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.”
General De la Rey and his staff.
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.
“Rude storms may wage round me