The bitter wind of disappointment pierces even the cloak of sleep.  Moreover, the night was cold and the wet clothes chilled and stiffened my limbs, provoking restless and satisfactory dreams.  I was breakfasting with President Kruger and General Joubert.  ‘Have some jam,’ said the President.  ‘Thanks,’ I replied, ‘I would rather have marmalade.’  But there was none.  Their evident embarrassment communicated itself to me.  ‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘I’d just as soon have jam.’  But the President was deeply moved.  ‘No, no,’ he cried; ’we are not barbarians.  Whatever you are entitled to you shall have, if I have to send to Johannesburg for it.’  So he got up to ring the bell, and with the clang I woke.

The first light of dawn was just peering in through the skylight of the corrugated iron shed.  The soldiers lay in a brown litter about the floor, several snoring horribly.  The meaning of it came home with a slap.  Imprisoned; not able to come and go at will; about to be dragged off and put in some secluded place while others fought the great quarrel to the end; out of it all—­like a pawn taken early in the game and flung aside into the box.  I groaned with vexation, and, sitting up, aroused Frankland, who shared my blanket.  Then the Boers unlocked the doors and ordered us to get ready to march at once.

The forage which we had spread on the floor rustled, and the first idea of escape crossed my mind.  Why not lie buried underneath this litter until prisoners and escort had marched away together?  Would they count?  Would they notice?  I did not think so.  They would reason—­we know they all went in; it is certain none could have escaped during the night:  therefore all must be here this morning.  Suppose they missed me?  ’Where is the “reporter,” with whom we talked last evening?’ Haldane would reply that he must have slipped out of the door before it was shut.  They might scour the country; but would they search the shed?  It seemed most unlikely.  The scheme pleased my fancy exceedingly, and I was just resolving to conceal myself, when one of the guards entered and ordered everyone to file out forthwith.

We chewed a little more of the ox, slain and toasted the night before, and drank some rainwater from a large puddle, and, after this frugal breakfast, intimated that we were ready.  Then we set out—­a sorry gang of dirty, tramping prisoners, but yesterday the soldiers of the Queen; while the fierce old farmers cantered their ponies about the veldt or closed around the column, looking at us from time to time with irritating disdain and still more irritating pity.  We marched across the waggon bridge of the Tugela, and following the road, soon entered the hills.  Among these we journeyed for several hours, wading across the gullies which the heavy rains had turned into considerable streams and persecuted by the slanting rays of the sun.  Here and there parties of Boers met us, and much handshaking and patting on the back ensued between the newcomers and our escort.  Once we halted at a little field hospital—­a dozen tents and waggons with enormous red-cross flags, tucked away in a deep hollow.