question.

The next morning the local magistrate came to pay me his respects. The
unpleasant remarks of the previous evening were cruelly reiterated,
enlarged upon, and emphasized. The magistrate volunteered very kindly to
submit, if necessary, all my papers to some one I may please to appoint.
He would also deliver messages to my sorrowing friends and relatives. As
my trial was pending, I asked him what he meant by talking such
nonsense. Surely the British were not going to shoot each and every Boer
officer whom they captured, and that without fair trial!

Though no coward, I must admit that such conversations were not
calculated to produce a favourable impression on my mind. They might
have been well meant, but did more harm than good. It is one thing to
face the enemy on the battlefield, where one may defend himself; 'tis
something else to be dangerously, almost mortally, wounded, and then to
be at the mercy of the foe. For three consecutive nights Nature's
greatest gift--sleep--to suffering humanity had departed from me. Why
could I not sleep? Was it fear that kept me awake? No, not that. My
conscience was clear, my hands unstained. But locked up in that small
room, with no one to speak to, my thoughts began to multiply, and I lay
meditating night after night. That was enough to make a young man old
and grey. Yet there was one friend who helped me to beguile the dreary
hours of confinement. That friend was my beloved pipe.

One evening, towards the end of February, I was told to appear before a
military court the following morning. This announcement seemed strange
to me, for I was not prepared for a trial. I was resolved what to do.

At 8 o'clock the next morning I was taken by an escort of six soldiers