re
commandeered.' And then he climbed down off the footboard, and I did not
see him again--one piteous item of Gladstone's legacy--the ruined and
abandoned loyalist in the second generation.

Before the train left Volksrust we changed our guards. The honest
burghers who had captured us had to return to the front, and we were to
be handed over to the police. The leader of the escort--a dear old
gentleman--I am ignorant of his official rank--approached and explained
through Spaarwater that it was he who had placed the stone and so caused
our misfortunes. He said he hoped we bore no malice. We replied by no
means, and that we would do the same for him with pleasure any day.
Frankland asked him what rewards he would get for such distinguished
service. In truth he might easily have been shot, had we turned the
corner a minute earlier. The subaltern apparently contemplated some
Republican V.C. or D.S.O. But the farmer was much puzzled by his
question. After some explaining we learnt that he had been given
fourteen days' furlough to go home to his farm and see his wife. His
evident joy and delight were touching. I said 'Surely this is a very
critical time to leave the front. You may miss an important battle.'

'Yes,' he replied simply, 'I hope so.' Then we said 'good-bye,' and I
gave him, and also Spaarwater, a little slip of paper setting forth that
they had shown kindness and courtesy to British prisoners of war, and
personally requesting anyone into whose hands the papers might come to
treat them well, should they themselves be taken by the Imperial forces.

We were then handed to a rather dilapidated policeman of a gendarme
type, who spat copiously on the floor of the carriage and informed us
that we should be shot if we attempted to escape. Having no desire to
speak to this fellow, we let down the sleeping shelves of the
compartment and, as the train steamed out of Volksrust, turned to sleep.

CHAPTER X

IN AFRIKANDER BONDS

Pretoria: December 3rd, 1899.

It was, as nearly as I can remember, midday when the train-load of
prisoners reached Pretoria. We pulled up in a sort of siding with an
earth platform on the right side which opened into the streets of the
town. The day was fine, and the sun shone brightly. There was a
considerable crowd of people to receive us; ugly women with bright
parasols, loafers and ragamuffins, fat burghers too heavy to ride at the
front, and a long line of untidy, white-helmeted