She told me afterwards she had done so, and that they said
they had been insulted, and would probably not come again. We both
laughed, and agreed it would not matter much if this calamity occurred.
The next day I was still put off, when I requested to know what had been
decided about my fate. I was getting desperate, and had serious thoughts
of taking "French leave," risking Boer sentries and outposts, and
walking into Mafeking at night; but it was the fear of being fired on
from our own trenches that deterred me. Fortunately, however, assistance
was at hand. On the afternoon of the fifth day that I had spent at the
laager, a fine-looking burgher rode up to the hospital, and I heard him
conversing in very good English. Presently, after staring at me for some
time, he came up and said he had known Randolph Churchill, who, he
heard, was my brother, and that he should so like to have a little talk.
He then informed me his name was Spencer Drake, to which I said: "Your
name and your conversation would make me think you are an Englishman,
Mr. Drake." "So I am," was his reply. "I was born in Norfolk. My father
and grandfather before me were in Her Majesty's Navy, and we are
descended from the old commander of Queen Elizabeth's time." To this I
observed that I was sorry to see him in the Boer camp amongst the
Queen's enemies.
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