a picket fire gleamed.
Every bridge had its watchers. But I passed them all, making very short
detours at the dangerous places, and really taking scarcely any
precautions. Perhaps that was the reason I succeeded.

As I walked I extended my plan. I could not march three hundred miles
to the frontier. I would board a train in motion and hide under the
seats, on the roof, on the couplings--anywhere. What train should I
take? The first, of course. After walking for two hours I perceived the
signal lights of a station. I left the line, and, circling round it, hid
in the ditch by the track about 200 yards beyond it. I argued that the
train would stop at the station and that it would not have got up too
much speed by the time it reached me. An hour passed. I began to grow
impatient. Suddenly I heard the whistle and the approaching rattle. Then
the great yellow head lights of the engine flashed into view. The train
waited five minutes at the station and started again with much noise and
steaming. I crouched by the track. I rehearsed the act in my mind. I
must wait until the engine had passed, otherwise I should be seen. Then
I must make a dash for the carriages.

The train started slowly, but gathered speed sooner than I had expected.
The flaring lights drew swiftly near. The rattle grew into a roar. The
dark mass hung for a second above me. The engine-driver silhouetted
against his furnace glow, the black profile of the engine, the clouds of
steam rushed past. Then I hurled myself on the trucks, clutched at
something, missed, clutched again, missed again, grasped some sort of
hand-hold, was swung off my feet--my toes bumping on the line, and with
a struggle seated myself on the couplings of the fifth truck from the
front of the train. It was a goods train, and the trucks were full of
sacks, soft sacks covered with coal dust. I crawled on top and burrowed
in among them. In five minutes I was completely buried. The sacks were
warm and comfortable. Perhaps the engine-driver had seen me rush up to
the train and would give the alarm at the next station: on the other
hand, perhaps not. Where was the train going to? Where would it be
unloaded? Would it be searched? Was it on the Delagoa Bay line? What
should I do in the morning? Ah, never mind that. Sufficient for the day
was the luck thereof. Fresh plans for fresh contingencies. I resolved
to sleep, nor can I imagine a more pleasing lullaby than the clatter of
the train that carrie