STUCK IN THE MUD
The following day, Steve and his three companions had good sport
amongst the guinea-fowl and other birds.
The transport riders had left early in the morning, each with a good
load of firewood for the Pretoria market, as their month of inactivity
was at an end, and they had once more to begin work. It had been agreed
that the party with the cart should start about ten o’clock from the
night’s camping place, after having had a turn at the guinea-fowl,
etc., and as the waggons started at seven, the cart would catch up
with them somewhere about noon, when they could once more have dinner
together.
As agreed so done. Steve and his companions came speeding towards the
drift, beyond which, it had been agreed, the waggons would outspan, and
get dinner ready. As they came nearer, they heard an uproar of oxwhips
clapping, and men shouting. When they arrived on the scene they saw
that one of the waggons was _stuck_ in the drift.
All the other waggons had crossed safely, but the last one, the most
heavily laden, and having the weakest span of oxen, had sunk deep in
the mud of the drift. The water was no more than two feet deep, but the
mud was nearly as deep in itself.
The occupants of the cart saw at a glance that there was no chance
for them to pass while the waggon occupied the narrow drift. They,
therefore, left Harrison in charge of the cart, and went forward to
see how matters proceeded. They found the waggon sunk to the nave in
the mud. The oxen were panting and struggling to pull through the mud.
Their leader was pulled hither and thither as they swayed to and fro in
their efforts to pull out. The men, half naked, were struggling about
in the water, talking to the oxen, and clapping their whips. But in
vain, the waggon would not budge an inch.
The youngsters from town thought this struggling about in the water
trying to extricate a waggon stuck in the mud fine fun, so they took
off their clothes, and joined the party of transport riders in the
water.
Steve and his friends soon discovered that the pleasantest part of the
fun was to sit, perched on top of the waggon, and watch the efforts of
the others to urge the oxen forward.
There was a lull. Another span of oxen had been sent for to hook on
in front. Speelman, who had been the liveliest in his efforts to get
forward, was standing alongside of the hind oxen. He was almost naked,
having just a remnant of a shirt on. He looked like a dusky mermaid of
the waters, he moved so rapidly about; he was now under the oxen, now
right under the trek chain; he seemed to be everywhere.
‘I say, Speelman, did you see any snakes this morning?’ asked Steve.
‘No, baas, don’t want to see ’em,’ said Speelman, suspiciously looking
about him, as if he expected to see snakes in the water.
‘Jump on the ox,’ cried Keith; and in a second Speelman was astride of
the kicking bullock.
‘Stand on your head in the water,’ cried Keith again, not expecting to
be obeyed in this. But Speelman ducked into the water, head foremost,
and only the tips of his legs were seen above water, kicking furiously.
‘You shouldn’t do that,’ said Steve, laughing. ‘It is dangerous; he
might get drowned.’
He remained down so long, and the kicking became so furious, that Steve
became anxious. He shouted to him to get up, but Speelman could not
hear him.
‘By Jove! his head must be sticking in the mud,’ he cried, and jumping
down, he seized Speelman by the legs and pulled him up. Assisted by
Keith from the waggon, the poor old Hottentot was dragged on to the
seat of the waggon. The poor old fellow presented a most comical face
when pulled up. He was drawing in great breaths, to get his steam up
again, while he spat the black mud out of his mouth. His whole head,
eyes, ears and all were thickly coated with the black, sticky mud,
while his pepper corn hair had disappeared under a coating of the same
black, smooth pomade. It appears that his head really _did_ stick in
the mud.
‘You must not do that again, baas; poor old Speelman would have been
drowned if the baas had not pulled him out,’ said he to Keith.
As to Keith, he and his companions had been too frightened to laugh
at this exhibition of Speelman’s funniosities. He gave Speelman
half-a-crown, and told him to go and wash the mud out of his mouth at
the canteen beyond the drift. At this moment the extra span of oxen
arrived, was attached to the front of the regular span, and with a
_Trek, trek, haai you schelm, vat zou blik schottel_, the waggon moved
forward, and was soon outspanned with the rest on the other side of the
drift. The cart followed over, and soon the whole party was partaking
of the regular bush veld fare--venison steak, leg of venison, broiled
guinea-fowl, and _storm jagers_ (dough cakes).
Speelman followed the advice given him by Baas Keith, and after having
imbibed a pint of peach brandy, was as merry as a cricket, and was none
the worse for his immersion, except, perhaps, that he was a little more
pot-bellied than usual from the quantity of water he had drunk while
standing on his head in the drift.
After dinner, Steve and his party took leave of the transport riders
with mutual expressions of good will and hopes of meeting again.
In this way they proceeded from camp to camp. Many parties of farmers
were met wintering with their herds in the bush veld; and all they had
to do was to decide at which encampment they would outspan, or at which
they would spend the night, which was mostly decided by the party of
farmers who could give the most favourable report as to the game in
their neighbourhood.
They had various success. One day, perhaps, they had the best of sport,
the next day, perhaps, they failed in bringing down a single head of
game. But on the whole, they were perfectly satisfied with their trip.
We shall relate only one more incident of their holiday trip. It was
the last day; that evening they hoped to sleep in Pretoria again. They
were speeding along merrily. It was still forenoon, and Pretoria was
hardly four hours distant, so they had no doubt of reaching home before
night. It had rained severely the day before along the track of country
on which they were then travelling. Suddenly they turned into the main
road from the warm baths, and now they had reason to regret the rain of
the day before--they were in the famous _turf veld_.
They had not proceeded far before the turf began to tell severely on
the pace of the horses. At first they slackened their speed only a
little, but soon they were going at barely more than a walk. The sticky
black soil was coating the wheels to such a degree that the spokes
gradually became nearer and nearer to each other, until the wheels
had no spokes, but became a solid mass of black turf. All that the
travellers could do was to halt and scrape off the worst part of the
mud, when for a time they were able to go on again at a slightly better
pace. Full advantage was taken of any unbroken veld, where the heavy
waggons had not yet cut up the soil into furrows and ridges of soft
black soil. But these patches were scarce, as every driver of waggon or
cart generally turns out of the beaten track into the grass alongside,
and in course of time the quarter or half mile strip of country, which
is supposed to be left unfenced along all roads as feeding ground for
trekking herds, becomes so cut up that very little choice is left the
traveller as to where he shall steer his weary beasts.
