Two pairs of trousers; two shirts; two full Mauser bandoliers over his shoulders and crossed over his breast; a woollen jersey; a thick coat; a long Mauser gun thrust into one trouser-leg; a German revolver belonging to Mr. Hocke; his own revolver, and a bag of about two feet in length, containing Mauser ammunition, which had been buried by Mrs. Botha and was now going "to the front"; boots, soap, washing soda, cotton, and a number of other small articles, which had been ordered by the women on commando—that unknown band of heroic women, fleeing north, south, east, and west with their men, for whom they cooked and sewed and prayed throughout the long years of the war.
Krause had been "shopping" in town for these brave sisters in the field, and I am sure his thoughts that night were not of fear for the perils he was about to face, but of satisfaction and pleasurable anticipation of the joy his arrival at commando would occasion the women at the front.
Would that one of their undaunted band could be induced to give the world a record of their unique and altogether wonderful experiences of the war!
Mr. Krause's slight form was now twice, perhaps nearly thrice its usual size, and his friends, when they looked at him, laughed in incredulous amazement.
"Oh, man, what would I not give to possess a photo of you as you are dressed to-night!" Mr. Botha exclaimed between his fits of laughter.
It was now 7 o'clock and nearly dark.
The two guards, walking up and down the street on their accustomed beat, had just withdrawn; 7 o'clock was their dinner hour, this the plotters knew.
In a moment, Krause, with the bag over his shoulder and one leg of necessity held very straight, limped out into the open street, "Oom Willie" (Botha) following and crossing to the other side.
Close to a street lamp, at the corner of Market Street, Krause suddenly saw a soldier walking on ahead, upon which he immediately turned down into Market Street, with the evident intention of pursuing his way along Vermeulen Street. This his friend quite understood as, ever on the opposite side of the street, he watched and followed Krause in his course.
Again a soldier appears on the scene, this time walking towards them in Vermeulen Street. No time to turn back now; forward, boldly forward—the fugitive has been observed.