Our burghers acknowledge that travelling is an education in itself, but they one and all prefer travelling as free men—first or second class—and they even prefer the high walls and limited space of the fortress to being a prisoner-of-war passenger on board the steamer.
The long, galvanized-iron bungalows in which we live here have zinc roofs to guard against the heat of the tropical sun, but at any rate the wind can blow through the openings on either side. The burghers are kept alive and in pretty good health by an extremely temperate manner of life. Once a week they are taken by a strong guard for a walk an hour beyond the fort. They never get out on parole. As far as we are concerned, they might even take cannon along with them to guard us, if only they would take us out oftener.
Here, too, the moral tone of the burghers is kept up by religious services, and by the great devotion of the Rev. Mr. Viljoen, clergyman of Reitz, in the Orange Free State, who is a fellow-prisoner of ours. The gaiety is kept up by sports and by the companionship of many children. The sorrow is enhanced by the presence of many gray-headed old men and by sad and heart-breaking tidings. 'Guard, is there any news this morning?'
We are grieving with the grief of the exile, but we are waiting patiently, and hoping still that a dove will bring us a branch with our colours—Orange, green, red, white and blue: peace and independence.