enemy thronged after us, with a courage that made us marvel.

The Governments retreated by train to Nelspruit, and thence to
Hectorspruit, the commandoes following by rail and road.

Here the forces were divided, those without horses being sent to
entrench Komatipoort, while the rest made ready to slip past the
approaching enemy's outstretched arms. It was decided that President
Kruger should leave for Holland, Schalk Burger acting in his place. Most
of the burghers still fighting are Progressives, and therefore
politically opposed to Paul Kruger, but there were few who did not feel
a sincere sympathy for the venerable President in this, well-nigh the
bitterest hour of his stormy life. I say nearly every man still
fighting is as fervent a Progressive as the world could wish, and as
much opposed to Paul Kruger's policy as the British themselves! Then
what are they fighting for? you ask. For independence! Let us gain that,
and in one year's time you will see the Transvaal merged into the model
Free State, the Switzerland of South Africa!

After Kruger's departure Steyn took leave of the Transvaal Government.
His last interview with Botha took place in the open air, in full sight
of the burghers. The two conversed in low, earnest tones. Botha looked
ill and haggard, he had aged since he had gained his spurs at Colenso;
the weight of his responsibility lay heavy upon him.

Louis Botha is idolised by his men--perhaps he has not an enemy in the
world--but it is to Steyn, and Steyn alone, that the honour belongs of
the resistance still being offered by the Boers. Let not this detract
from the merits of those other and equally gallant spirits, leaders or
men, who have nobly breasted the waves of adversity; who shall blame
them if at times they felt the current overwhelming?

Steyn utters a last cheering word, then shakes Botha's hand, mounts, and
rides away at the head of his little escort.

The scene around the station resembles nothing so much as a cattle
fair. Near the line stands a policeman, his gaze fixed upon a large box
lying at his feet. The box is filled with gold. Ben Viljoen, standing on
a waggon, addresses the men, explaining to them what guerilla warfare
means. On the other side hats, shirts, and what not are being dealt out
with a lavish hand. Some burghers wander off into the bush in search of
game, others lie lazily stretched out beneath the trees. Trains crammed
with men arrive from the rear, discharge t