Of what followed, this is
his own account:
"Scarcely had the locomotive left me than I found myself alone in
a shallow cutting, and none of our soldiers, who had all
surrendered, to be seen. Then suddenly there appeared on the line
at the end of the cutting two men not in uniform. 'Plate-layers,' I
said to myself, and then, with a surge of realization, 'Boers.' My
mind retains a momentary impression of these tall figures, full of
animated movement, clad in dark flapping clothes, with slouch,
storm-driven hats, posing their rifles hardly a hundred yards away.
I turned and ran between the rails of the track, and the only
thought I achieved was this: 'Boer marksmanship.'
"Two bullets passed, both within a foot, one on either side. I flung
myself against the banks of the cutting. But they gave no cover.
Another glance at the figures; one was now kneeling to aim. Again
I darted forward. Again two soft kisses sucked in the air, but
nothing struck me. I must get out of the cutting--that damnable
corridor. I scrambled up the bank. The earth sprang up beside me,
and a bullet touched my hand, but outside the cutting was a tiny
depression. I crouched in this, struggling to get my wind. On the
other side of the railway a horseman galloped up, shouting to me
and waving his hand. He was scarcely forty yards off. With a rifle I
could have killed him easily.
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