and the present is a good opportunity for putting them in the way of acquiring the habit of working. A repatriation officer told me that he had offered 10s. a day to a man to do some light work for him on a farm. The man refused to undertake the duty. He preferred to sit in idleness, as was quite natural, and to draw his free rations. I say free rations because, though the recipients are supposed to pay for them some day, no one supposes that they will ever do so, and it is certainly not their intention to save up for that purpose.

From Lindley I drove across the veldt with my Cape cart and mules to the railway at Heilbron, forty miles distant. The long drought had broken at last, for throughout the day we drove under a never-ceasing downpour of rain, and terrific thunderstorms swept across the plain, which in places soon became covered with water several inches in depth, presenting the appearance of a succession of large lakes. As we could not see the submerged tracks, it was with difficulty that we found our way, while the spruits that had been dry the previous day had become torrents almost too deep to ford. But at last we saw Heilbron far off in front of us, and before nightfall we passed the Repatriation Camp-a great collection of waggons, piles of stores, animals, and supplies intended for distribution among the distressed farmers-that lies outside the town, and drove through the empty swamped streets to the hotel. It will be remembered that this little township was for a week the capital of the Orange Free State during the peripatetic period of Mr. Steyn's dying Government. The district was the centre of the long-continued stubborn resistance of the Free State commandos during the closing stages of the war, and there was plenty of

severe fighting round Heilbron. Here many ex-burghers were still wearing the white button to show that they were among those that held out to the end; but, as elsewhere in the colony, the British and Dutch were getting on well together, there being little bitterness apparent.

Here I concluded my long and pleasant journey through the Orange River Colony, and took train to Johannesburg. I had trekked from one end of the colony to the other, from the Orange River to the Vaal, having covered about six hundred miles of road, while zig-zagging backwards and forwards between the Basuto frontier and the railway. I had traversed the districts which suffered most in the war, which supplied the most formidable commandos to the Boer forces. Throughout the journey I had mixed with all sorts and conditions of men, but had met with nothing but hospitality and friendship from our late enemies. Old experiences had taught me that, whatever their faults, there are no pleasanter people to travel among than the South African Dutch, and even as they were before the war so I found them now.

CHAPTER XVI

THE

JOHANNESBURG UNDESIRABLES- HIGHWAY ROBBERY-A CHEERY COMMUNITY DEPRESSION OF TRADE RENEGADE ENGLISHMEN TRANSVAAL VOLUNTEERS-DEFENCE OF THE NATIONAL SCOUTS.

JOHANNESBURG, in contrast with the little war-wrecked veldt townships I had left behind, seemed a wonderful city indeed, with its teeming eager life, its broad streets of handsome buildings, its fine shops, its fashionablydressed men and women, its smart private equipages, its many signs of wealth and luxury. It was curious to note how much more British in appearance Johannesburg had become since the war; the first striking sign of our rule that meets the traveller as he leaves the railway station being the courteous British policemen in the streets-all time-expired soldiers, chiefly Guardsmen-regulating the traffic as they do in London, and clad in the familiar garb of our home constables, taking the place of Mr. Kruger's lounging, often impudent zarps, who, to do them credit, fought pluckily against us in the war.

Johannesburg appeared to be a very well policed city. I came across no disorderliness by day or night. Many undesirables had recently been banished, and there were no outward signs of that dangerous condition which prevailed but a short time ago, when there was an organised ruffianism of the 'Hooligan' type and people were sandbagged by robbers in broad daylight. But of undesirables of many nationalities there

is still an abundance in Johannesburg, and many of the ill-clad, unkempt men who loaf or stand at street corners with their hands in their pockets, sullenly scanning the well-dressed ladies and gentlemen who pass, are as forbidding in appearance as any to be seen in the worst quarters of European capitals. People of this description have somehow contrived to obtain permits to enter the Transvaal, whereas many quite respectable people have been excluded.

But the ruffians of the city are quiet in demeanour, never, so far as I observed, rowdy, for they know well that to put themselves too much in evidence would be to ensure their expulsion from the colony as undesirables under the arbitrary provisions of the Peace Preservation Act. But desperados, silently and unobtrusively, observe the habits of the mercantile classes, note the hours at which the clerk is sent to the bank with his bag of gold, or when the takings are carried from the booking-offices of the theatres, and then cleverly plan their coups. The boldest outrage that has been committed of late occurred when I was in the city, and it recalled to one's mind the old days in Australia when bushrangers used to hold up the banks of little townships in broad daylight. At four in the afternoon two Custom House officials were sent to the bank with that day's Customs takings, amounting to a little under £5,400, chiefly in notes. When turning the corner of frequented Bree Street they were suddenly blinded by handfuls of pepper thrown at them by one of three men who were awaiting them. A second confederate struck the bearer of the bag of money on the forehead, while the third-a young man smartly dressed in black jacket, dust coat, and riding breeches, with puttie gaiters and spurs, the new fashion for your South