INDEPENDENCE GAINED ONCE MORE--YOUTHFUL PATRIOTISM
Those were anxious times for all true South Africans--the time of the
Transvaal war of independence. At first, nothing but cooked telegrams
came, which made out that the Boers wherever met were being defeated.
But later the truth leaked out, as it is ever bound to do, viz., that
the Boers were wondrously victorious in every battle that had been
fought. The accounts of Bronkorstspruit, Laingsnek and Schuimhoogte
were received with mixed feelings in the town of G----n, in the Cape
Colony, where Steve and his mother lived. Mixed, in that they were
received by all Afrikanders and Republicans with joy and thanksgivings
to Him, to Whom alone they ascribed the victory of their brethren;
but with anger and almost with unbelief by the Imperialists. _They_
could not believe it, for how was it possible for those cowardly
(?) Boers (who, it had been predicted, would run away at the first
cannon shot), to defeat the thoroughly armed and disciplined troops of
England, why it is impossible! _They_ believed that such simple faith
as Steve’s _was_ childishness. But what was their consternation when
the disastrous news--to them--of Amajuba came, capped by the tidings
that peace had been concluded favourably to the Boers. They called
shame on England for at last recognising the injustice that they were
perpetrating on a quiet and peace-loving people.
Public opinion in England, and all over the world, had shown the
Imperial Government the error of their ways at last. They had to make
peace after being defeated, and promise the Boers their independence
back again. But the Imperial Government seemed to say, ‘Never mind the
defeat and shame, we will show the Boers a trick or two yet. We will
appoint a Royal Commission, and force a convention on the Boers to our
own liking, and they shall feel the Lion’s paw in another way.’
Yes, England was magnanimous (?) enough to _give_ (?) the Boers their
independence back, but not the independence that had been taken from
them.
Oh, no, English diplomats are not such fools! They took gold from the
Boers; they gave them brass in exchange. They took their independence,
independence in every sense of the word, from them; independence
without conditions, such as was recognised by the Sand River
Convention, but they gave back a false municipal independence, only a
shadow of the independence possessed before.
‘Bah!’ thought these English diplomats, ‘how will these ignorant
Boers know the difference?’ Alas, England, England, where was thy
boasted _honour_ and magnanimity then? Thou protector of the weak and
injured, remember there _is_ a God, Who weighs the nations, as well as
individuals; and the time may arrive, when thou mayest see that dread
hand-writing on the wall with those fatal words, ‘Mene, mene, Tekel,
Upharsin,--Thou hast been weighed, and thou hast been found wanting,
and thou shalt be swept from off the face of the earth. _Stop_--before
it is too late, and use the power and wealth that God has granted thee,
to a better purpose than that of enslaving and oppressing a weaker
people.’
’Twas a glad day for Steve when he stopped before the notice board of
the local paper one day and read the news of the Transvaal victory at
Amajuba, and that peace and freedom were promised to the people of his
father. He ran joyfully to his mother and cried out, ‘Mother, mother,
God has heard our prayers, the Transvaal has won, and our people are
_Free_.’
‘Is that true, my son?’
‘Yes, mother, I have just seen it on the notice board,’ and then Steve
told her all he had read on the board.
His mother, God-fearing and grateful, made him kneel at her side, and
poured out praises and thanksgivings to God Almighty, Who had thus
wrought a miracle to save His people.
Does England realise that the Boers are a God-fearing people, who have
never heard of materialism, Atheism and other blaspheming _isms_? still
less do they believe in such. No, they believe simply, and with the
faith of a child in God and His word:--‘If your faith is no larger than
a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say to that mountain “_Go_,” and it
_shall_ go, “_Come_,” and it shall come.’ The Boers had _faith_, and
they moved not mountains, but they moved--England.
While the war was still going on, and the ultimate end of the war was
yet uncertain, Steve, to show his patriotism, and to prove that he was
not ashamed to be called a Boer (which name was generally used by the
English as a name of contempt and reproach), got up an association
amongst all his young Afrikander friends. In this association there
was only one rule, and this rule was, that no member was to speak to
another member without using as a name of endearment the name ‘_Boer_.’
Each one was to be honoured when addressed by another member by being
called ‘Boer’; and for some time the English schoolmates of these young
patriots were surprised to hear remarks such as these, ‘Hillo, “Boer,”
are you going for a swim this afternoon,’ or, ‘I say, “Boer,” let us go
and have a feed of grapes at Tante (auntie) Sannie this evening.’ And
even to this day, when these young men are grown up and are scattered
over the country, when corresponding with each other, they are in the
habit of beginning their letters in this way,--
‘My dear old Boer. I received your last letter,’ etc., and they have
lived to see the name of Boers not only not to signify shame any
longer, but to be honoured by friends and foes.
