They informed us that they
had followed the enemy's movements throughout the day, and that the line
was so well guarded that our getting through was extremely unlikely. But
we could sleep there that night, and the next morning we could see what
was to be done.
During the evening the old father recounted, with much humour, his
experience of Theron's merry band. How they had come there in the
middle of the night, knocked him up, stabled their horses in his yard,
asked for bread, _brod_, _brood_; eggs, _eiers_, _ejers_, in all the
dialects under the sun, how they had actually plucked the oranges from
his trees, until he was forced to ask Theron to station a guard in the
orchard! But the next morning they had paid for everything, and ridden
away, singing and shouting.
Nothing in the old gentleman's manner to show that the enemy were camped
only four miles away, although he knew very well that they would visit
him the next day, and probably deprive him sooner or later of all he
possessed. Only down the face of his white-haired wife rolled silent
tears as she gazed at the bearded faces of her stalwart sons and thought
of the long farewell that they would bid her on the morrow!
When we rose the next morning we lost no time in making for the high,
boulder-strewn kopje behind the house. Here we found the farmer's sons,
armed, their horses at hand, gazing through a large telescope at the
British camp, which could be plainly distinguished with the naked eye.
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