A few months after the occupation of Pretoria the first public meeting was held in the Rex Bar, now known as the Lyceum Theatre, on Church Square ("under the Oaks"), for the purpose of recruiting National Scouts from the ranks of the burghers in Pretoria. Many prominent men attended this meeting, which, it will be remembered, was presided over by a distinguished British officer. These men went, not to become members of the National Scouts Corps, but to ask a certain question when the right moment arrived--and then they rose with one accord. "What about our oath of neutrality?" They were told that the oath of neutrality need not disturb any one who wished to join the ranks of the enemy; it would be nullified by the oath of allegiance, and was declared to be "a mere formality." The noblest motives for uniting their strength to that of the enemy, in the endeavour "to restore peace to the land," were laid before the burghers of the Transvaal. Not only would the helpless inmates of the Concentration Camps be spared further suffering, but the deplorable loss of life of men on both sides in the field would cease. Then too, the pay was a consideration not to be despised in days of so much hardship and privation. Large sums were paid for the capture of each brother burgher, and so liberal a share in the plunder brought home by them that there are, at the present time, well-to-do farmers, poor before the war, now flourishing and well known in their districts as successful "pocket patriots."[1] The National Scouts became a strong and well-organised body of men, versed in all the arts of Boer warfare, familiar with the country--a dangerous and treacherous addition to the difficulties with which the faithful burghers were beset. It must be clearly understood that there can be no comparison between the act of the men who, when condemned to death, saved themselves by turning King's evidence and the treachery of the men who, voluntarily and for greed of gold, took up arms against their fellow-countrymen. Under the impulse of fear men may be guilty of a crime for which they may have to do penance with lifelong remorse, and for these we may feel pity, even if we do not understand and cannot enter into the cowardly weakness by which they were driven to betray their comrades. But in the case of the National Scouts there were no extenuating circumstances except perhaps that the greater responsibility rested on the men who paid in dross for the dishonour of their fellow-creatures.