During this week we crossed Rhenoster River, and one morning at two o'clock we arrived at Doornkloof. Later in the day I had the pleasure of visiting the farm of that stalwart "voortrekker," Sarel Cellier. Thirty years before I had as a boy met him there alive and well. It was a pleasure to me now to be able to pass a short time there with his widow. But it struck me painfully how troublesome the burghers were to the women on the farms. The house was constantly so full that there was no place for everyone to sit down. They were continually going and coming, and asking for this and that. "Has Tante (Aunt) any dried fruit for sale?" "Do bake for me; I will give you the flour." "Auntie can make bread or vetkoek (dampers) of it, just as you think fit." "Can't Auntie have my clothes washed?" When I heard this I said, "My dear man, do as I do—wash your own clothes." And yet how could I blame others for being troublesome when I had on one occasion got a loaf of bread from that house myself? I feel, however, that I need not plead guilty, for I very seldom went into the houses. Sometimes, as on this occasion, I went to see acquaintances. At other times the occupants of the house had heard that I was in the laager and invited me into the house. But as a rule I did not go to farms.

When we were at Doornkloof the question persistently presented itself to me: Where in the world are we going to? for we did nothing but wander from one place to another; so at least it seemed to me. I made a note in my diary to the following effect: "Not with levity nor irreverently do I call to mind the first words of the hymn—Whither, pilgrims, whither go ye?" We turn to the north and then to the south and—

"You are running away!"

Very well, we were running away, if you wish. What of that? Don't we keep the war going in this way? The English imagine they have conquered us. This is far from being the fact. They have occupied the towns, but they are not in possession of the country. They have annexed the Republic, but not the people. Their troops march out in overwhelming numbers wherever they wish, east and west, from one town to another, and we cannot prevent them, but we remain in the field nevertheless; we are still free. We turn to the right and to the left, and our adversary is not able with all his cannon to prevent it. In this way we keep the war going, and increase the expenditure day by day. In this way we worry our adversary; and thus we hope—the weak against the strong, like the widow and the unjust judge in the parable—to force the stronger to yield to our importunity. In the evening we trekked as usual; late at night we crossed the bridge over the Valsch River.

On the following day a sad duty fell to my lot. A Kaffir had for the rape of a white girl been condemned to death by the Council of War, and I was called upon to prepare him for death. During all my professional duties I had never had the spiritual charge of a man condemned to death. Although he deserved his sentence, in my opinion more even than if he had been guilty of murder, I could only regard him in this his last hour as a fellow-man. All sense of condemnation was effaced, only pity remained—pity for his total helplessness. Although he acknowledged that he deserved death, he asked me if I could do nothing to obtain his pardon; and when I told him there was no hope, he still kept urging me to try and move the officers to inflict some other punishment. As a mouse in the claws of a cat struggles in vain to get free and yet continues struggling, so he, hoping against hope, struggled against the inexorable.

Could he not be released? At length he resigned himself. I spoke to him of Jesus and prayed with him. After a short time he was led away to his grave, and standing in it he laid his hand on my shoulder and repeated the words of a prayer after me. I hurried away from the spot, but before I reached the laager a volley announced that all was over in this world with that human being.

The following day was Sunday. We were not far from Ventersburg. Shortly after divine service some burghers went out against a patrol of the enemy, cornered them in a kraal and took twenty-four of them prisoners. Amongst them were some officers and one person who claimed to be a doctor. As, however, he was found armed, he was held prisoner along with the rest. We had not yet commenced our evening trek, when I received from someone a note written by the Rev. R. H. Daneel, informing me that my wife had gone to Maritzburg to my parents.

This was a comfort to me, for I had always been uneasy about her. I subsequently found that the English had turned her out of the parsonage and put her over the border. On Monday evening after sunset we again proceeded. It was a miserably long trek. A delay occurred at a ford, and it was half-past three in the morning before we arrived at the outspan, which the foremost waggons had reached at twelve o'clock. Before we could lie down to rest it was already half-past four, and the morning star was shining on the eastern horizon. A trek or two more brought us to Doornberg, and Commandant Hasebroek went with a number of men to Ventersburg. He found the town empty,—that is to say, there were no troops there,—and he levied his usual tribute on the shopkeepers of coffee, sugar, meal, and other provisions.

CHAPTER VI
WHAT HAPPENED NEAR WINBURG AND AT LADYBRAND

When we had been at Doornberg for one day the Vrede Commando arrived and joined us. We now became a comparatively strong force, consisting of about 2000 men.