At 12 o’clock we saddled.  We were going to try to pass through the enemy’s line.  On we rode, silently and guided by the sentinels’ fires; we knew exactly which spots to avoid.  Every moment brought us nearer to our doom or deliverance.  Shall we succeed or not? we anxiously asked ourselves.  Unnoticed we passed the foe and were free once more.

The next morning only the ashes of our fires were surrounded.  As a shower of rain had fallen the same night, wiping out the footprints of our horses, the British certainly wondered what became of us.  The Boers had again disappeared so mysteriously.

I shall conclude this chapter with two striking incidents.  On the 13th of August, 1901, we came in conflict with the British forces in the district of Venterstad, Cape Colony.  During the engagement I observed that the enemy was bent on a certain position which, if seized, would enable them to surround us.  Now the Boer never likes to be surrounded.  There is nothing that he dreads so much as a siege.  To keep my way open, I took a number of burghers, and with these occupied the position referred to.  Having stationed them there I rode back to the hill where I had been before.  Unfortunately this hill had been deserted in the meanwhile, and was then held by the enemy.

Seeing a number of horses at the base of the hill I concluded that the burghers were still there and thus rode on without the slightest apprehension.  Arrived at the foot of the hill, I looked up, and to my astonishment saw a large greyhound with the men.  This made me suspicious.  One of them at once called out:  “Hands up!  Come here, you beggar!” I was with the wrong party.  Surrender?  Verily not.  I turned my horse, gave spurs, and off we went, horse and rider carried, as it were, by bullets which whistled past my head with deafening noise.  For a considerable distance I was exposed to this shower of bullets.  My horse received two wounds, but brought me out unscathed.  That night I was cut off from the commando, and all the burghers thought that I was shot or captured.  To their delight and surprise I joined them the next day again.  That same day I was to have as marvellous an escape as the day before.

From early morn we were engaging the foe.  While the fight was going on I took nine men to occupy a certain hill.  This hill was already in the possession of the enemy, but we were not conscious of that, and thus unwittingly rode on to our doom.

The enemy had carefully hidden on the hill, and without challenging us opened a terrible fire upon us just as we arrived at the foot of the hill.  Seeing that we were only a small party it certainly was not manly on their part to fire before challenging us.  All the men but one were instantly wounded or killed, and their horses shot down.  One of them escaped on foot.  Strange—­perhaps incredible to some—­I came out with my horse and that uninjured.

At the close of the war I met the officer who was in command on that hill.  He told me that as we came riding up to the hill he recognised me and told his men:  “There, Kritzinger is coming; let us make sure of him.”  I happened to be riding a black horse, taken from one Captain King.  That horse was so well known to the enemy that at a great distance they could recognise me.