The young men were wearily and dejectedly plodding along, dismounting
now and again to scrape the wheels, when they came to a waggon standing
in the middle of the road--deserted. The oxen were still inspanned
and seemed waiting for their owner. No fear of their running away;
how could they? Their own feet were invisible, a round mass of black
_turf_--twice the usual size of ox feet--was all that was visible
where their feet ought to be, while the wheels of the waggon seemed
to be made of solid chunks of mud--no spokes, no rims, no naves being
visible.
‘Well, this is funny,’ remarked Harrison; ‘a waggon without owner.
There is something wrong here; nobody would leave their waggon
inspanned like this--untended.’
‘Yes, it is queer,’ answered Steve. ‘But I fancy there is the owner
coming on,’ said he, pointing to a man visible in the road about half a
mile farther on.
‘It may be the owner, but he is not coming, but standing, evidently
waiting for the party I see farther on.’
‘Why, the nearest one is a woman,’ said Keith, ‘the other one is a man;
but I wonder what is the matter with them? They both remain standing on
one spot, but they are gesticulating like mad.’
They soon approached the first party they had seen. IT _was_ a woman.
She was an elderly old lady, very stout in the beams, and one would
have thought, even under ordinary circumstances, she must find it
difficult to walk any distance. She appeared to be standing on two
lumps of turf, but--they were sticking to her feet. Every step she
took increased the size of the lump, until at last she was obliged to
stop, she could drag her burden (which, unlike that of Christian, was
attached to her feet) along no more.
‘Well, I’m blessed if it is not old Mrs M’Kwaire,’ cried Steve.
‘And who may she be?’ queried Keith.
‘Why, she is Mrs M’Kwaire,’ he replied, laughing. ‘She is an old lady
of Dutch extraction, married to an old Irishman, both characters in
their way--very comical and amusing as a rule; it is most amusing to
set old M’Kwaire’s tongue a-wagging by mentioning _Home Rule_. If you
once start him, you may go away for half-an-hour and come back to find
him still talking to some imaginary antagonist about Home Rule and the
wrongs of Ireland.’
‘Hillo, Tante, why don’t you ride on the waggon?’ cried out Steve, as
they stopped alongside of her.
‘That is what I would like to do,’ she replied, ‘but that foolish
Pat would get down to pick up a yoke skey lying in the road, when he
remained _stuck_, and, as the oxen would not stop, I, like another
fool, got down to help him while the oxen walked on with the waggon to
where it is now standing. And now I am sticking between Pat and the
waggon; I can’t get to him, he cannot get to me, and neither of us can
get to the waggon.’
The young fellows could not help bursting into loud roars of laughter
at the ludicrousness of the scene. They halted as near to the old lady
as possible, and helped her on to their cart and drove on to where Pat
was standing, talking and swearing all the time.
‘Well, old _Stick-in-the-mud_,’ cried Keith, ‘it seems the mountain
_won’t_ come to Mahomet, and Mahomet _can’t_ go to the mountain; what
does Mahomet intend doing now?’ All laughed at this sally.
‘Begorrah, sor, ye niver would lave a pore old mon ’ere.’
‘No, I am afraid that would be another wrong to old Oireland. Well,
Pat, if Ireland can get out of her troubles as easily as you, I would
advise you to get back to her, and stand for the first election of
president, king, or emperor, whatever your new constitution would call
your chief ruler. I think you stand a good chance.’
‘Come along, Keith, that is enough for one day, you are getting too
humorously clever,’ said Steve. ‘Give us your hand, Pat, and jump up if
you can.’
But Pat could not jump. He had to be dragged into the cart, and was
thus able to sit down and scrape his feet clean again.
Pat and Mrs Pat were driven back to their waggon, and left behind to
proceed to their farm, while the party in the cart proceeded on their
way to Pretoria, where they arrived just as darkness was closing in.
‘There is one thing I would like to remark now that we are home
again,’ remarked Keith. ‘And it is just this. I have been converted.
I had always been impressed with the idea that the Boers are half
savage, exclusive, inhospitable and unkind to strangers, especially to
Englishmen. I have seen my error. I do not believe there is a country
in the world where one would receive such kindness, consideration and
hospitality as we have received during our trip. I for one reckon
myself as the friend and champion of all Boers from to-day.’
‘You are right,’ said Harrison. ‘When we started, I hardly believed
Steve’s promise of hospitality from all and sundry, and fully expected
to have rough times of it, and I have been agreeably disappointed at
the kindness shown us by all.’
BOOK II
CHAPTER I
POLITICAL SUICIDE--HERESY
The day after their return, Steve heard faint rumours of a certain
conference which had been held in Pretoria the last few days in
reference to territories lying beyond the northern borders of the South
African Republic. He had been too busy attending to accumulated work
to take much notice, or to inquire about it. But now it was evening
and after dinner, and he was comfortably seated in an arm-chair in
the sitting-room of his boarding-house. He was listening to the usual
after-dinner debate on current topics.
‘What is that you are saying about the Transvaal signing its own death
warrant, Thomson?’ he asked.
‘I say that the Transvaal signs its own death warrant in agreeing to
waive any rights they may have northward or westward of their present
boundary. It means that they are now definitely enclosed by British
territory with the exception of the strip of border which adjoins
Portuguese territory.’
‘And what consideration is promised the Transvaal as compensation for
committing political and national suicide in this way?’ inquired Steve.
‘Oh, they have some verbal promise to the effect that they will be
allowed to annex Swaziland _later_ on, and some faint hope is held out
to them to be allowed some day to secure a seaport in Amatongaland.’
‘But if they have Swaziland and Amatongaland beyond, right up to the
sea, thus securing a seaport, how can they be enclosed? That means that
they would be less enclosed than they are now by British territory,’
‘Ha, ha!’ laughed Thomson. ‘Do you think they will ever get it? No,
my dear fellow, I am sorry to disappoint you, but a verbal promise
does not count in diplomacy. Swaziland they may get--perhaps--but a
seaport--never. It was only a bait held out to the stupid Boers. The
bait will be drawn in gradually, until the Boers are enticed into the
trap laid for them, when even the bait will be taken from them, and
they will be starved out in the trap, until, like a starved and trapped
lion, they will have to submit. The joke of the whole thing is that
Hofmeyr, the head of the Colonial Afrikander Bond, has been used by
Rhodes to accomplish his object.’
‘Yes, you are right. But it is not a joke, it is disgraceful,
shameful, to be bitten thus by your own dogs. I wonder that a man like
Hofmeyr--who is supposed to be a patriotic Afrikander--cannot see what
he is assisting to do. Can’t he see that he is assisting Rhodes to
kill all the national vitality of the Afrikander race in South Africa?