Steve was over jealous of the good name of his people, and lost no
opportunity to stand up for them.
Our young hero had one staunch English friend, that is English in that
his parents were English, but he was Afrikander born, and he was an
Afrikander at heart. He was named Gus Turner. These two young friends
were standing together amongst a group of other boys one day arguing on
politics as usual. Why shouldn’t they?--their parents talked nothing
else all day.
A young man named Jim M’Murphy was speaking sneeringly. He was strongly
built, and considerably larger than Steve. He was saying,--
‘It is all humbug these Boers having beaten our soldiers. They are all
cowards!’
‘You lie!’ cried Steve in his anger; and before he knew what was going
to take place, he was sprawling on the ground, with a bloody nose from
an unexpected blow. But Steve was not the boy to accept punishment
unreturned, so he jumped up and hit his assailant on the eye, which
spoilt the sight of that eye for a day or two.
‘Well done, Steve,’ cried Gus; ‘do it again.’
But he had no time to do it again, for at that moment one of the
teachers appeared on the scene and put a stop to further fighting. But
M’Murphy had not done with him yet; a black eye was not to be taken
tamely by an Englishman from a Boer!
That night, when Steve went home from the evening preparation class at
school, he was surprised to see a crowd of street arabs outside the
school door. These youngsters were composed of Kaffirs, Hottentots,
and bastards of all colours. To explain their presence, we must state
that M’Murphy’s father kept a grocery store; among other good things,
he retailed sugar sticks. Jim M’Murphy was his fathers’ assistant when
not in school, and thus had full access to his father’s stock of sugar
sticks, and he used these sugar sticks as payment to his regiment of
young ragamuffins, who were to assist him in having his revenge on
Steve for the black eye given him. What he really intended doing with
Steve, when he had captured him, has never been revealed; but as soon
as Steve had walked a few paces from the school door, pushing his way
through the crowd with the assistance of Gus Turner, and wondering what
in the world was up to call such a crowd together, he felt his jacket
pulled violently from behind and heard M’Murphy’s voice calling out,--
‘Here he is.’ In a moment two or three more had hold of him before he
knew any evil was intended him. But when he saw how the wind lay, he
wrenched his arms free and struck out right and left, always seconded
by Gus Turner, who stuck to his friend like a man. But although Steve’s
arms were now free, M’Murphy still had hold of his jacket, and he
could not reach behind himself to strike at the coward behind his back.
But he was not at a loss yet. He spun round and round as fast as he
could, and here was M’Murphy revolving round him, standing straight out
behind Steve’s back, somewhat like the snake that had hold of Paddy’s
clothing when Paddy was running round the house.
Going round at the speed that Steve was spinning, even M’Murphy had to
let go! and the sudden cessation from his circular motion caused him
to lose his balance, and sent him squirming on the ground. M’Murphy’s
army was now closing up to take Steve and his companion prisoners by
force of numbers, when the teacher once more appeared on the scene,
being attracted by the noise, and scattered M’Murphy’s army (like chaff
before the wind) with his great knobby stick.
Steve and Gus took advantage of this diversion in their favour to clear
round the first corner, but soon found the whole crowd on their track
once more. There was nothing for it now but to run to avoid being
captured. But the enemy could run too, and half-a-dozen of the best
runners amongst the enemy were soon overtaking the two fugitives. The
foremost one was just laying hold of Steve’s coat, when Gus Turner
dropped down right in front of him, tripped him, and sent him head over
heels to the ground, and two more of the enemy, being just behind,
followed suit. But Gus was up again in a moment, and once more he and
Steve ran for it. Gaining a good few paces by the confusion caused
by the tripped enemy, Gus Turner’s home, which was the nearest, was
soon reached. Once protected by the shadow of his castle, and sure of
a safe retreat, the two fugitives stood at bay, and taking out their
catapults, a boy’s most offensive weapon, sent a shower of buckshot
into the ranks of the approaching enemy, who first halted in a crowd at
a short distance, but finding themselves thus bombarded by the hidden
battery of the two boys standing in the dark shadow, the enemy soon
scattered and dispersed, leaving Gus and Steve in possession of the
battlefield.