be done by the Kaffirs, who took great pride in being able to act in such a manner to white women-folks.

And now the officer’s bad temper was quite cured. No one might come near my waggon and tent now. The soldiers were ordered back; a guard was stationed near us so that we might not be annoyed by the passers-by.

I was delivered from them the next day.

I was longing now to hear what had become of the people who had taken the cattle with them.

The report came that evening that they had all been taken.

Then we heard the sound of riding, and we wondered if that could be “khakis” again. As we were just a handful of women and children we would far rather it were not more “khakis.” They came riding up. It was Dr van Rennenkampf and Tom Sisk. How happy we were to see some of our own people again! I heard from them then that all those with whom I had let my cattle go had been taken prisoners.

There I was now, quite helpless. The people on the farm were very good, but they, too, were equally helpless. We had no living animals that we could use for “trekking.”

The doctor had his cart and mules, and therefore I told him he must just stay here with us. I felt as if I could die of sorrow; I had no wish now to stay any longer, but all my cattle were taken and I could not get away.

There was nothing here to slaughter; however, I thought to myself that things had always come right somehow or other up to now, and that it would be the same this time also.

And there came a brave burgher with sheep for the women and children. Thus did the Lord always provide that we never should be without something to feed us.

And the doctor was there to ride for “mealies,” which was a great help to us in those days.

The week was not yet over when we heard that the “khakis” were coming back from Vryburg.

I said, “What am I going to do with the ‘khakis’ now? I thought they were not coming back again.” And just a week after they had left, back they were again. They came towards us in their thousands. However, the doctor was with us now. Colonel Williams came up to me and said that General Hamilton was coming to see me. He had news of General De la Rey.

“Very well,” I said, “let him come.”

Then came Hamilton with a telegram from General De la Rey asking him if he had met me, and what had happened to me.

He said that he had answered that they had met me and had done nothing to me, and that all was well with me. We did not know anything yet of what they had been doing at Pretoria. We were anxious to have news of the peace negotiations, but I could not hear anything more. The English behaved reasonably this time and did us no harm. They wanted to stay on in the place, but there was not enough water for such a large army, therefore they went away again.

I was so unhappy that I had lost all my oxen; and now the water, that had always been troubled, was so dirty, owing to all the troops that had been staying there, that I felt still less inclination to stop on.

Fortunately Mr D. van der Merwe succeeded in escaping with the Government cattle. He gave me two beasts to be slaughtered and two milch cows.

It was sad to hear the tales of how the “khakis” were now behaving to the people. A woman came to me weeping and grieving bitterly.

“What is the matter with you?” I said.

“Oh, they have taken away my big Bible, in which all my children’s names were entered. They have taken everything away—nothing is left to me; but if only I could get my Bible back!”

I said, “Why did you not hold it in your arms when the ‘khakis’ were taking everything away?”

“Oh,” she said, “I and my children were standing there watching everything in bitter anguish. We were in a ruined house. When they drove the door in I could not bear to be with them any longer, and I went out of the house with the children; and so they took it away without my seeing.”

I said, “I think I should have been able to get it back for you; but now they have, unfortunately, all gone away, and I am afraid I cannot help you.”

These were the hardest days of all for me. My flour had come to an end, and although the Boers had a small flour mill with them when they were fleeing, I was not able to get at it, so that I had to use my coffee mill for grinding. Having so many children with me made it very hard sometimes; but the children had also been through so much by this time that every difficulty gradually righted itself.

As they were still very young, and had always been used to go regularly to school, it was often very wearying for them. It is not very comfortable to be constantly wandering over the veldt, especially in this fashion.

As we were here to-day and in another place to-morrow, it often happened that we could not get a maid to do the washing. Then the children would have to do it themselves. They would take the clothes and put them in the tub, and then Janne and Hester would have to tread on them. But Janne was such a little monkey, he was always playing tricks on Hester, and then she would have to undo all his mischief, and by herself tread the clothes up and down till they were clean enough for the two little girls to finish washing them. Sometimes there was very little soap. They would make starch out of green “mealies” (Indian corn).

There were many burghers who had been schoolmasters before the war. When any of them were near my waggons they would keep school for the children. After the waggons had been outspanned they would all sit under a shady tree with the master and have lessons. People were often surprised to see how well we were getting on for fugitives. I said, “It does not all go as smoothly as you think;” but I often wondered myself when I thought of how we got through day after day.