Does he not know that round the independence of the Transvaal revolves
the whole hope of Afrikander national existence? Is he blind, or is
he a traitor? I used to be proud of the Afrikander Bond, but now I am
beginning to be ashamed of them, when they support a man like Rhodes.
A man who works, firstly, for self-aggrandizement, and secondly, of
course, for Imperialism.’
All the Englishmen present laughed at Steve’s earnestness and
bitterness against Hofmeyr for working thus against the Transvaal. But
they were accustomed to his earnest patriotism, and respected him for
it.
‘Well, old boy, it may be that Hofmeyr has been squared by Rhodes; who
knows? Rhodes is known for his squaring propensities. Or it may be that
Hofmeyr is wiser than you, and has seen that it is foolish to kick
against the pricks, and that it is better to belong to the glorious
British Empire, with its traditions of military power and glory, its
traditions of wealth in gold and literature.’
‘It may be so,’ replied Steve; ‘but as a leading Afrikander, I would
rather hope and believe that he is only blind, and that some day his
eyes will be opened, and that he shall see Rhodes as he is. As to
cornering the Transvaal, let them go on. Only I would warn our enemies
that though we are a quiet and peace-loving people, preferring to till
the land and herd our cattle to fighting, yet I say I warn Rhodes and
his clique that an Afrikander at bay is fiercer and more dangerous than
any tiger or lion at bay, so let them look out.’
‘But, Steve, why are you such an intense Republican? why will you not
be satisfied to live under the English flag? Then you would have the
right to call upon the whole British Empire to protect you. Then you
would be a member of the greatest nation on earth. Then you can say, “I
am a subject to a queen upon whose dominions the sun never sets.” Is
not that better than to have a second-rate republic, with no traditions
older than say twenty years; with hardly any literature at all; what
more would you have than I have said you would have as a British
subject?’
‘We would be FREE!’ was Steve’s curt reply.
‘Free! what is the good of being free in a country like this? As I have
said, you can only hope to have a second-rate republic, the population
of which at best is but a mongrel race.’
‘A mongrel race!’ echoed Steve. ‘We _are_ a mixed race, if you like,
but a mixture of the best blood of Europe. In our veins run the best
blood of France, Holland and Germany. We are descended from heroes;
our forefathers have been heroes ever since they left their ancestral
homes in Europe for religion and principle: and we are heroes to-day,
struggling, as we are, for national existence and freedom, and that
against the mightiest empire on earth, as you describe it; but justice
and right must prevail in the end. A mongrel race, you say? A race, I
say, that has the grandest future before them of any race upon earth.
Look at them; toiling sons of Nature! Do they not remind you of the
rough diamonds dug out in Kimberley? hardy, strong, persevering,
unpretending, but God-fearing as they are. Look at the few of them
that have received the least bit of polish. Do they not shine enough
to blind your eyes as you look upon them? Wait till they have all been
polished and rubbed into shape, and then you will see what a race of
men God has raised in this wilderness?’ Steve’s eyes were shining
with enthusiasm. He seemed to see in imagination the future he was
describing.
‘You have made out a very good case for your people as a nation, Steve,
but what will you do with all the Englishmen in South Africa if it
should become an Afrikander republic, as you seem to wish and hope?
Will you drive them out of the country, or will you let them live an
Uitlander race for ever here, as this Government is doing now? Will you
exclude them from your future great South African nation?’
‘Decidedly not. We should be only too pleased to have them unite with
us. I don’t know why they should remain Imperialistic for ever. In
America they did not remain so! _There_ they have united with other
nationalities; why should they not do so here? Anyone who desires to
become an Afrikander, be he English, Dutch, German, French, or even
Russian by birth, all we should wish of them will be to have one object
with us in promoting the happiness and peace of Republican South
Africa.’
‘In short, they may be of whatever European nationality they like, but
they must be for _Republicanism_?’
‘Even so!’
‘Now, Steve, you have defeated me at all points, I am almost bound
to confess. It is a glorious object towards which you are tending,
viz., a great and free _united South Africa_. But why does not your
Government, whom you defend so much, make some beginning towards a
union of the races by granting the franchise to all Uitlanders in this
State?’
‘Because the time has not come yet. To grant the franchise now to
everyone would be simply killing our future great nation in its
infancy. Grant the franchise now to all strangers (of which the great
majority are English), and in a year’s time this country will be
governed, either as an English republic, with capitalistic rulers,
or as an English colony, neither of which are desirable, you will
grant--from our standpoint. While, if we had South Africa united as
a republic, there would be no obstacle in the way of granting the
franchise to everybody, as the main object would be attained then, and
we would be strong enough to hold our own against any party of either
foreigners, Imperialists or capitalists who may seek to overthrow us
again.’
‘Even there I must say you are right; I am almost inclined to become
an Afrikander already. Now I am afraid you will not be able to answer
my next question as well. You may think it immaterial, but I think
it of great importance, that a people and a country should possess a
literature of its own. What have you to say to that?’
‘Of course we cannot pretend to possess a varied and extended
literature like England has. There can be no question of rivalry as
yet. But we are not altogether without a literature of our own. We
have our own patriotic songs, and even poems. We have a few authors,
too, of whom we need not be ashamed, chief amongst these we count Mrs
Cornwright Schreiner, whose thoughtful book is read all the world
over. Then we have the literature of our mother countries--Holland,
France and Germany. We love to read the stories which tell of the
vicissitudes of our forefathers in their own countries. We even take a
sort of sad delight in reading of the persecutions our ancestors had
to undergo for their religious opinions; persecutions which led either
to the scaffold, or to banishment. Then, as I have said, we have the
literature of Holland and other countries which has been translated
into our language. We read all historical, religious, secular poetry
or prose; all is grist to our mill, we only seek knowledge, and as
we are thoroughly cosmopolitan, we care not from whose experience or
knowledge, we can learn.
‘Then we have hope of future advancement in this line. Rome was not
built in a day, and you cannot expect us to be the only exception
to the rule, that it takes time to perfect all things. As education
advances, and we begin to feel more and more that we are a people of
some account, our national abilities will develop, and we may expect to
gradually advance towards perfection in all things, such as national
administration, education, literature, etc. Give us time!’
