isoners were to march at once to Elandslaagte Station.
'How far?' we asked, anxiously, for all were very footsore. 'Only a very
little way--five hours' slow walking.' We stood up--for we had slept in
our clothes and cared nothing for washing--and said that we were ready.
The Commandant then departed, to return in a few minutes bringing some
tea and bully beef, which he presented to us with an apology for the
plainness of the fare. He asked an English-speaking Boer to explain that
they had nothing better themselves. After we had eaten and were about to
set forth, Dayel said, through his interpreter, that he would like to
know from us that we were satisfied with the treatment we met with at
his laager. We gladly gave him the assurance, and with much respect bade
good-bye to this dignified and honourable enemy. Then we were marched
away over the hills towards the north, skirting the picket line round
Ladysmith to the left. Every half-mile or so the road led through or by
some Boer laager, and the occupants--for it was a quiet day in the
batteries--turned out in hundreds to look at us. I do not know how many
men I saw, but certainly during this one march not less than 5,000. Of
this great number two only offered insults to the gang of prisoners. One
was a dirty, mean-looking little Hollander. He said, 'Well, Tommy,
you've got your franchise, anyhow.' The other was an Irishman. He
addressed himself to Frankland, whose badges proclaimed his regiment.
What he said when disentangled from obscenity amounted to this: 'I am
glad to see you Dublin fellows in trouble.' The Boers silenced him at
once and we passed on. But that was all the taunting we received during
the whole journey from Frere Station to Pretoria, and when one remembers
that the Burghers are only common men with hardly any real discipline,
the fact seems very remarkable. But little and petty as it was it galled
horribly. The soldiers felt the sting and scowled back; the officers
looked straight before them. Yet it was a valuable lesson. Only a few
days before I had read in the newspapers of how the Kaffirs had jeered
at the Boer prisoners when they were marched into Pietermaritzburg,
saying, 'Where are your passes?' It had seemed a very harmless joke
then, but now I understood how a prisoner feels these things.

It was about eleven o'clock when we reached Elandslaagte Station. A
train awaited the prisoners. There were six or seven closed vans for the
men and a first-