We kept the calves close to the waggons, and while we were “trekking” they would be marched alongside of the oxen. The cows were sent on ahead, so that they could be milked in the evening; and as long as the children could have milk they were always content. Sometimes we would put the milk into a stone bottle, and thus be able to get butter[7] and sour milk as well. Our supply of coffee, though running short, was not yet quite finished. As we had so little left, I used to cut up petatas[8] into small dice and dry and burn them. These I would mix with the coffee beans—one-fourth of coffee to three-fourths of petatas—and grind it all up together. This mixture made quite good coffee.

We had all sorts of difficulties. The poor burghers were very badly off for clothes. They began tanning sheepskins and using them. We got quite clever at dressing the skins, and they were soft and clean. If a man had a pair of trousers almost worn out he would patch them up with skins. It was the same thing with boots. We called them “armoured” clothes. The women and children took “kombaarzen”[9] and made skirts and jackets out of them.

I had always kept up through everything. If life grew too hard in one place I would move on to another; but when I had lost my cattle, and could not leave when I wanted, many a day fell heavily on me. However, thanks to the doctor and to a Frenchman who remained near us, things were better than they otherwise might have been.

We were waiting in great suspense to hear the result of the negotiations. At last there came a man with the news that peace had been declared on the 1st of June. It was wonderful. I had been so anxious to hear if it would be peace, and now when the news came I could not be joyful. I knew nothing for certain yet about the terms, and I thought, “That is the reason why I do not feel happier, although it is two years and six months now since we began this dreadful and pitiless struggle from which we have so often longed to be delivered.”

The children were very happy. The doctor and our Frenchman still had their horses, and they rode off that same day. Other burghers fired their guns into the air for joy. They did not know what sort of a peace it was, but for the moment they could only rejoice.

I did not want to stay any longer where I was, but had still no oxen. A short way off there was a man who had a span of Government oxen. I sent my boy to this man to get them from him so that I should be able to return to my own district.

He sent the oxen, and everything was soon ready for the start, although, as I had always had two waggons with me before, it was very difficult to get everything packed into one. Whatever I was not able to load I left behind me. We had been in this place now for more than a month, and the people were sorry to see us going away. But, however hard it might be for me, on I went.

The waggon was heavy and the road very sandy, so that very often the children had to get out and walk alongside the waggon. The first place we came to belonged to Widow Lemmer. The poor old woman was very unhappy, for that very week the “khakis” had taken away her cows and everything else that she had remaining.

From there I went on again, but heard no talk of peace. I went past the Zoutspannen to the place belonging to G. Stolz.

I stopped there that Sunday. In the afternoon it was peaceful, and yet I felt so sorrowful. Saturday night I could not sleep, and that night I said to my daughter Ada, “I cannot think why I feel like this about the peace. If only it is not a surrender of arms, this peace that they talk of! But no,” I said, “it cannot be anything like that, for then it would not be peace.”

At ten o’clock next morning my children and I all met together for worship.

I felt very much affected. There had been so many Sundays spent in making war, and now to-day it was peace. Therefore I said to my children, “We have been through so many hard and bitter days, and the Almighty Father has brought us safely through our weary pilgrimage. Let us now thank Him with all our hearts.” I felt that it was only God’s goodness that had spared us from falling into the hands of our adversary.

That afternoon I went to lie down for a little in my waggon. At four o’clock in the afternoon Liebenberg arrived from Klerksdorp and came to my waggon with the report of peace. And now I had to hear that it was indeed a surrender of our arms.

I did not know how to pacify my children; they wept bitterly, and could not find words for their indignation. And yet it was peace all the same. I said to them, “Let us keep silence; later on we shall understand it all.”

I stayed there till Monday morning. As Liebenberg had come to take me to Klerksdorp, and as from there I should be able to go on to Pretoria, I soon thought to myself, “What a joy it will be when I can meet my children again, after having been separated from them for nearly two years.”

But this peace was so distasteful that I could not get over the thought of it.

When everything was packed we made ready to start. While I was driving I took my day-book. The text for that morning was Gen. xxii. 7: “And Abraham said God will provide....”

Now we went on quickly. I met on that road none but sorrowing women and children. I said sometimes, “Where can the poor burghers be that we do not meet them?”

After having travelled for a couple of days we came to Mr D. van der Merwe’s place. There I met several burghers. Van der Merwe was a good and clever man and I was glad to be able to talk with him. He told me that, however incomprehensible it might all seem, he was sure that the officers after having struggled so long and so bitterly would now also do their best.

