Strange to relate, a letter from an English officer fell into Dietlof's hands some weeks later, and in glancing over it his eye fell on the words, "Lieutenant Pilkington is also dead—you know that famous cricketer."
And still later Hansie heard from her brother that one of the seven men, Field-cornet von Zulch, who afterwards joined him as prisoner of war in the Ahmednagar Fort, told him that he had received a letter from Lieutenant Pilkington's mother, begging for more particulars of her son's last moments.
Many wonderful experiences were related, many glimpses given into the conditions of commando life. The young man dwelt lightly for a moment on his hardships and privations, saying, "Mother, do you know those woollen Kaffir blankets with yellow stars and leopards, and red and green half-crescents?"
"Yes," his mother answered expectantly.
"Well, I once had a pair of trousers made of that material."
Everyone laughed.
"But there are worse things than that," he continued; "unmentionable horrors—things you pick up in the English camps and can't get rid of again——"
Hansie understood.
"You will find a tin of insect-powder in that wonderful Indian juggler of a portmanteau," she said, "and don't forget to use the blank exercise-book."
The thirty minutes were over, and they were considerately left alone for a few moments——