birds that rise on the wing, the burghers fled back in among the
tethered and the straying horses, and retreated as fast as they could.
The enemy now bombarded Boesmanskop, so that the retreating burghers in
the valley had a bad time of it with the bombs flying over their heads.

Many waggons of Boer families, fleeing for their lives, were pushing
along the sides of the long mounds, and the enemy's bombs burst in their
midst more than once--perhaps accidentally, perhaps because they knew
that 'the Boer nation must be swept off the face of the earth.'

The women seemed to be in a panic. From all sides families came in carts
and waggons--long rows of vehicles filled with poor, terror-stricken
women and children; large herds of cattle were driven along by the
Kaffir servants, but many of them fell into the enemy's hands. The
burghers did their best to make a stand in order to give the waggons a
good start, but retreated in good order when they saw no chance of
checking the enemy's forward movement. Fortunately, a heavy shower fell
in the afternoon and hindered the enemy in their advance, else many a
waggon would have fallen into their hands.

It was no longer necessary for the burghers to resist for the sake of
the waggons. The enemy had camped and left us, with the exception of the
guard, to plod our way shamefacedly through the mud. Our ponies, with
their quick, peculiar gait, soon caught up the heavily-laden waggons,
and we supplied ourselves with mealies, flour, fowls, etc., that had
been thrown overboard or left behind on a broken-down waggon. Such is
the fortune of war, and the things were better in our hands than in
those of the khakies.

When we rode up alongside the waggons, many a meeting took place between
relatives and friends who had been parted for months. The women and
girls drove the horses, and many of them walked with the Kaffirs in the
mud next to the oxen. They did the work of the men in time of peace.
Many of them had been delicately nurtured, in spite of the simplicity of
their lives, and were not accustomed to the hard work. They were all
Transvaal women, and wives and daughters of the burghers who had to look
on helplessly at their sad flight. And, oh! the dear little heads of
the children that peeped at us from out of the waggons! It was a cruel
sight, and it moved us strangely.

Although most of the women were drenched, they were all cheerful, and
seemed proud of taking an active part in the g