In December, although we had the usual daily attacks on the high veldt, there is but one that I will mention, because I read General Bruce Hamilton's report of it. At Wilkrans, a high ridge about nine miles from Ermelo, there were about 300 of us camped, with General Piet Viljoen in command. From this position, our scouts reported that there were twenty-eight English camps in striking distance and well around us. Our chances for escape were none too good. Yet General Piet Viljoen did not consider that we were in any danger. Without going into details, I will simply say that at daylight the following morning, we were surrounded by 4,000 cavalry, and it was a case of run for your life or surrender. All escaped but sixty-nine men, and our one cannon. Not a man was killed on our side, that is certain, and if any were wounded, they were taken prisoners. We escaped under a hot fire, and this was kept up on us for about three miles. In his report, General Bruce Hamilton had sixteen killed, many wounded, whom he left at the farm ruins, and one gun taken, as well as sixty-nine prisoners. How an English general can report such a monstrous lie is beyond me, for he knows that his men know, and that we know that no one was killed on the Boer side. Within half an hour after the English left, some of the boys rode back to look over the place. There was but one man killed in that fight, and he was a Scotchman whom the English half buried before they left. Bruce Hamilton is generally known as "Brute" Hamilton, and while this name fits him as far as it goes, yet "Brute Hamilton the liar" would fit him still better. It was during this month, too, that I suffered the loss of my old friend and companion, Major J.I. Pretorius. During my absence he and thirty-three artillery boys were surrounded by about 300 cavalry near Balmoral Station, and captured. Be it said to his credit that he and his men never surrendered. Every cartridge they had they fired, and when they had no more, the English simply came and took them. I was sure he would never hoist the white flag, and I was sure, too, that he would never surrender as long as he had a cartridge left. He was a dashing fellow, thirty years old, and did not know what fear was. He is one of the great Pretorius family of South Africa, and he made the name good. Had he not been so reckless, I think he would have been appointed a general, and I am sure he would have proved himself a most brilliant one.