As they had first gone to the Zwartruggens and Marico to see that the arms were all given up, I had not seen any of them yet.

We were now in the Lichtenburg district. I waited at Mr van der Merwe’s place. It was bitterly cold. It snowed for three days, and during all my wanderings this was the worst cold I had experienced. And there was no house to shelter us. There were plenty of buildings there, but all were more or less in ruins. It was dreadful to see them. Now came the time when the burghers in this neighbourhood also had to give up their arms.

On the 12th of June the last gun had been given up in the Lichtenburg district. That evening my people came for the first time to my tent. I thought how bitter it was to meet them in this way. My husband came to me and my son, little Coos. Little Coos cried, “Mamma, I have still got my gun.”

It was very hard for him; he could stand the war better than the peace. I did not want to speak about it with his father. The terrible shedding of blood was at end. We had offered up our property and our blood for Freedom and Justice.... Where was this freedom? where was this justice?

Jesus was betrayed by Judas. He had to die the cruel death on the cross. His death brought us everlasting life; yet Judas killed himself.

We have been betrayed by many of our burghers. We have lost our right for a time. Yet they who struggled to the end, and who resolved that right must go first without thinking of might, have kept their fortitude. However the end may have shaped itself, they are glad not to have been Judases.

There was now a great longing on the part of all those around to see the members of their families from whom they had been parted for so long.

I, too, rejoiced that I could go to Pretoria to see my children, whom I had not seen for so long a time. And I thought again of my beloved son, whom I had had to give up.

And yet I had not had to sacrifice so much; many a woman had given her husband and her children too.

We went on to Klerksdorp in my waggon. As we would have to drive for two days before getting there, and as Sunday came in between, on that day we made a halt. It was the last Sunday that I spent out on the veldt. I thought earnestly of all that had taken place. How many Sundays had I not spent in flying before the enemy?

Sunday evening we entered Klerksdorp; Monday morning I sent back the waggons which had housed me and my children for twenty months. I had grown so used to life in my waggon that I did not like to see it go away.

We went to Pretoria that evening, and I found my children in well-being. It was pleasant after such a long separation. I had been two days in Pretoria when a son was born to my daughter. Then I became a grandmother, for this was the first grand-child. He was christened Jacobus Herklaas De la Rey. I felt very grateful. In all the bitterness of those weary days I was able to say, “But He knoweth the way that I take; when He hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold” (Job xxiii. 10); and also as in Job ii. 10 (the last part), “What? Shall we receive good at the hand of God and shall we not receive evil? In all this did not Job sin with his lips.”

Now, dear brothers and sisters, since we are sure that God shall prove His Word, let us stand steadfast in our faith and wait for the salvation of the Lord. This is the time of trial; now will the Lord see if we are worthy that He should make His wonders manifest unto us before the eyes of the whole world.

One of the three ladies standing up (in the accompanying photograph) is my daughter, now Mrs Ferreira; the other two are two Misses Bezuidenhout. They have there the very flags of the Transvaal and Orange Free State, which are their great treasure. The two Misses Bezuidenhout are the daughters of the Widow Bezuidenhout, my husband’s eldest sister. She is the mother of nine children; she too had her house burned down and all that she possessed taken away from her. I have often found her in tears, and she would say to me, “What is to become of us all? I and my children have not one single animal left alive, and everything on my farm has been destroyed!”

Her daughter (Mrs Bodenstein) is also a mother of seven children, and when I saw her she told me that she had nothing for her children, not a single blanket had been left to her. When she went to complain to the English officer, he only asked her, “Who is the man who did it?” The man who did it was nowhere to be found. But the harm had been done, and in the same way not one, but many had to suffer. May no other people in the world ever have to endure another such war so long as the world may last. I do not think that it can be forgotten. I cannot say who it was who were wrong, we or our adversaries. But this I can say, that it was terrible to bear. Never could I have thought that human beings could treat each other in such a way. I know well that war is one of the blackest things upon earth, still I cannot depart from all sense of justice and put down every sort of barbarity to war and consider it right. As we were known to the whole world as two Christian nations, I had thought that such things could not be allowed. But I have been taught that suffering and misery can go on increasing to the bitter end, and that in war no deed can be too hard or cruel to be committed.

Here are four of my children who during all my wanderings were with me all the time. A Frenchman near my waggon took this photograph; he found it very amusing to take the children in that way. The girl with the revolver is the daughter of Field-Cornet Meyer, at whose place I was then staying. The Frenchman slung round the children all the guns and revolvers and field-glasses.

