denied this both privately and
publicly.)

APRIL 29.--The commutation was published. Mrs. George Farrar had come
from Johannesburg, and together we went to see our husbands. Our visit
was limited to five minutes. We found the four men haggard, but
apparently cheerful. The condemned cell had an earthen floor. It had
been newly whitewashed and reeked of antiseptics. Four canvas
stretchers, a tin pail filled with water, and a dipper, furnished it.
A negro murderer had been its last occupant. I sat on one of the
canvas cots with an arm around my husband and holding Colonel Rhodes'
hand. Mrs. Farrar was sitting on the opposite cot, locked in her
husband's embrace. The guard came to order us out. Poor Mrs. Farrar
looked so frail and white, I put my arm about her to give her support.
In the courtyard we stopped to speak to one of the Reformers. The
guard became furious, and, swinging his arms in a threatening manner,
rushed at us with curses. We were driven violently out of the yard
like depredating dogs. Surely the sun never looked upon two women in
sadder case. She was just up from her confinement, and I was far
advanced in pregnancy.

XII

No cable of political purport could be sent from Pretoria safe from
mutilation. I therefore despatched Mr. Hammond's secretary to Cape
Town with a message to the American press, reporting Mr. Wessels' plea
for the Reformers, the statement of the four leaders, and the
sentence. I did this, believing that, if the American public fully
understood the circumstances of the case, popular sympathy would allow
no stone to remain unturned to protect their unfortunate countryman
from so violent and unjust a sentence.

Pretoria seethed with overwrought wives. In the prison the men were
suffering real hardship. The sanitary arrangements were shocking.
Twenty-two Reformers were crowded into a room thirty feet by ten.
This room had been hastily built of corrugated iron, and leaked at
every seam. Draughts were strong enough to blow the hair about their
temples; the men slept on straw mattresses laid on the floor, and
there was scarcely room enough for a man to get out of bed without
stepping on his neighbour. Rations of mealie pap--a coarse, insipid
porridge--with a hunk of hard, dark-coloured bread were given to each
prisoner in tin pannikins--not particularly clean. At mid-day a little
greasy soup and soup meat were added. This unsavoury fare caused many
of the Reformers to go hungry rat