called for help, and we had to act immediately.  Fortunately, one acts almost instinctively in such cases.  One of the others slid down the bank—­the thought striking him:  ‘If only there are not two crocodiles!’ Landing on a horizontal branch, he stretched out his hand to the drowning man, someone else took hold of his left hand, and so they were both saved.  If a crocodile had been in the neighbourhood, he would probably have stood on the defensive.  Such a queer, two-legged animal who led the attack in such a strange but decided way must have roused his respect.

This piece of fun put an end to our eel-fishing.  We had caught only one eel—­and a man.

The following morning there was parade for President Steyn.  His speech to us was touching and to the point, and showed that he believed in a good ending to the war, if the burghers were capable of enduring such hardships as at present.  Then he also told us in what a hurry he was to reach his burghers, as he was afraid that the enemy were doing all in their power to make them turn against him.  We all liked President Steyn very much.

On our journey through the Selatie Goldfields, past the Marietje River to Pilgrim’s Rest, we crossed the steepest mountain that I have ever seen.  A double span of oxen was harnessed to each waggon.  The oxen were lent us for the occasion by the Boers living on the plateau in front of us.  After every few steps upwards we had to put stones under the wheels to prevent the waggons from slipping back.  It took our little lager nearly all day to reach the plateau.  Then we had a most magnificent view of the Boschveld that lay behind us.  In the distance the Lobombo Mountains were visible on the boundary of the Portuguese and Transvaal territory.  The first rains had fallen on the plateau, so the green grass was a refreshing change for our eyes.  The horses would be able to graze well, and the good feeding would soon make them lose their old coats, and then they would be sleek and glossy again.

From the high plateau we descended, over a ‘lumpy’ veld, with an oasis here and there in a hole or valley, or on the top of a hill, to Pilgrim’s Rest.  Some miles before we reached this little town we passed beside the water-works that supply a strong stream of water for the machinery of the gold-mines.  We simply stormed the shops, that were still well supplied with provisions, and bought all sorts of luxuries and necessaries for our journey.  From Pilgrim’s Rest we once more crossed a steep mountain, along a road that for length and height has not its equal.  In the neighbourhood of Ohrigstad, a little town that we left to our right, I asked a Boer woman whether the fever did not make one’s life impossible there, and I got a very naif reply:  ’No; this year the fever was not so bad.  We all got ill, but not one of us died.’