They had been arrested on a charge of sending reports to the enemy.  Terror-stricken, they appeared before the war council, there to render an account of their deeds.  Before their trial began, the president of the council, in addressing the other officers, assured them that whatever sentence they should consider just would be carried out by him.  If sentence of death should be passed, he would not hesitate to take his rifle and put an end to the lives of the accused.  “We must,” he said, “put a stop to these treasonable acts.”  The poor prisoners trembled from head to foot.  No mercy!  On being examined, they acknowledged that they had forwarded treasonable reports to the enemy, and began to plead for mercy.  One of them asked us to bear in mind that he was a poor man, and had a wife and a large family that would be left destitute.  Pretending to be quite in earnest, we assured him that we were decided to take nothing into consideration, and would mete out strict justice.  They were then removed so that the court could decide on their punishment.  After a few minutes’ consultation they were called in, and asked to subscribe their names to a statement which ran as follows:—­

     We, the undersigned, do hereby declare, that, as burghers of the
     Orange Free State, we had no right to send reports to the British,
     and, in doing so, we have committed High Treason.

When they had signed the paper one of the officers remarked that we must have such a declaration signed by the accused to justify our actions with regard to them before the Government.  Another officer asked the president whether the prisoners would be allowed to take leave of their families.  To which the president abruptly replied:  “No; such characters do not deserve any privileges.”  They were left under the awful impression for two hours that both would be shot, and then released with a warning to forward no reports to the enemy.  Their anxiety must have been intense; their joy on being acquitted no less.

Non-combatants frequently found themselves in an uneasy and perplexing position.  It was sometimes most difficult to differentiate between Boer and Briton, especially in the night.  The poor farmer was often at his wits’ end to know whom he was addressing, the more so when the British ranks were swelled by Dutch colonists and national scouts.  The non-combatant farmer found it extremely difficult to steer a course inoffensive to either side.  He was between two fires, for when suspected of disloyalty, either a Dutch or English trap might be laid for him.  Not a few were caught in such snares.  Others were more careful.  If they did not know you personally, it was of no avail to tell them that you belonged to such and such a commando or column.  They simply professed to know nothing.  “I don’t know,” was the answer to every question.  They were, of course, on the safe side.  But many committed themselves, if not in deeds, then in words.  To cite a few cases:—­