After the departure of the old woodcutter the day passed fairly peaceably until about 3 p.m., when the barking of a dog in our near vicinity “put our wind up,” as the expression goes. Suddenly the stillness of the wood was rudely broken by the sound of a shot, and we could distinctly hear the fall of a bird as it crashed through the trees with a thud to earth, followed by the yapping of the dog as it ran its quarry down. The hunter then tramped all over the wood, tapping the trees, evidently in search of more sport, and in so doing he passed within ten yards of us. All this time we lay with our bodies pressed to earth in a perfect agony of doubt. As for myself, it seemed impossible that the hunter could fail to hear the wild pounding of my heart; but the danger passed, and again silence reigned in the little wood.
Not for long were we to be left in peace. The old woodcutter returned, and this time he took up his position a good bit nearer than before, and chopped away hard till nearly dusk, when at last he again went off with his old barrow. If one carefully analyses one’s feelings and sensations in moments of excitement such as these, through what extraordinary vicissitudes does imagination lead one. For instance, in the almost infinitesimal space of time between the report of the hunter’s gun and the sound of his quarry dropping to earth I lived a lifetime. We had been seen; we were surrounded; armed men had been sent to take us; we would be led back in triumph to the hell that awaits prisoners; and then the sound of the quarry falling through the trees, the swift realisation that the enemy is only hunting game and not you, the wild relief and the bodily demand for a drop of brandy or something to pull oneself together, which follows after all great mental strain.
About dusk we crept out of our old drain into the shelter of the wood, stiff with cramp and cold, but with the glorious feeling that so far we were safe, that we were already twenty-five miles nearer home, and that another night of swift action lay before us, at the end of which we would, please God, be still nearer. At 7 o’clock we again started trekking. Little of moment happened to us during the early part of the evening, and by 9.30 we had made a good ten miles, and were casting round for the railway for which we were in search. Our progress now became very slow; thick white clouds obscured the face of the moon; a rapid thaw had set in, and our way was barred by a series of deep rivulets running through an old and decayed wood stretching for many miles on each side of us. Here we very soon lost all idea of direction, and decided to retrace our steps as best we could and strike still farther north.