The last train that left that evening carried the dynamiters, who
destroyed the bridges after passing over them.

After a weary ride in the open trucks, seated on sacks of bread, a
drizzling rain soaking down upon us, we reached Glencoe. The platform
and station buildings were crowded with the sleeping forms of the weary
burghers, who, as yet unused to retreating, were somewhat mixed in more
senses than one. Louis Botha was still near Ladysmith with the
rearguard, most of the other chiefs were coming by road, and there was
no one on the spot to back up General Joubert in his attempts to
reorganise the confused and ever-growing mass of undisciplined men. The
retreat, in fact, threatened to degenerate into a reckless flight.




GLENCOE


President Kruger had been informed A of the chaotic state of affairs,
and arrived at Glencoe early the next morning. The burghers were called
together, and the President, leaning out of the window of his railway
carriage, asked them to join him in singing a psalm. He then offered up
a fervent prayer for guidance, after which he addressed the burghers,
reproaching them for their want of confidence in an all-powerful
Providence, and exhorting them to take courage afresh and continue the
struggle for the sake of their posterity, which one day would judge
their acts.

"Whither would you flee?" he asked us. "The enemy will pursue you, and