A fortnight after my son’s death I went to join his father and brother. After travelling four days I came near the Vaal River. That morning we heard a terrible roar of cannon; a great fight was taking place at Maggersfontein. I thought then, “Whose turn shall it be to-day to give up his life?” When I came to the laager they had already come out to meet me, but we missed each other. Just then I met my brother, Jan Greef, and as I had heard nothing more about the death of my son I asked him to tell me everything. He told me what a great fight it had been all day, and how my son had been all day in the thick of the fighting and no hurt had come to him. At sunset he was walking with his father; suddenly a bomb burst between them. He asked his father if the bomb had touched him and his father answered “No.” He said nothing more, but went on 150 steps farther before he sat down, saying to his father, “The bomb that burst over there struck me.” Then they saw that a bullet had entered his right side. They carried him a little way, and placed him in a carriage to bring him to the hospital. At four o’clock in the morning they reached Jacobsdaal; they bore him into the hospital, and the doctor said he would come and take the bullet out after breakfast. All night he had tasted only a little water; now they brought him some coffee. He told his father that he must help him to take it; his father raised him up in bed and he saw that he was near death. He asked him if he did not want to say anything. His answer was, “Nay, father, only lay me down.” With these words he drew his last breath. All was over with our son. This I heard from my brother. Then my husband returned, and I heard for the first time how he too had been wounded in the arm, and how very ill he also had been before I arrived. From there we went to Maggersfontein and then to the village of Jacobsdaal. I had so longed to see my son’s grave, but when I came there I found only a mound of earth. Yet, knowing that his dust was resting there, it did me good to see it. Then I went to the hospital. I thought, “If only I could find the clothes which he was wearing the last day!” They brought me to the room where the clothes of the dead were lying. His father found the trousers. We could tell them by the hole that the bullet had made. I saw the nurse who had looked after him; she said how patient and contented he had been. There were many of our wounded lying there. I went back to Maggersfontein. A little way from it was an empty house; I went into it as I did not wish to live in the laager. Every morning we could hear the firing at Maggersfontein. Christmas was drawing near. From all sides people sent us dainties and anything that they thought would give us pleasure. I used often to go to General Cronje’s laager.