London to Ladysmith via PretoriaChurchill, Winston
History
London to Ladysmith via Pretoria
Churchill, Winston
South African War, 1899-1902; Transvaal (South Africa) -- History
We determined to try on the night of the 11th of December, making up our
minds quite suddenly in the morning, for these things are best done on
the spur of the moment. I passed the afternoon in positive terror.
Nothing, since my schooldays, has ever disturbed me so much as this.
There is something appalling in the idea of stealing secretly off in the
night like a guilty thief. The fear of detection has a pang of its own.
Besides, we knew quite well that on occasion, even on excuse, the
sentries would fire. Fifteen yards is a short range. And beyond the
immediate danger lay a prospect of severe hardship and suffering, only
faint hopes of success, and the probability at the best of five months
in Pretoria Gaol.
The afternoon dragged tediously away. I tried to read Mr. Lecky's
'History of England,' but for the first time in my life that wise
writer wearied me. I played chess and was hopelessly beaten. At last it
grew dark. At seven o'clock the bell for dinner rang and the officers
trooped off. Now was the time. But the sentries gave us no chance. They
did not walk about. One of them stood exactly opposite the only
practicable part of the wall. We waited for two hours, but the attempt
was plainly impossible, and so with a most unsatisfactory feeling of
relief to bed.
Tuesday, the 12th! Another day of fear, but fear crystallising more and
more into desperation. Anything was better than further suspense. Night
came again. Again the dinner bell sounded. Choosing my opportunity I
strolled across the quadrangle and secreted myself in one of the
offices. Through a chink I watched the sentries. For half an hour they
remained stolid and obstructive. Then all of a sudden one turned and
walked up to his comrade and they began to talk. Their backs were
turned. Now or never. I darted out of my hiding place and ran to the
wall, seized the top with my hands and drew myself up. Twice I let
myself down again in sickly hesitation, and then with a third resolve
scrambled up. The top was flat. Lying on it I had one parting glimpse of
the sentries, still talking, still with their backs turned; but, I
repeat, fifteen yards away. Then I lowered myself silently down into the
adjoining garden and crouched among the shrubs. I was free. The first
step had been taken, and it was irrevocable.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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