Finally the word came--it was “Retreat.” Once more they were to retire before the hordes of khaki that were steadily pouring in from all directions. There were no noisy newsboys shouting “Extra!” There were no bulletins placarded in public places. But the news seemed to proclaim itself in the very air. From mouth to mouth it flew, carrying with it feelings of terror, defiance, and sadness. The moment which had been half expected and dreaded for years had come at last. Their enemy was upon them in irresistible force, and they were to abandon their homes and their chief city to the foe. The little groups of men melted away as if by magic, and the streets were suddenly alive with a hurrying mass of people, each person with but one thought--to escape before the British arrived. The town was filled with rumors of the movements of the enemy, and runners said that they would be upon us within a few hours; that the advance was already on the outskirts of the town; that Botha had been defeated; that Pretoria was completely surrounded--every runner had some kind of unpleasant news to tell. During the next hour or so men were obliged to decide quickly what was to be done with their families and personal effects. It was the crucial moment of the war, as it was then thought that it was but a matter of minutes before the British would arrive. I happened to be at the railway station on the night the President and Secretary Reitz left with the State documents and moneys, removing the capital and head of the government from Pretoria. About half-past eleven a special train, consisting of three or four luggage vans, a few passenger carriages, a few goods carriages, and, at the end, the President’s private coach. Nothing had been said about the removal, but from some remark coming from Mr. Reitz I imagined that something unusual was about to happen, and therefore awaited developments. There was no unwonted excitement about the station, and, with the exception of a few burghers who were awaiting the departure of the train, there was no one about except Mr. Sutherland and myself. In a few moments a small wagon drove hurriedly up to the station, a couple of men jumped out and gave orders to the driver to drive out on the platform near the train; this being done, they began to transfer a load of books and papers into the luggage van. Another cart arrived before the first one was emptied, also containing huge bundles of papers and documents. During the next half hour there came a stream of vehicles of every description, loaded with bags of gold and silver. Even cabs had been pressed into the service of transferring the treasure of the state from the mint to the train. Bars of the precious metal were thrown out of the cabs or wagons like so much rubbish. [Illustration: Boer women bidding good-by to their men off for the front.] [Illustration: Russian hospital corps with the Boers: the wounded man is Colonel Blake, formerly U. S. A.]