The truck in which I ensconced myself was laden with great sacks of some soft merchandise, and I found among them holes and crevices by means of which I managed to work my way to the inmost recess.  The hard floor was littered with gritty coal dust, and made a most uncomfortable bed.  The heat was almost stifling.  I was resolved, however, that nothing should lure or compel me from my hiding-place until I reached Portuguese territory.  I expected the journey to take thirty-six hours; it dragged out into two and a half days.  I hardly dared sleep for fear of snoring.

I dreaded lest the trucks should be searched at Komati Poort, and my anxiety as the train approached this neighbourhood was very great.  To prolong it we were shunted on to a siding for eighteen hours either at Komati Poort or the station beyond it.  Once indeed they began to search my truck, and I heard the tarpaulin rustle as they pulled at it, but luckily they did not search deep enough, so that, providentially protected, I reached Delagoa Bay at last, and crawled forth from my place of refuge and of punishment, weary, dirty, hungry, but free once more.

Thereafter everything smiled.  I found my way to the British Consul, Mr. Ross, who at first mistook me for a fireman off one of the ships in the harbour, but soon welcomed me with enthusiasm.  I bought clothes, I washed, I sat down to dinner with a real tablecloth and real glasses; and fortune, determined not to overlook the smallest detail, had arranged that the steamer ‘Induna’ should leave that very night for Durban.  As soon as the news of my arrival spread about the town, I received many offers of assistance from the English residents, and lest any of the Boer agents with whom Lourenco Marques is infested should attempt to recapture me in neutral territory, nearly a dozen gentlemen escorted me to the steamer armed with revolvers.  It is from the cabin of this little vessel, as she coasts along the sandy shores of Africa, that I write the concluding lines of this letter, and the reader who may persevere through this hurried account will perhaps understand why I write them with a feeling of triumph, and better than triumph, a feeling of pure joy.

CHAPTER XII

BACK TO THE BRITISH LINES

Frere:  December 24, 1899.

The voyage of the “Induna” from Delagoa Bay to Durban was speedy and prosperous, and on the afternoon of the 23rd we approached our port, and saw the bold headland that shields it rising above the horizon to the southward.  An hour’s steaming brought us to the roads.  More than twenty great transports and supply vessels lay at anchor, while three others, crowded from end to end with soldiery, circled impatiently as they waited for pilots to take them into the harbour.  Our small vessel was not long in reaching the jetty, and I perceived that a very considerable crowd had gathered to receive us.  But it was not until I stepped on shore that I realised