‘Well, I am glad to see that you are honest enough to acknowledge your
defects, as well as to extol your virtues and natural abilities. I
certainly grant the material for developement is there. It was only a
week ago I saw a manuscript poem, which was written by a brick-maker,
a poor Boer, who, unkempt, ill-clothed and unshaved, appeared to me
as if he were incapable of stringing two thoughts together, and yet,
as far as I could understand the short poem, which was written in the
_Taal_, was admirable and forcible enough, though crude and rough in
expression. I fancy if such a fellow had received a fair education he
would have done something.’
‘Talking about natural abilities,’ remarked Theron, ‘I saw a couple of
gravestones, made by one Joubert of this district, at his farm, the
other day. It was made from a design in a book of patterns supplied to
him by a friend. It was simply splendid! The angels, vines and flowers,
as shown in the pattern, were brought out in grand relief and were most
accurately delineated. I do not think the most skilled artisan could
improve on it. Then there were a few others made from designs of his
own, composed of flowers, ferns and other natural objects, all in the
best of taste and design, and in perfect proportion. This man had never
been taught sculpture, engraving or any of the kindred arts; it was
simply his own natural taste and ability cropping out.’
‘Yes,’ remarked another one, ‘I have often wondered at the skill
of some Boers, as shown in the manufacture of various articles of
furniture and nick-nacks generally. They seem to do it all without
being taught or shown.’
‘What surprises me more than all,’ remarked Harrison, ‘is the
oratorical powers displayed by some of these uneducated Boers. I
attended a sitting of the Volksraad the other day, and the speeches
were simply grand. The earnestness and pointed argument, as well as
the connected phrasing, was most surprising from men who had received
no more education than how to read their Bible and to crudely write an
ordinary letter. Then I attended a funeral a short time ago, at which
a leading member of the Volksraad gave a funeral oration as well as a
really good sermon; and, listening to him, I could hardly believe that
I was not listening to a learned and perfectly educated minister of the
Gospel.’
‘You have only to read some of the letters on public questions, such as
often appear in the Dutch papers, written by them, to get some idea of
the natural abilities of the unlearned Boer,’ remarked Steve, rising
and leaving the room, as he was tired and wanted to go to bed.
CHAPTER II
A GREENHORN
Twelve months passed after this--uneventfully, so far as Steve’s
private life was concerned. But at this time he had an attack of
malarial fever, which left him weak and pale. He decided to take a
week’s holiday, and spend it at the farm of an old farmer who had often
asked him to pay him a visit.
After a couple of days’ stay at this farm, he found his health and
strength coming back to him. On the third day of his stay, he went for
a walk, accompanied by Fritz, the son of his host, and a Hollander who
had only just arrived the day before to take up the position of tutor
in the family of the old farmer.
Fritz was a merry, mischievous young fellow of eighteen; and as he
was considered old enough to assist his father in looking after the
farm, he was not a pupil of the new teacher, and therefore considered
himself at liberty to make as much fun of the _green_ Hollander as
opportunity offered. During the walk above mentioned, Fritz had taken
the opportunity to begin _Mijnheer van der Tromp’s education_, as he
termed it.
‘How is he going to educate the children while _his_ education is being
neglected?’ was his question, in answer to his father’s remonstrances.
He began the Hollander’s education by marching him through the orchard,
in Steve’s company, and giving him the names of the different kinds of
fruit and vegetables--all wrong, of course.
‘Do you see this tree, mijnheer? It is the sweet potato tree,’--it was
a peach.
‘Oh, you don’t say so! Do sweet potatoes grow on such a tall tree? I
should like to taste some of them when they are ripe.’
‘And this is a pine apple tree,’ remarked Fritz, pointing out a fine
banana bush.
‘How wonderful Nature is,’ soliloquised the poor city bred Hollander.
‘Everything in Nature has its peculiar wonders, and is made by God with
its own peculiar habits.’
‘And this tree, teacher, which you see is full of beautiful yellow
ripe fruit, is our South African fig?’ continued Fritz, now drawing
the attention of the teacher to a fine specimen of the prickly pear.
(Turkish _fig_ is the Dutch name for it literally translated.)
‘What, are these figs? and are they fit for eating now?’ asked Mijnheer
van der Tromp.
‘Oh, yes, teacher, and I can assure you they are delicious eating too,’
replied Fritz, turning away and walking on. Of course Fritz knew what
was going to happen. Steve had walked on a few paces, as he was afraid
he would be unable to contain his laughter if he listened any longer to
Fritz’s fooling; so the poor Hollander was perfectly at the mercy of
Fritz, as Steve did not overhear the information just given about the
prickly pear.
The first intimation Steve had of what was going on was when he heard
suppressed laughter behind him. He looked round, and at what he saw he
thought that both his companions must have taken leave of their senses.
Fritz was red in the face from laughing, as he lay on the grass,
throwing his hands and feet about in the air like the four arms of a
windmill. He seemed to be absolutely mad.
As to the poor Hollander, his actions were almost indescribable. He was
standing, holding his arms out full length, fingers extended, while his
head was held out forward, with his capacious mouth open to its full
extent, and an expression of agony was depicted upon his countenance,
while he was uttering such inarticulate sounds as a man could utter
while holding his mouth open without moving tongue or lips. What had
happened was this. The Hollander, as soon as Fritz’s back was turned,
had seized one of the most tempting looking prickly pears, and had
taken a hasty bite out of it. The result was that the inside of his
mouth was covered with hundreds of the minute needle-pointed thorns.
Only those who have felt the irritating pain of a prickly pear thorn
in the mouth can understand the torture poor Van der Tromp had to
endure. Steve led him home, where he was seated on a low stool for
hours following, while the members of the family took turns to hunt the
thorns out of his mouth.
But prickly pear thorns are not picked out of a man’s mouth in one
day, especially after they have been planted there in such a wholesale
manner, as was the case with Van der Tromp. For days after those thorns
_would_ intrude themselves upon the attention of the teacher. Every
time he would make sure that not a single thorn was left in his mouth.
But suddenly, every half hour or so, while Van der Tromp was eating,
singing, or speaking, an expression of agony would pass over his
countenance as another of those little demon thorns would make itself
felt. And then every other occupation would be suspended while that
little thorn was being hunted for.
Of course, Fritz did not think, or expect, his little joke to turn
out such a serious matter for the poor teacher. The most he hoped for
was that the teacher would pluck the prickly pear, and thus feel the
thorns. He never thought that Van der Tromp would _bite_ the fruit.
When he saw the agony of Van der Tromp, he was genuinely sorry, and
apologised most humbly, but I am afraid he was never forgiven.
CHAPTER III
GOLD BEYOND THE DREAM OF AVARICE--DESPISED
The following day Steve and Fritz went for another walk, farther this
time, but alone. Van der Tromp was still occupied in digging out
prickly pear thorns.
