When on Wednesday we heard a vague rumour that an ultimatum had been sent by the Transvaal, we were naturally greatly excited. The question debated was, What shall we do? The hospital nurse was anxious to get to Mafeking, so also the manageress of the hotel, to help nursing there. I intended going back to the Cape myself. Unfortunately, on that very day the trains ceased running both southward and northward. I decided then to send my young friend Harry on horseback to the Boer commando, ten miles off, to ascertain, if possible, definite news. At ten in the morning he rode off. How the day dragged on! We could obtain no definite news, and in the absence thereof we could not decide definitely what to do. Being a Times correspondent, as also of the Cape Times, I spent a great part of the day in writing to these papers and also some letters. How to get these communications away, however, I had no idea.
I remember that I felt low-spirited. Writing to a friend on business matters, I said, "If anything happens to me, do this, &c., please" I knew the Transvaal Government hated me for daring to differ from them. I knew that that particular Hollander element which swayed the Government counsels, was a particularly narrow-minded one, vengeful and spiteful—an element which believed that it could only prove its true love for the Transvaal by exhibiting excessive bigotry of zeal against its enemies—by out-Heroding Herod, in fact. I knew that though I was a nobody, not even a public politician, it would make no difference. Little things delight little, minds : they would simply delight in taking me, aye, and even shooting me, a nonentity, as if I were some great political power or military commander. After events justified my opinion.
Evening came, but no Harry. Imagine my anxiety. Late that night I sat up writing in my lonely hut. A gloom was cast over all of us. About eight o?clock Thursday morning a Kaffir came up to my hut with a letter from Harry. He wrote that he had arrived at the “lager" of Commandant Swarts' company, but found him out, that his locum tenens had received him kindly, but detained him till Swarts' return, and that on Thursday he would, therefore, be back again. He wrote under the sub-commander's instructions and at his dictation, amongst others, the following sentence: “Tell Mr. Hofmeyr that we do not intend to attack Lobatsi, and that women and children are quite safe." It will appear later with what a diabolical plan this was inserted. At twelve o'clock that same Thursday we received official intimation that war was declared. What now? In consequence of the contents of Harry's letter we felt quite safe, and decided to arrange for departure to Mafeking as soon as possible, whilst Lieutenant Cole, rightly judging that it would be useless to stay in a place which was not going to be attacked, evacuated Lobatsi that very same evening. Another lonely evening and night, for Harry had not yet returned—in fact, he never was allowed to come back. The Boer commander had deceived him and us purposely. Friday passed quietly. In vain we tried to hire oxen from the Kaffirs to take my wagon on to Mafeking, with those of us who were left there. My oxen I had sent away a few days previously to a sale, and that was the last I saw of them. On Saturday morning we found that the wires were
north of Lobatsi, and three lengths of rail taken up. The wires southward had been cut early on Friday morning. The stationmaster, the gangers, and myself immediately set to with a will and succeeded in restoring connection on one line. I got through one message to the Times, but could gain no further information—nothing was known northward of us, except vague rumours. A large body of Boers had come during the night to cut these wires, and whilst repairing the line I more than once expected that we would be fired upon from the surrounding hills, where they perhaps were in hiding. Nothing happened, however. My letters and communications I had sent on to Mafeking with two Kaffir boys. Whether they ever reached their destination I know not. We were anxious now to get away from Lobatsi, and had already decided to run down to Mafeking on a ganger's “ trolley," when we heard from other gangers further down the line that it had been wrecked in several places. Perforce, therefore, we had to stay. That evening— Saturday evening—our whole Lobatsi population consisted of the two ladies, the stationmaster, a ganger (a Scotchman), his wife, her brother, and myself—seven whites all told—and one Kaffir boy. I sat out on the platform late that night. The air was to me full of ominous forebodings. There was one saddle-horse, but how could I take it and escape, leaving the others? All seemed to look up to me for comfort and advice. It was a beautiful moonlight night. Aye, the thoughts, the hopes, the memories that crowded in on me! I knew something was going to take place. And yet I knew not what! I read Harry's letter again, and said to myself, “They won’t come, we are safe; see, they were here last night, a mile off only; no, I can believe the message!” I was sorely mistaken, but knew it not. Long I sat there. I can still picture the glorious scene—all the country around, the bold hills and open plains bathed in gleaming moonlight, and all so calm and quiet. Only under the crags, down in the river, and under the trees dark, ominous shadows lay. Overhead the majestic moon and silvered sky breathed messages of rest and hope, around me the hyena's howl and jackal’s screech warned me that enemies were nigh. It was a picture of peace and war I A great peace had fallen on me. I felt no fear, and it struck me how quiet and calm the others also were. There was no nervousness, no hysteria; no, it was the quietness of courage I Thus ended the week—the first days of the war.
