Hundreds responded to the final call to arms. Many burghers collected their entire families and secured arms for them to assist in the struggle. It is not possible for any one who has not seen that army fighting in South Africa to realize how deadly is their earnestness. Some of the men are so old as to appear incapable of sitting in a saddle for a march of even a few miles, to say nothing of the marches they often make, covering several days. There are young men in the prime of life, strong and sturdy; there are boys in knee trousers, who do not look old enough to have sufficient strength to endure the hardships of war or to know how to do any real fighting. There are even women who have followed their husbands or brothers through it all, attending the wounded, and cooking when necessary, but often going into the fighting line and matching the men with a rifle. [Illustration: The battle of Pretoria: Boers awaiting the British advance under artillery fire.] [Illustration: The battle of Pretoria: British naval guns shelling forts.] The Boer army entered the second year of the war a far more formidable force than the one that fought through the first year, and especially during the first months of the war. At that time the army was filled with men who had been commandeered and who were compelled to go into the field, but who were not obliged to fight, and often did not fight. There were also many adventurers from other nations, seeking a little fame, and perhaps fortune. But now there is not a man in the field who is not there to fight, and when they went out of Pretoria they knew they were burning their bridges behind them. It was for this reason that fathers took their young sons with them, and it was for the same reason that the women followed the men. One day I was in General Botha’s headquarters, just before he was leaving Pretoria for good, when an old gray-haired burgher came in to see him. He waited some minutes, as the general was busy, but finally stepped up to his desk. He did not give the regulation military salute, but merely shook hands with General Botha and wished him health in the Dutch fashion. “What can I do for you?” asked the Boer leader, still looking over some papers before him. “I would like to get an order for a carbine from you,” answered the burgher. “You cannot get a carbine, for they are very scarce just now, and every one seems to want them; but I will give you an order on the commandant at the arsenal for a rifle,” said the general, and he began to write the order at once. “Well, I’m sorry; but a rifle won’t do,” hesitated the man. General Botha looked up quickly, and said with some sharpness: “I’d like to know why a rifle won’t do; you will use a rifle or nothing.” The old burgher still hesitated; then finally said, “I’d just as soon have a rifle, but I’m afraid my boy isn’t big enough to carry one.” He turned and motioned to a little smooth-faced lad to come forward.