Some burghers wander off into the bush in search of
game, others lie lazily stretched out beneath the trees. Trains crammed
with men arrive from the rear, discharge their freights of assorted
humanity, and are immediately boarded by the dismounted men destined for
Komatipoort. The line is blocked with traffic, trains run anyhow, and it
will be some days before everything is ready for our trek to begin.
There being no longer any need for officials, my colleagues volunteered
to form themselves into a fighting corps, and did me the honour of
selecting me as their leader. The corps, however, lacked accoutrements.
I went down to Delagoa Bay. Upon returning, with two other officers, we
were arrested at the Portuguese station Moveni.
Although armed with passports signed by the District Governor, we were
informed that we would under no circumstances be allowed to recross the
frontier. Nor could we obtain permission to return to Lourengo Marques
by train. The young Portuguese commandant, a mirror of courtesy,
explained that we had either to await further orders there or walk back
to the Bay, a distance of fifty miles.
After waiting for several hours we quietly boarded a train coming from
Komatipoort, and managed to reach Lourengo Marques unobserved. We still
believed that we would contrive to get back somehow sooner or later, but
were soon cruelly undeceived.
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