During the night a heavy thunder storm had raged; the air was pure and
fresh, so that the young men walked far out into the veld, as they
enjoyed the bright face Nature had put on after the storm.
When they had walked some distance, they met a herder herding some
sheep belonging to Fritz’s father. He came up to them, and showed Fritz
a bar of metal two feet long and about one inch in diameter, more or
less, as it was of irregular thickness.
‘See, baas, what a nice piece of brass I found. The rain of last night
had washed it clean, so that I saw it shining amongst the rocks.’
Steve took it from him and examined it closely, and felt the weight of
it.
‘Where did you get this, boy?’ he asked.
‘I found it sticking to two rocks, baas. Each end of it was fast on to
a rock, so that it was a sort of little bridge between the two pieces
of rock.’
‘Come and show me and Baas Fritz the place.’
The boy went on ahead to show the place as requested.
‘Do you think it is gold, Steve?’ asked Fritz.
‘I am sure of its being gold. There must be lots of it, too, if it can
be picked up in this way,’ was the answer.
The boy stopped and pointed to some rocks which were lying in the cleft
of a low hill. The cleft was a little rivulet when it rained, as the
sides of the hill sloped down to it, thus causing all the water to run
towards it, and so form a temporary stream.
The boy pointed to two masses of quartz forming the two banks of the
cleft or ravine. He showed them the marks where he had broken off the
bar of gold.
The young men examined the masses of rock or quartz closely. Steve
took a large stone and knocked two small pieces off the quartz, and
looked at the freshly-broken surface. It was interlaced with gold! They
examined an outcrop of quartz further on, and found it to be as rich as
the other. Fully twenty-five per cent. of the quartz seemed to be gold.
Fritz had whispered to Steve not to let the boy know what it was. He
had to put forth great self-control to restrain his excitement.
They turned quietly back and walked home.
‘I say, Fritz, this means that you are going to be one of the richest
men in the country. There is not another such mine of gold in the world
as this one is going to be.’
‘Wait and hear what the old man says about it first,’ said Fritz.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Steve.
‘Wait,’ was the laconic reply.
They arrived home and found the old man superintending the planting of
some _shade_ trees near the house. They went up to him, and showed him
the bar of gold discovered by the boy.
‘See, father, what April found,’ said Fritz.
‘What is it?’
‘Gold,’ said Steve.
The old man stood looking at them for fully a minute, then asked for an
explanation. He was told all that had taken place.
He did not say a word, but Steve could see that he was by no means
pleased. In the evening, when the herds were all safely in the kraal,
Steve, Fritz and the old farmer were sitting on the stoep smoking. In
front of the stoep half-a-dozen cows and heifers were standing. The old
man had ordered them to be driven out of the herd, and to await his
further orders.
April the herder, and discoverer of gold, was sent for. He came.
‘April,’ said the farmer, ‘I believe your time is up at the end of the
week?’
‘Yes, baas.’
‘Do you intend going home then?’
‘Yes, baas!’
‘I owe you three heifers for your time of service, do I not?’
‘Yes, baas!’
‘Well, there are six. Three in payment for your service, and three if
you will leave to-morrow morning early without saying a word to anyone,
and I want you never to come on my farm again. You must also promise
me never to tell anybody about the copper you found on the stone
to-day. Do you promise?’
The Kaffir was amazed. To receive double his salary, and to go
before his time was up, with an order never to return again, was
incomprehensible to him. However, he gave the promise required, and
left.
Steve could hardly make out the drift of the old man. He simply stared
in surprise at his host.
‘Now, Stephaans, I want you also to promise me never to tell anyone of
the gold on my farm, unless I give you permission to do so.’
‘Of course, Oom Hans, if it will spoil your chance of getting a good
price for the mineral rights, I will say nothing about it. But what is
the good of keeping it secret? You ought to make it known as much as
possible, then you will be able to get the highest offer.’
‘Stephaans, you do not seem to understand. I do not want to sell the
mineral rights of my farm, nor the farm itself. I only wish to live
quietly and at peace on my farm.’
‘But why so, Oom Hans? Consider the price you could get for a farm with
quartz on it like this?’ said Steve, taking out a piece of the quartz
he had put in his pocket in the morning. ‘You could buy a dozen other
farms for the money, and have still enough left to live on to the end
of your days.’
‘I do not want any more riches than I have. I have enough to live on,
and enough to leave my children when the Lord should take me away. Why
should I sell my farm? My father and mother lived and died here. They
are buried here, and here I wish to be buried when I die. It is not
good for us to have too much of the riches of the world.’
‘But, Oom Hans, God has placed the gold there to be used, and it would
be sinful to leave it there, buried under ground, or the Lord might
say to you when the time of reckoning comes, “I have given you so
many talents of gold to work with, and to do good with, and to win
other talents with; but ye buried it under ground and used it not as
I directed ye, ye bad and unfaithful servant, go forth into the outer
darkness.” Consider, Oom Hans?’
The old man shook his head.
‘No, Stephaans, we do not see the matter in the same light. When I feel
that the Lord wishes me to leave my farm, and let the gold be dug, I
will tear from my heart the love I have for my home and my birthplace,
and leave it. But I do not feel so yet. No one will lose by it; I shall
be the only loser; but the loss I consider gain, so long as I can keep
my home unpolluted by the drunken, the profane, the blasphemer, the
canteen-keeper. These you know are always to be found where gold is
being dug.’
And no amount of arguing or talking on the part of Steve could induce
the conservative old farmer to change his views. He again made Steve
promise not to tell of the gold, lest the Government should take the
bit in its own mouth and proclaim his farm as public gold diggings.
CHAPTER IV
THE JEW
The following day Steve’s host had decided to go to Johannesburg to
arrange about the sale of some slaughter bullocks. He invited Steve
to go with him and act as interpreter. Steve said he should enjoy the
drive, and went.
After business was concluded, Steve and Oom Hans were seated at a table
in a _café_, partaking of some refreshments. On the opposite side of
the table were seated two Jews, discussing some samples of quartz
before them.
At last one of the Jews turned towards Oom Hans, with the usual
insinuating familiar manner of the Jew and said,--
‘Mijnheer, don’t you tink dis quartz is goot? Dere ought to pe lots of
gold in it?’
Oom Hans indulged in his usual quiet, good-natured laugh, and, turning
to Steve, said,--
‘Let us make the hearts of these Jews ache a little. Show them a piece
of the quartz you put in your pocket, but (aside) mind you don’t tell
them our names or where we live?’
