With regard to myself, I remained in the neighbourhood of Commandant Nel's farm.
Here I had the most wonderful of all the escapes that God allowed me in the whole course of the war.
On the third evening at sunset, a Hottentot came to me. He said that his "baas," whose family lived about twelve miles from the farm of Commandant Nel, had laid down their arms, and that he could not remain in the service of the wife of such a bad "baas." He asked me if he could not become one of my "achterrijders."
As he was still speaking to me, Landdrost Bosman from Bothaville, came to pay me a visit.
"Good," I said to the Hottentot, "I shall see you about this again." For I wished to cross-question him. I then went into the house with the Landdrost, and spent a good deal of time in writing with him. Late in the evening he went back to Bothaville and I to bed exactly at eleven o'clock.
I had scarcely laid down when the Hottentot came back to my thoughts, and I began to grow uneasy. I got up and went to the outhouse where my Kaffir slept. I woke him up and asked him where the Hottentot was. "Oh, he is gone," he replied, "to go and fetch his things to go with the baas."
I at once felt that there was something wrong, and went and called my men. I told them to saddle-up, and went off with my staff to the farm of Mr. Schoeman on the Valsch River, to the east of Bothaville.
On the following morning before daybreak, a force of two hundred English stormed the farm of Commandant Nel. They had come to take me prisoner.
From Schoeman's farm I went to the Rhenoster River and found Captain Scheepers there. He reported that he had wrecked the line for four or five consecutive weeks, as I had told him.
I also received there the sad news of the death of the never-to-be-forgotten Danie Theron, in a fight at Gatsrand. A more brave and faithful commander I have never seen.