“Where are the officers?”” “Back, you men,” were spreading along the English line. He had planted the gerni of defeat among them, now he must spread it through them before he could carry the entire position. Frantically he signalled for reinforcements from the Boer positions along the crest, hundreds of his burghers were already running forward from Aloe Knoll. Another five minutes and complete victory would emerge from the confusion. “Damn you, sir! What do you think you’re doing!” The voice behind him was impregnated with authority, unmistakably that of a high-ranking officer. Jan Paulus wheeled to face a tall and enraged old gentleman, whose pointed grey whiskers quivered with fury. The apoplectic crimson of his countenance clashed horribly with its coating of red dust. “I am taking your men hands-up away. ” Jan Paulus struggled gumnally with the foreign words. “I’ll be damned if you are, sir.” Leaning heavily on the shoulder of a skinny little dark-haired man who supported him, the officer reached forward and shook a finger in Jan Paulus’s face.