Steve smilingly took out a piece of quartz--it was by no means the
best, and handed it to the Jews, and asked,--
‘What do you think of that?’
The Jews took the quartz, looked at it, and nearly jumped out of their
boots from excitement when they saw the richness of the quartz.
They laughed, they shouted, they danced. They called for coffee, tea,
lemonade, and a dish full of the nicest cake in the establishment, and
placed it before the strangers, who carried _such_ samples of quartz
about them.
‘_Eet, mijnheer, drink, mijnheer, ons zal betaal_’--‘eat and drink
master, we will pay.’
When they had quieted down, the Jews came and seated themselves near to
Steve and Oom Hans, and started pumping operations.
‘Is dis quartz from your farram, mijnheer?’
‘Yes,’ was the uncompromising reply.
‘Where do you lif, mijnheer?’
‘In the Transvaal?’
‘Yes; put where? What district?’
‘Oh, in one of the districts?’ was the laughing rejoinder.
‘Near what town, mijnheer?’
‘Oh, within a thousand miles of Johannesburg?’
The Jews laughed as if this was a very good joke. They were confident
of getting round this stupid old Boer.
‘Will mijnheer not have a drink--whisky, prandy, or gin, whatever you
like?’
‘No, thank you. We do not drink strong drink,’ interfered Steve. They
had not touched the refreshments supplied by the Jews.
‘What is mijnheer’s name?’ continued Jew No. 2.
‘Hans?’
‘Yes; put Hans what?--your family name, I mean?’
‘Oh, just Hans; that is enough for you,’ said Oom Hans, laughing. The
eagerness of the Jews amused him.
‘Well, look here, Mijnheer Hans, what will you take for your farm?’
‘Nothing?’
‘What!’
‘Nothing?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t want to sell it!’
‘Not at any price? I will give you a big price for it.’
‘No; I do not want to sell at any price.’
‘Not for a hundred tousand pound? two hundred tousand pound? five
hundred tousand pound? Come, if you show me a reef like that quartz
on your farm, I shall give you one million pounds. Don’t say no,
mijnheer--_Ten hundred tousand pounds?_’
‘No, I don’t want your money.’
‘You tink I have no money! Come to the bank, I will show you. You tink
you get more from annuder man. I tell you one million pound very much
monies. Ask the young man!’ pointing to Steve.
‘No, I don’t want your money. Come, Stephaans, let us go.’
The Jew ran towards the door and said,--
‘Don’t go yet, Mijnheer Hans. I give you what you ask; you make your
own price. Or I tell you what, you keep your farm, you just tell me
where it is, you show me the place that sample comes from, and I will
give you five tousand pound--ten tousand pound,’ eagerly added the
Jew, visions of a rich prospector’s mijnpacht floating before his eyes.
Oom Hans was getting tired of this, as well as annoyed at the Jew’s
perseverance. He must get rid of him.
‘I will think of it, and let you know to-morrow,’ he said.
‘Where shall I see you?’
‘If I want to do business with you, I will come here at ten o’clock
to-morrow,’ was the non-committal reply.
Steve and Oom Hans went to the boarding-house, where they had secured a
room. They noticed that the Jews followed them, and after having seen
them into the boarding-house, left again, apparently satisfied that
they could lay their hands on the old Boer when they wanted him. But
they counted without their host. The old man paid his bill before going
to bed; and when the sun rose, he and Steve were far on their way home.
CHAPTER V
THE JEW AGAIN--DISCOURAGED
Steve was once more in Pretoria. He had been for a week back in work,
when one evening, as he was walking leisurely home from business, he
heard an eager exclamation of joy behind him. The next moment his arm
was firmly caught hold of, and he heard a Jewish voice, not quite
unfamiliar, saying,--
‘Oh, mine tarling poy, how I have looked for you; oh, praise pe to
father Abraham, I have found you.’
Steve’s hand was snatched up eagerly and joyfully shaken. It was one of
the Jews they had met in Johannesburg.
‘Oh, how I have looked for you, mine frint. I have made two horses
tie, so I have rode them, to find you, and your honest old frint. Come,
come, let us go into this bar and have a bottle of fiz.’
‘No, thank you, I do not take wine or spirits, and I have no time
now to talk to you,’ replied Steve, annoyed at the scene the Jew was
creating in the street, causing the passing people to stand and stare
at the vehement joy of the Jew.
‘But, my frint, I must speak to you, I can’t let you go now, after
looking so long for you; I tell you I have been everywhere trying to
find you, from the day I saw you in Johannesburg. Oh, no, I will not
let you go; you must speak to me, I have much to tell you.’
Steve saw it was no use trying to get rid of the Jew in this way.
‘Come to my room, and do not talk so loud in the street,’ said he,
walking rapidly on, the Jew sticking to him like a leech.
‘Now, quick, what do you want from me?’ said Steve, as he handed the
Jew a seat in his room.
‘Oh, come, you know I want to puy de gold farm of your friend--what’s
his name?’ said the Jew, thinking to catch Steve off his guard.
‘Never mind his name now. As regards buying his farm, he has already
declined doing business with you. Why do you pester me now about a
thing that is settled?’
‘Oh, he will sell to me, I shall give lots of money, only tell me where
I can find him, that is all I ask of you?’
‘I certainly shall not tell you where to find him, so you might as well
go home.’
‘Look here, young man, you are not rich, I will make you rich if you
will only bring me to the farm, so that I can speak to him myself. I
will give you one tousand pounds for only telling me the man’s name and
address.’
The Jew mostly spoke with a fairly good accent, but whenever he got
excited, he dropped into his Jewish accent.
‘I shall _not_ give you his name and address, not for a thousand pounds
or more,’ was Steve’s reply. The Jew looked surprised, but he thought
Steve must be _sticking_ out for a better offer.
‘I shall give you two thousand pounds, only for a name and address,’ he
bid again.
Steve shook his head.
‘Young man, don’t tread your fortune under feet; you will never get
such an opportunity again; I shall make you a good final offer now.
Give me the name and address, tell me where you got that sample of
quartz from, and I shall give you _five thousand pound_, and if I
secure it, I shall give you _ten thousand pound_, now is your chance,
take it.’
Steve smiled at the persistence of the Jew. He sat thinking for a
minute or two, while the Jew sat watching him eagerly. At last he
said,--
‘I will tell you what I will do. I shall go out to-morrow and see the
gentleman. I will do my best with him. If I can persuade him to see
you, I will tell you so the day after to-morrow; if you can succeed to
buy the farm from him, I will accept your offer, if not, then I do not
want your money. Good night.’
