I began to remember that there were certain good reasons why I should be dead.

Only, only--why should they have buried me in woman's clothes as I seemed to wear?
And what was that noise that had wakened me?
It could not be the trump of doom, unless the trumping of doom went off like a double-barrelled gun.
I began to try to climb out of my hole, but as it was nine feet deep and bottle-shaped, which the light flowing in from the neck showed, I found this impossible.

Just as I was giving up the attempt, a yellow face appeared in that neck, which looked to me like the face of Hans, and an arm was projected downwards.
"Jump, if you are awake, baas," said a voice--surely it was the voice of Hans--"and I will pull you out." So I jumped, and caught the arm above the wrist.

Then the owner of the arm pulled desperately, and the end of it was that I succeeded in gripping the edge of the bottle-like hole, and, with the help of the arm, in dragging myself out.
"Now, baas," said Hans, for it _was_ Hans, "run, run before the Boers catch you." "What Boers ?" I asked, sleepily; "and how can I run with these things flapping about my legs ?" Then I looked about me, and, although the dawn was only just breaking, began to recognise my surroundings.

Surely this was the Prinsloos' house to my right, and that, faintly seen through the mist about a hundred paces away, was Marie's and my own.