Jameson’s men received the best attention possible, even on the field of battle. Those who had provisions shared with them; and afterwards they were taken to Krugersdorp, where they were treated more like guests than prisoners. Of course any attempt at escape was guarded against. Jameson and officers were forwarded to Pretoria without unnecessary delay. Jameson seemed especially sad and broken-hearted. Who knows what hopes were dashed to the ground? Who knows his thoughts when he entered the territory of a State at peace with his own country, into which he was carrying the torch of civil war, murder and famine? It was like taking a lighted torch into a powder magazine. He knew that his advent meant ‘war to the knife’--to the bitter end; and the more success he had at first, the more disastrous must the end be. Had he reached Johannesburg, who could foresee where the bloodshed would have ended? And the thousands of innocent, peaceable citizens of Johannesburg must have suffered, and did suffer, with the guilty. All to satisfy the love of power, glory, and lust of gold of a few unscrupulous men. But be assured, O reader, that, if man does not punish them, a higher power _will_. Whatever Jameson’s reward for success was to have been, president (?), governor (?), administrator (?), or prime minister to the modern Emperor Napoleon, I do not know. This I do know, he seemed to recognise that all was lost, that all the grand dreams of power and gold dreamt by him and his fellow-conspirators had vanished into mist; for he never spoke a word but--wept. Would that he had wept tears of repentance at the bloodshed, the distress and heartburnings he had caused, instead of weeping for failure. Or would that he had wept tears of joy that he had failed to set the Powers of the world fighting a terrible war; a war such as Napoleon even never saw. A war that would have changed the destinies of many a nation on earth. A war that would have changed the map of the world, to what extent no one can say. _What an escape._