The Jew saw that he would get nothing more from Steve, but he left
perfectly satisfied apparently.
Steve obtained leave of absence for the following day that same
evening. The following morning he left early on horseback.
Several times while riding on he fancied he heard hoof-strokes behind
him, but the country was undulating, and covered with patches of trees,
so that he could see a very little of the road behind him; besides, he
did not attach much importance to the fact.
When he arrived at the farm of Oom Hans, he immediately told him all
the Jew had said and done. Oom Hans was annoyed that the Jew should
have discovered Steve, and preached a little sermon to himself for
having indulged in what he considered at the time a little harmless
pleasantry. But he could not help laughing that the Jew should have
been hunting for him so long and so earnestly.
‘Well, Steve, if you think it hard on you that your promise to me
prevents you from accepting the Jew’s offer of five thousand pounds for
my name and address, I will release you from your promise; tell him my
name and address, but I warn you I will make it hot for him should he
come here.’
‘Oom Hans, I hope you do not think so badly of me as to think I would
break my promise to you for five thousand pounds. No, I will never tell
the Jew unless you change your mind as to the selling of the farm;
besides, it would be very dishonest to take the Jew’s money, if I know
that he will get nothing for it.’
At this moment a knock was heard at the door.
Oom Hans looked out of the window to see who it was. He turned to
Steve, with anger on his face, and said,--
‘So, then, you come to me like a hypocrite, and pretend that you come
to ask my permission to give the Jew my address, while all the time you
had the Jew waiting for you outside.’
‘What do you mean, Oom Hans?’
‘Come and look for yourself.’
Steve looked, and there the Jew was standing on the stoep, waiting for
an answer to his knock. Steve remembered the hoof-strokes he had heard
behind him. He saw that the Jew had been watching and following him.
‘Oom Hans, I give you my word of honour that what I told you was the
truth, and that I know nothing of the Jew’s being here, except that I
think the knave has been following me without my knowledge.’
Steve’s voice and manner conveyed the truth of what he was saying to
Oom Hans. He was believed. This made the old man all the angrier with
the Jew.
He went to the door, opened it, and looked at the Jew. The Jew flew
towards him with open arms, and an angelic smile of affection on his
face.
‘Oh, mine frint, how I have wished for you,’ and the Jew went on in a
flow of affectionate terms.
Oom Hans coldly waved him off, and said, ‘Wait a moment.’ He went in
again, closing the door after him. He went to a shelf, took down a
rusty old elephant gun, as large as a young cannon. He poured about a
quarter of loose gunpowder down the capacious barrel, rammed down half
a newspaper by way of a plug, and went out again, putting on as severe
a face as he could.
Steve came out now and took Oom Hans by the arm, saying,--
‘For God’s sake, Oom, don’t shoot the man!’
‘Be quiet, you fool!’ roared Oom Hans, and turning round, he winked at
Steve, giving him a momentary smile to reassure him. Steve saw that it
was only going to be a farce, and not a tragedy, as he at first feared.
Oom Hans now turned to the trembling Jew, who stood quaking with
clasped hands, afraid to run, and afraid to stay.
‘My God, these Boers are terrible when angry,’ he muttered.
‘What do you say?’ roared Oom Hans.
‘I say, sir, that the Boers are the best people in the world, and that
the English are dogs.’
‘Say that again, and I shall send a bullet through you in a moment. The
English, sir, are our friends, while they live at peace with us, so be
careful what you say.’
‘The English are a good people, sir. Oh, yes, they will always be the
best friends of the Boers.’
‘Silence, you dog! You say that because you are afraid of my gun. Now,
look here, is that your horse there?’
‘Yes, sir, I will make you a present of him, if you want him.’
‘Silence! I will count ten to give you time to get on your horse, and
ten to get out of gunshot, after that I fire.’
‘Oh, but, sir, I come to do pisness; I bring you lots of monies. Just
listen one word.’
‘One!’
‘One word only, sir,’ said the Jew, tears running down his eyes.
‘Two!’
The Jew began to retreat, still praying for an interview.
‘Three!’
The Jew was now running.
‘Ten!’ he heard shouted at him, as he mounted his horse. He waited no
more after that, he used spur and whip to urge his horse forward. He
thought that he had gone but a short distance, when he heard a report
like the report of a cannon behind him.
‘Oh, father Abraham, receive my soul,’ he prayed, ‘for I must be hit; a
Boer never misses.’
He was surprised to feel no pain or wound.
‘Now, I must race, before he can load again,’ he muttered, applying
spur and whip with fresh energy, as he lay forward on the neck of the
horse.
When Steve and Oom Hans recovered from their fit of laughter, into
which they had fallen at the sight of the Jew’s fear of a charge of
loose gunpowder, they saw the Jew disappearing on a rise about a
mile away, his arm still rising and falling as he lashed his horse
furiously. The Jew must have done the distance from the farm to
Pretoria in record time that day, as he was seen by several people on
the road, riding his horse at full speed, looking back every minute to
see if he was pursued.
He was never seen on that farm again.
CHAPTER VI
HISTORY _A LA_ RHODES
We shall pass on now to more stirring times in the life of Steve, who
has grown into a strong young man of twenty-seven years of age now. He
has always borne in mind the dying words of his father, and has never
neglected his weekly letter to his mother and sisters, or his monthly
contribution towards their house-keeping at home. He had kept that part
of his promise to his father to the best of his ability. As to the
patriotic promise his father had obtained from him, that was hardly
ever out of his thoughts. Walking in the quiet suburban walks in which
he delighted, the thought of his country and his race was ever with
him. If he could not sleep at night, the same thoughts occupied his
mind. And many a plan did he think out--only to reject--as to how his
people could be raised up to a higher level as a nation, or how they
were to be united in all the states and colonies, as a free and united
people.
He had watched the political events in South Africa closely. He saw
that the Republics were slowly being driven into a corner by the great
Imperialistic amalgamator.
He fancied that he could see how Rhodes was using the Afrikander Bond
of the Cape Colony to manufacture a rope, which was intended to be used
eventually to strangle their own hopes of national existence.
