l his
transport, and generally ceased after the action to be a serious
menace.

During the operations against De Wet I watched, when possible, the
demeanour of the quiet South African patriot with whom fate had placed
me in the field. I had last seen him many years before, gravely bowing
from under a silk hat to a crowd that swayed and cheered as he drove
through the streets of Manchester. And now duty found him in the field
against an old comrade-in-arms. There was a sadness, there was a
profound pathos about it. No wonder if to me it seemed that General
Botha looked downcast indeed, if stern as well, during the Rebellion.
Life, surely, was not dealing too fairly by him.

Following Mushroom Valley, we trekked, with two brief outspans only, to
Clocolan, all the time scattering De Wet's followers. At Clocolan we
paused for one day, entrained men and horses and reached Kimberley, via
Bloemfontein, on the 18th of November. The following day rebel
activities were reported in the direction of Bloemhof; but after an
eventless journey we returned to Kimberley on the 21st.

SECTION III

KEMP'S ESCAPE

It was at Kimberley that news came through that Kemp was making a
desperate cross-country trek to get into German territory in the
Upington neighbourhood. A reference to a map will show that Upington,
on the Orange River, is on the extreme western borders of the Union;
and it must be said that the trek which Kemp and the remnant of his
moderate force, poorly mounted and equipped, had made since being
routed by General Botha on the 27th of October (a month before) stands
as a remarkable piece of work. We pushed on to Prieska, via De Aar, and
reached Upington, on the scarcely completed new line from Prieska, on
the 25th of November. The journey over the desert stretch from Prieska
to Upington was full of alarms; during the night the train halted in
the lonely veld owing to a washaway, and we stood to arms, throwing out
cossack-posts around the train wherein the Commander-in-Chief slept. It
was tremendously exciting work.

The old town of Upington was transformed in those days. Around the
Dutch Reformed Church, standing peaceful and dazzling white in the
torrid sun, were tents, wagons, horses, motor-cars, signalling-parties,
despatch-riders and infantry. Away over the hard red sand dunes to the
north was the action zone, and from that direction every five minutes
came sweating motor despatch-riders, who tore along to He