Part 10 (2/2)

FROM KITCHENER TO SECRETARY OF STATE FOR WAR

_Sunday_

I am taking measures once for all to clear my reputation; I swear to give de Wet a fall that means annihilation.

_Monday_

A brilliant action by Brabant, the enemy has fled, Their loss was something dreadful; ours--one single Kaffir dead.

_Tuesday_

De Wet is short of food-stuffs, his ammunition's done, His horses are all dying, and he's only got one gun.

_Wednesday_

The cordon draws in round de Wet; he now has little room, He only can escape one way--by road to Potchefstroom.

_Thursday_

De Wet is now caged like a rat, he's fairly in a box, Around him grouped are Clements, Clery, Methuen, French, and Knox.

_Friday_

An unfortunate event occurred--I report it with regret, A convoy with five hundred men was captured by de Wet.

_Sat.u.r.day_

A Kaffir runner says he saw de Wet's men trekking west, With ammunition for two years, and food supply the best.

_Sat.u.r.day (later)_

A loyal farmer told our Scouts de Wet was riding east, Each man, beside the horse he rode, was leading a spare beast.

Carlo wagged his tail sympathetically.

Overhead the sky was of the deepest, richest sapphire blue, paling away to the horizon to the most delicate tints, against which the distant hills showed up in bold relief.

”Gentleman Jim,” one of the native servants, was evidently enjoying his Sunday too, for he loitered in the garden, plucking up a weed here and there and watching the bees at work, the busy bees who know of no day of rest.

”Bring me some grapes, please, Jim,” Hansie called out to him.

”Yes, little missie,” with alacrity. ”What you like? Them black ones or them white ones?”

”Some of both.”

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