After the death sentence had been pronounced and the Court dismissed,
Mrs. Joel, with woman's thoughtfulness, put a flask of brandy in her
pocket and started for the prison. In the confusion of receiving the
prisoners she managed to slip in and went at once to the condemned
cell. Her visit was a God-send to the four unhappy men, who were much
worn by months of anxiety, ill-health, and this final strain of the
death sentence. They were bearing up wonderfully well, she said.

One of the lawyers came and sat at the end of my sofa. He burst into
tears. 'We've been played! we've been played!' he exclaimed, with
vehemence. Remembering how the lawyers for the Reformers had muddled
everything from the beginning of the trial, how they had
conscientiously and persistently walked into every trap laid for them,
I sat upright to look squarely into his face. 'My God! when haven't
you been played?'

The effect of the death sentence on Johannesburg was extreme: all
shops and the Stock Exchange were closed, and the flags of the town
were placed at half mast.

This, from the 'Standard and Diggers' News'--a tribute from the
enemy's paper--goes to my heart:--

'One respects the probity of the man who, dangerously ill and totally
unfit for the hardship of a prison, preferred to take his stand in the
dock, rather than sacrifice his self-respect by flight from Cape Town;
Mr. Hammond has worthily upheld the reputation of a nation which
claims its sons as men who "never run away."'