A woman's wanderings and trials during the Anglo-Boer War

by Jacoba Elizabeth De la Rey

Here are four of my children who during all my wanderings were with me all the time. A Frenchman near my waggon took this photograph; he found it very amusing to take the children in that way. The girl with the revolver is the daughter of Field-Cornet Meyer, at whose place I was then staying. The Frenchman slung round the children all the guns and revolvers and field-glasses.

At times the children thoroughly enjoyed life out on the veldt. It was often trying for them with all the hardships we were constantly encountering, but on the whole the children came off better than their elders. When there was danger they would begin to cry, but soon it would all be forgotten. They were always so ready to help me and to make everything easier for me as far as they could. It was very hard for them sometimes to look after themselves and keep their clothes in order. And as they always went on growing they kept growing out of their clothes and wore them out, so that they had to help to patch and make the most of them. Sometimes they would have no cups or mugs to drink out of—then they would set to work with “jambliks” and try to make mugs out of them. My brother, Jan Greef, who used sometimes to be near my waggon, would help to make mugs. He was very clever at it. Fortunately, I managed to keep always one or two cups and saucers. Cups which could break so easily during all that driving about had to be taken great care of. We were always trying to find new ways of doing things. If we wanted cotton for sewing we would take a piece of sailcloth, unravel it and use the threads, or else undo our shoe-strings and unravel them. The girls made a large number of socks, stockings, bands, etc. We would take some sheep’s wool and card it; then the Kaffir boys made little wooden “machines,” and with them wove the wool into strands.

Three of Mrs De la Rey’s children.

Here are also three more of my children, the three youngest. The little boy in the middle, Gabriel Johannes, is now six. He often used to say to the English soldiers, “Hands up,” and then they would laugh at him. It was a pleasure to him to be flying away; whenever we had been long in one place, he would say, “I wish we had to run away again; not from the ‘khakis,’ but just so as to be driving.” When he heard that the burghers had to give up their arms, he said, “I am not going to give my gun to ‘khakis’; I would rather break it in pieces; the ‘khakis’ shall never have it.” There he has it in his hand. It was such a momentous time, even the youngest felt the weight of it.

If I am still to go through many days of hardship in this life, let me then cast a glance upon those that are past. Because once we had so many good and happy hours, and now find ourselves so bitterly oppressed, I have often heard people say that they doubted whether there could be a God.

What I used to think of in my days that were most full of sorrow, was just that it could be no mortal that was guiding us through everything; my past life rose constantly before my eyes. My father, Hendrik Adrian Greef, who is now long since dead, was one of the Voortrekkers of Transvaal, and he went then to live in Lichtenburg, where I remained from my fourth year, till the day I was driven away by the war. My father too had had to go through a great deal; for in those days the whole place was a wilderness. When my father went on a shooting expedition, as we were living alone on the farm, my mother would not let him leave her behind; so she used to go with him with her four children, of which I was the eldest, then twelve years old. It was a wild country; one met only Kaffirs and other savage people. They were like wild beasts; as soon as they caught sight of us they would run off as hard as they could; thus very often my father could not get anybody to show him where there was water. He went on then to the Lake, and from there to Damaraland, so that this journey kept us for a year on the veldt. We were often in danger from the black Kaffirs, who tried to get hold of us; and often we came to places where there was no water to be found.

When passing through these later days of trial I often thought of my father, for a child does not easily forget what its father has done. When living in prosperity, it had always been my wish to walk in the ways of the Lord, and now, however hard the storm of injustice might strike me, never would it be heavy enough to part me from the love of Jesus. In the days when all was well with me I often wondered how it would be if I had to bear great troubles; and if I should not then despair. When one is happy it is easy enough to be a Christian. And though, like everyone else upon this earth, I have my cross, yet the Saviour has always made it lighter for me, so that I am able to bear it.

And this weary war has taught me to see one thing clearly;—that the bent reed will not be broken. For many a time when I thought, “Now all is over,” I would seem to hear God’s voice answering me, and saying, “He who persists unto the end shall be saved.” Thus I cannot come to understand how in such times men can drift away from God instead of drawing closer to Him.

So I can say about myself, “I shall still praise and thank the Lord for His Fatherly guidance”; for who was it that watched over me when I wandered around for many a stormy day and night?—It was our gracious God. Who was it that kept me and mine from falling into the hands of our adversary?—It was the Lord, before whom we must all of us come one day.