He was well pleased with his job, looked a typical war correspondent himself, and was making good money. I heard no more until, some months later, I received a note from him from England telling me that he had been taking a short holiday and was returning to South Africa. He was joining a friend of his, Major Hunt, and they proposed to raise an irregular corps on their arrival. The corps was raised, the "Bushveldt Carabiniers." This corps had nothing whatever to do with Australia. Nor could Morant himself lay any claim to being Australian. The corps was raised from Colonials and British, chiefly out of a job, then in South Africa. They appear to have had somewhat of a free hand in the operations which marked the latter portion of the campaign. Drives were taking place. Units were scattered, and to a certain extent had to be left to their own devices. The Bushveldt Carabiniers occupied for some time a wild region called The Splonken. While dealing with the Boers in that locality Major Hunt had, so it was officially reported, been murdered by the Boers, having been induced to approach a farm house on which a white flag was flying. The story goes that he was found lying dead on the stoep of the farm and that his body had been mutilated. Morant swore to avenge his friend's untimely end--it was reported that he had become engaged to Hunt's sister during his visit to England. He determined to give no quarter, and several prisoners who fell into his hands were promptly shot there and then. He and four other officers were, later on, in January, 1902, court-martialled on the charge of having personally committed or been accessory to the murder of twelve Boers. The five were found guilty, in different degrees. Handcock, Wilton and Morant were sentenced to death, and Morant was shot at Pretoria. I am in a position to give a short account of Morant's last hours. When crossing over in the ss. _Surrey_ from South Australia a man called John Morrow, who had been my groom for a couple of years in Adelaide, had become a close friend of Morant's. It was difficult to say why. Practically the only thing they had in common was their love for horseflesh. Morrow was quite an uneducated man. Morant was the opposite. Still, friends they were. When the Police Force for the protection of Pretoria was raised the majority of the men selected came from the Australians, and Morrow was one of them. Later on he had been appointed one of the warders at the jail. As bad fortune would have it, he was given charge of Morant and was with him the evening before he was shot. I had a long letter from Morrow, later on, enclosing a photograph of the officers concerned, which had been taken, evidently, about the time that the corps was raised. On the back of it was written in pencil: "Dear Jack. To-morrow morning I die. My love to my pals in Australia.--Morant." It was probable that these were the last words that Morant wrote. Morant died as he had lived. He faced his end bravely.