It was a dull day when Jan de Cilliers rode onto his land. He had just come from Graaff-Reinet and had his wagon loaded with supplies for his farm. As he rode along the rough road, he began to get a nervous feeling. Then he thought, "Was it the Kaffirs and had they attacked his farm?" He began to ride faster, but it was not necessary for he saw the smoke curling up like a savage beast and disappearing into the sky. He did not want to see the mass of ruins of his house. He was about to turn away, but he thought again. "Perhaps there are survivors." He grabbed his gun, hid the wagon and made his way to his house. On the way his native servant leaped out of a bush with blood streaming from his head and said, 'Baas! Come quick missus is still alive and son is dying. Go! Quick!" "Come on," said Jan but he was just wasting his breath for his faithful native servant swayed, staggered and fell dead.

Jan took an unhappy glance at him and made for his house. Just as he entered a Kaffir raised his spear and threw it. He did not know where it landed, but he did not take notice as his life was at stake. He raised his gun and fired. In a moment there lay the Kaffir, dead as a stone. But this was not all, in a corner lay his beloved wife, Anna. In another Johann his son, but his daughter was no where to be seen. Suddenly he heard a low muffled groan, it was his son. He heard his son mutter, "She was captured." He then thumped on the ground and he was dead. Jan slammed the door closed and went outside. He saddled his horse and he left the house. What would he do now? In the back of his mind, the one word rang out "Revenge." "R.E.V.E.N.G.E."...

NOTE: Usage of the word kaffir in a modern South African context is a pejorative, as unacceptable today as its American counterpart.