Now we come to the month of May, and a very lively one, too. General Ben Viljoen and General Muller crossed the railway line near Balmoral Station, and left the six pursuing columns all to themselves north of the railway line. They had simply left one large army to run up against another stronger still, for there were fifteen columns on the high veldt bent on capturing the Government, General Botha and all the high veldt burghers. All these columns practically distinguished themselves by their puerile tactics. Not only did all the burghers easily evade them, but two or three trek wagons with women and children escaped being captured. Of course all the old men and women who remained in the few farm houses still standing were captured and taken away. Then off to London would go a flaming report of so many burghers, horses and cattle being captured. [Illustration: GENERAL "FIGHTING BILL" MULLER And his assistant commandants and veldtcornets near Lydenburg, just before the general surrender.] The English would enter all the good farm houses, tear up the floors, and dig, dig, dig in search of money and jewelry that might be buried under the floor. Having satisfied themselves, they would then burn and destroy everything. At the end of this month there was not a farm house standing on the high veldt. We had the great pleasure of seeing about 600 cavalry charge a farm house. We had never before seen such a daring, reckless charge, and there was not a man among that 600 that did not eminently win the V.C. We had read of the charge of the 600 at Balaclava, and in imagination had often tried to draw the picture so glowingly painted by one of England's poet laureates; but this would sink into insignificance and pass into oblivion if only the charge of the 600 on the farm house filled with women and children could have been witnessed and depicted by some such realistic and blood-curdling poet as Alfred Austin or Rudyard Kipling. The one would never again have to describe in patriotic rhyme Jameson's raid, nor would the other have to live in "Barroom" ballads, for so delightfully red would the words that each could have drawn from his imagination have been, that they could have painted in thrilling phrases a picture so bloody and hair raising as to immortalize them. I cannot describe this charge. It was too much for me, but we seemed to hear the command, "Charge!" and on they came, every horse with distended nostrils and wild, glaring eyes doing his best, not one man dropping from the pace, not one faltering, all surely determined to do or die. And in another moment the farm house is taken together with its occupants, women and children, who filled the doors and windows. In another minute all were driven from the house, the floors torn up, search for money and jewelry made, then the oil spread and the house consumed in flames.