The end of the struggle was ignominious, as many a burgher had feared; and to this day I pity the men who, at Hector's Spruit, had to go to Komati Poort much against their will.
Fortunately they had the time and presence of mind to blow up the "Long Tom" and other guns before going; but a tremendous lot of provisions and ammunition must have fallen into the hands of the enemy.
At Hector's Spruit half a score of cannon of different calibre had been blown up, and many things buried which may be found some day by our progeny. Our carts were all ready loaded, and we were prepared to march next morning into the desert and take leave of our stores. How would we get on now? Where would we get our food, cut off as we were from the railway, and, consequently, from all imports and supplies? These questions and many others crossed our minds, but nobody could answer them.
Our convoys were ready waiting, and the following morning we trekked into the Hinterland Desert, saying farewell to commissariats and stores.
The prospect was melancholy enough. By leaving Hector's Spruit we were isolating ourselves from the outer world, which meant that Europe and civilisation generally could only be informed of our doings through English channels.
Once again our hopes were centred in our God and our Mausers.
Dr. Conan Doyle says about this stage of the war:—
"The most incredulous must have recognised as he looked at the heap of splintered and shattered gunmetal (at Hector's Spruit) that the long War was at last drawing to a close."
And here I am, writing these pages seventeen months later, and the War is not over yet. But Dr. Doyle is not a prophet, and cannot be reproached for a miscalculation of this character, for if I, and many with me, had been asked at the time what we thought of the future, we might have been as wide of the mark as Dr. Doyle himself.[Back to Table of Contents]