on the other."

The "protected" train had proved a deathtrap, and by the time the line
was clear every fourth man was killed or wounded. Only the engine,
with the more severely wounded heaped in the cab and clinging to its
cow-catcher and foot-rails, made good its escape. Among those left
behind, a Tommy, without authority, raised a handkerchief on his rifle,
and the Boers instantly ceased firing and came galloping forward to
accept surrender. There was a general stampede to escape. Seeing that
Lieutenant Franklin was gallantly trying to hold his men, Churchill,
who was safe on the engine, jumped from it and ran to his assistance. 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. I knew nothing
of the white flag, and the bullets had made me savage. I reached down
for my Mauser pistol. I had left it in the cab of the engine. Between me
and the horseman there was a wire fence. Should I continue to fly?
The idea of another shot at such a short range decided me. Death stood
before me, grim and sullen; Death without his light-hearted companion,
Chance. So I held up my hand, and like Mr. Jorrock's foxes, cried
'Capivy!' Then I was