All that we could do was to
speak a few weak but well-meant words of comfort to the afflicted
family, and then leave them to their fate.
The sons promised to follow us later, as they wished to remain in the
neighbourhood to see what became of their home. My friend and myself
rode to another farm in the neighbourhood, undecided as yet whether to
make the attempt to get through the enemy's lines or to turn back;
crossing Roberts' lines of communication in the Free State was easy
enough, but here we had Buller to deal with. Upon reaching this farm we
found the occupants greatly excited. A Hottentot had just arrived from a
farm already visited by the enemy, bearing Buller's proclamation,
printed in Dutch and English, and promising protection, compensation,
and I know not what all, to those who came in and surrendered. The
entire household and several armed Boers from the vicinity gathered
round the farmer. No one dared to read the proclamation aloud. It was
handed from one to the other, shamefacedly, as if there were something
vile in the very touch of the document.
I anxiously watched the varying expression of their features, as
interest struggled with patriotism. Wearied of strife and fearful of
losing the result of years of hard work, the assembled men felt a strong
inclination to accept the enemy's offer. But no one dared give utterance
to his feelings.
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