y, without fear. Speak as
little as possible."

Terrible were the experiences of some of the men on their secret
visits to the town.

Captain Naude, arriving one night at the house of his friend Mr.
Hattingh (the spies naturally did not take shelter in their own
homes), was informed that his mother lay dangerously ill in her house
close by. It was feared that she would not recover. In the shadows
which enveloped her she seemed to have forgotten all about the war,
and her only cry was for him, her son.

What was he to do? His mother was surrounded by nurses, and the house
was filled with relatives and friends.

As Captain of the Secret Service, his name was too well known. He
could not show himself at such a time, when he had every reason to
believe that the enemy was watching him with extra vigilance.

The next news, while he was still in hopeless deliberation, was that
his mother had passed away.

It needs a strong man's most powerful self-control to "act firmly,
calmly, prudently," at such a time, and yet even then he restrained
the impulse to go to her.

Of what avail to kiss that icy brow?

Next day, from his hiding-place behind the window curtain, he watched
his mother's funeral procession, passing by.

His comrade, Johannes Coetzee, nicknamed Baden-Powell, the man who had
left the town with him on his second expedition, once had a miraculous
escape from death.

He was leaving for commando with a bag containing clothes, a number of
Mauser cartridges which the Committee in town had collected by
degrees, when he was taken prisoner by the enemy just as he was
nearing the wire enclosure.

He was immediately taken to the Commandant, who examined the bundle
containing the contraband articles, and ordered him to be escorted to
another Department. Of his guilt, proof positive had been found, but
this fact was not conveyed to the armed soldier who was about to
escort him to his doom.

On their way, he knew not where, Coetzee pleaded with the guard to
release him.

"I have been taken under false pretences," he said. "I am innocent, an
employee at the Lunatic Asylum. If you will escort me over the railway
line, I will pay you."

"How much money have you?" the man asked.

Coetzee took some silver from his pocket, counted it and said:

"I have only thirteen shillings."

"That will do," his guard replied, and conducted him in safety to the
asylum, in the vicinity of which he found his tethered horse, stil