At times the children thoroughly enjoyed life out on the veldt. It was often trying for them with all the hardships we were constantly encountering, but on the whole the children came off better than their elders. When there was danger they would begin to cry, but soon it would all be forgotten. They were always so ready to help me and to make everything easier for me as far as they could. It was very hard for them sometimes to look after themselves and keep their clothes in order. And as they always went on growing they kept growing out of their clothes and wore them out, so that they had to help to patch and make the most of them. Sometimes they would have no cups or mugs to drink out of—then they would set to work with “jambliks” and try to make mugs out of them. My brother, Jan Greef, who used sometimes to be near my waggon, would help to make mugs. He was very clever at it. Fortunately, I managed to keep always one or two cups and saucers. Cups which could break so easily during all that driving about had to be taken great care of. We were always trying to find new ways of doing things. If we wanted cotton for sewing we would take a piece of sailcloth, unravel it and use the threads, or else undo our shoe-strings and unravel them. The girls made a large number of socks, stockings, bands, etc. We would take some sheep’s wool and card it; then the Kaffir boys made little wooden “machines,” and with them wove the wool into strands.

Here are also three more of my children, the three youngest. The little boy in the middle, Gabriel Johannes, is now six. He often used to say to the English soldiers, “Hands up,” and then they would laugh at him. It was a pleasure to him to be flying away; whenever we had been long in one place, he would say, “I wish we had to run away again; not from the ‘khakis,’ but just so as to be driving.” When he heard that the burghers had to give up their arms, he said, “I am not going to give my gun to ‘khakis’; I would rather break it in pieces; the ‘khakis’ shall never have it.” There he has it in his hand. It was such a momentous time, even the youngest felt the weight of it.

If I am still to go through many days of hardship in this life, let me then cast a glance upon those that are past. Because once we had so many good and happy hours, and now find ourselves so bitterly oppressed, I have often heard people say that they doubted whether there could be a God.

What I used to think of in my days that were most full of sorrow, was just that it could be no mortal that was guiding us through everything; my past life rose constantly before my eyes. My father, Hendrik Adrian Greef, who is now long since dead, was one of the Voortrekkers of Transvaal, and he went then to live in Lichtenburg, where I remained from my fourth year, till the day I was driven away by the war. My father too had had to go through a great deal; for in those days the whole place was a wilderness. When my father went on a shooting expedition, as we were living alone on the farm, my mother would not let him leave her behind; so she used to go with him with her four children, of which I was the eldest, then twelve years old. It was a wild country; one met only Kaffirs and other savage people. They were like wild beasts; as soon as they caught sight of us they would run off as hard as they could; thus very often my father could not get anybody to show him where there was water. He went on then to the Lake, and from there to Damaraland, so that this journey kept us for a year on the veldt. We were often in danger from the black Kaffirs, who tried to get hold of us; and often we came to places where there was no water to be found.

When passing through these later days of trial I often thought of my father, for a child does not easily forget what its father has done. When living in prosperity, it had always been my wish to walk in the ways of the Lord, and now, however hard the storm of injustice might strike me, never would it be heavy enough to part me from the love of Jesus. In the days when all was well with me I often wondered how it would be if I had to bear great troubles; and if I should not then despair. When one is happy it is easy enough to be a Christian. And though, like everyone else upon this earth, I have my cross, yet the Saviour has always made it lighter for me, so that I am able to bear it.

And this weary war has taught me to see one thing clearly;—that the bent reed will not be broken. For many a time when I thought, “Now all is over,” I would seem to hear God’s voice answering me, and saying, “He who persists unto the end shall be saved.” Thus I cannot come to understand how in such times men can drift away from God instead of drawing closer to Him.

So I can say about myself, “I shall still praise and thank the Lord for His Fatherly guidance”; for who was it that watched over me when I wandered around for many a stormy day and night?—It was our gracious God. Who was it that kept me and mine from falling into the hands of our adversary?—It was the Lord, before whom we must all of us come one day.

How can I then prove unfaithful? No—however great may be our sufferings, I shall always put my trust in the salvation of the Lord.

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Praise the Lord, who ever will forgive your sins. How many they may be, He will graciously forgive. He knows your sufferings and will lovingly cure them. He will cleanse your life from stain, and will crown you with goodness and mercy as He saved you in your need.

Jacoba Elizabeth De la Rey,
(born Greef).

COLSTON AND COY. LIMITED, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH