Few historical figures have brooked imprisonment worse than Winston Spencer Churchill. Marched off to the States Model School in Pretoria, he saw great events passing him by. He asked for help from anyone—his mother, the Prince of Wales, an American senator friend. “I am 25 today,” he lamented. “It is terrible to think how little time remains.” Even the comparatively beneficent Boer prison regime was suffocating, exacerbating his always pronounced depressive tendencies. When two fellow captives began planning an escape, he eagerly joined in.
The escape attempt was to be made from a latrine located against the iron fence at the back of the school, where a lone sentry stood guard. On the first try, the guard was discovered to be standing exactly where the three planned to climb the fence. Another night brought another attempt. The sentry was still too close; he could scarcely miss with a rifle shot. Churchill decided to risk it. He climbed the fence and waited in the bushes, but his companions were unable to follow. He was on his own—the other men had the map and compass—300 hostile miles from freedom. At that moment, 25 days after his imprisonment began, Churchill could not have known that his influential contacts had succeeded in pulling strings for him; the camp commandant had consented to release him.
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