A few miles out of town we observed several horsemen
to our left. Fearing these were British, we swerved to the right,
cutting across country. Keeping a good look-out, we continued our way
till evening, when we were overtaken by a farmer driving a cart. He was
lame and had never been on commando, but on the approach of the British
columns had left his home to their mercy. He conducted us to the modest
cottage of his brother-in-law, where we found a bed for ourselves and
stabling for our horses. Before sunrise the next morning we were again
on our way. Through the thick mist we saw several horsemen approach a
house standing solitary in the veld. They dismounted and entered the
dwelling. Anxious to know whether these were friends or foes, we rode
thither. Making as little noise as possible, we managed to gain the spot
unobserved, and found that they were Boers. They gave us each a cup of
steaming coffee, black and bitter, but none the less acceptable,
directed us on our way, and wished us good luck. Towards noon we reached
a hamlet named Cornelia, where we introduced ourselves to the leading
inhabitant, with whom we lunched. Here my horse refused to feed, showing
strong symptoms of _papies_. There was no help for it, however; he had
to carry me, sick or well. Some miles further we reached the house of an
English farmer.
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