For a hundred feet he walked as though on ice, inwardly shrinking
as he waited for the sharp challenge, and the rattle of the Mauser
thrown to the "Ready." His nerves were leaping, his heart in his
throat, his spine of water. And then, as he continued to advance,
and still no tumult pursued him, he quickened his pace and turned
into one of the main streets of Pretoria. The sidewalks were
crowded with burghers, but no one noticed him. This was due
probably to the fact that the Boers wore no distinctive uniform,
and that with them in their commandoes were many English
Colonials who wore khaki riding breeches, and many Americans,
French, Germans, and Russians, in every fashion of semi-uniform.
If observed, Churchill was mistaken for one of these, and the very
openness of his movements saved him from suspicion.
Straight through the town he walked until he reached the suburbs,
the open veldt, and a railroad track. As he had no map or compass
he knew this must be his only guide, but he knew also that two
railroads left Pretoria, the one along which he had been captured,
to Pietermaritzburg, and the other, the one leading to the coast and
freedom. Which of the two this one was he had no idea, but he
took his chance, and a hundred yards beyond a station waited for
the first outgoing train. About midnight, a freight stopped at the
station, and after it had left it and before it had again gathered
headway, Churchill swung himself up upon it, and stretched out
upon a pile of coal.
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