There was only one doubt in his mind. Was Rhodes working for
Imperialism on behalf of the British Empire? or was he so flattered
by being called the _South African Napoleon_, that he wanted to
really earn that name, and to build up a new empire, with himself as
emperor? However, whichever of the two was intended by Rhodes, both
must be resisted to the death. We neither desire to be a united British
colony, nor a united South African Empire. We wish to be a united
South African Republic. Such were Steve’s thoughts on the matter. But
everything seemed to be tending towards a crisis. He felt that the time
was not far distant when it would be decided whether a great new nation
would be formed in South Africa by the fusion of the races, or whether
South Africa would be put down, and kept down as a vassal state, for,
perhaps, another decade, or maybe two decades. He never doubted that in
the end South Africa would fulfil its destiny, and become a great Free
country.
Steve had watched with pain how the Republics were robbed of all just
claims for northern extension, through delusive promises of eastern
extension towards the sea-coast. He had seen the formation of the
British South African Chartered Company; only another name, he said,
for an anti-Boer company.
He had seen how this company had dispossessed Afrikander holders of
concessions in Mashonaland. How this company had robbed and deprived
poor Lobengula of country and life on the shallow pretence of Matabele
aggression in Mashonaland. Ah, if a _Boer_ republic had done what
the Chartered Company did in Matabeleland, how they would have been
reviled, how they would have been abused. New names would have been
invented to call the Boers by, as the English language had already been
exhausted on them when they defended their own country. How the Boers
were called murderers, slaveholders, and God knows what more, when
they subdued two rebellious chiefs in Zoutpansberg in the interest of
law and order. After having treated those two chiefs with the greatest
consideration and kindness, both before and after their subjection,
the Boer haters invented lies and deeds of cruelty never perpetrated
in order to blacken the name of Boer before the world. But Rhodes and
his followers were called ‘Napoleons,’ ‘heroes,’ and all sorts of
high-sounding names, for doing what no Christian man in the world
ought to have countenanced--shooting down naked human beings, armed
partly with comparatively harmless assegais, or in their hands harmless
rifles, in hundreds and thousands, with Satanic inventions of machine
guns. Ah, God! how long wilt thou permit the strong to murder the weak?
All those hundreds and thousands of poor innocent human beings were
murdered or driven starving from their homes, for the sole reason to
make a dividendless company pay dividends--Civilisation? The sooner
such civilisation is swept from off the earth the better it would be
for humanity in general. It must be remembered that these Matabeles
were not rebels, but were fighting in defence of their own country,
which up to then had been free and independent.
Steve saw how the Chartered Company was not yet satisfied. They must
have Khama’s land too. Poor Khama went to England to ask the Great
White Queen for protection, for he had had a terrible object lesson
in Lobengula, and knew what his fate would be. Khama had a partial
success. He was at least safeguarded against total extinction by the
Chartered Company.
The attention of the Chartered Company was now given to the rich and
free republic--the Transvaal--with whom England held treaties of peace
and amnesty. But what does that matter to a Chartered Company, or to a
Rhodes, a Jameson?--we shall see!
Steve saw how all the injustice done to the Afrikander race by England
at Slachtersnek, in Natal, at Boomplaats, Kimberley, and during all the
existence of the Transvaal as a Dutch Afrikander State, was finally
capped by the English in annexing Amatongaland.
Where does the injustice come in?
We have already seen how, through Mr Hofmeyr and others, the Transvaal
was promised the incorporation of Swaziland with the Transvaal, and
a passage to the sea through Amatongaland, on condition that the
Transvaal gave up all rights towards northern expansion.
Transvaal subjects had obtained concessions in Mashonaland previously
to those obtained by the agents of Rhodes. The Transvaal kept its
promise. Transvaal subjects were forced, by a proclamation issued by
the President, to stop a trek towards Manacaland to take possession
of country in that territory, ceded to them by its legal owners; and
Rhodes and company were left in undisturbed possession. How was the
agreement fulfilled by the other side? Only after long, patient and
persevering waiting the Transvaal was at last reluctantly allowed to
incorporate Swaziland in a half-hearted sort of way. But--
The Transvaal had obtained the cession of Amatongaland from its legal
owners--the chiefs of the tribes living there. When the Transvaal asked
England to ratify the annexation of Amatongaland, according to the
agreement made with said chiefs, England refused, on the plea that, if
it should be decided later on that Swaziland should fall to British
rule, Swaziland would be inaccessible to England, as it is almost
surrounded by Transvaal territory, and that Amatongaland was the only
passage open to Swaziland for England in such a case. However, the
Transvaal was given to understand that its claim was _legitimate_; and
that, in case Swaziland was ceded to it, there would be no difficulty
raised to its expansion towards the sea _via_ Amatongaland.
When Swaziland was given up to the Transvaal, because England could
hardly do otherwise, as Swaziland belonged to the Transvaal by all the
rules of nations--Swaziland really belonged to the Transvaal, was part
and parcel of its territories, lying as it does within its borders,
having been kept out of it as a protection (?) for the natives by
treaty with England. Well, what did England do when the Transvaal at
last had possession of Swaziland? Did she say to the South African
Republic, ‘Now you have Swaziland, you might as well realise your
_legitimate_ desires for a seaport; you had better have Amatongaland
too, as it means so much to you, and is really worthless to us.’ Did
she say that? _One morning the Government of the South African Republic
awoke to find that Amatongaland had been annexed by England on the
quiet._
The Transvaal had received no previous notice from England of her
unjust intentions in Amatongaland, no--such a deed could hardly bear
the light of day to fall upon it before it was an accomplished fact;
once accomplished, possession is nine points of the law.
South Africa was shocked at such a deed. The Transvaal protested.
The Orange Free State protested. Even Natal and the Cape Colonial
Government were ashamed of the deed, and disowned all knowledge of it.
Steve had taken note of all this and more.
He had seen how England had unwarrantably interfered in a question
which did not concern her in the least. The Transvaal had closed
certain drifts between itself and the Orange Free State--mind you
not between the Transvaal and British territory--it was a matter of
policy to meet the machinations of the Cape Colonial Government under
Rhodes, who were trying to strangle the railways of the Transvaal by
ox-waggon competition. England interfered, and told the Transvaal that
its Government had no right to close those drifts--why? Because England
says so, of course! The Transvaal--once more to show its desire for
peace--_opened those drifts_.
We have only touched some of the main points South African history for
the last few years, so that we may be understood as the story proceeds.
CHAPTER VII
THE REPTILE PRESS OF SOUTH AFRICA
There was one thing which Steve had long noticed, viz., that there
could be no doubt of the existence of an organisation formed for the
purpose of _killing_ the Transvaal as a republic.
This organisation seemed to have taken for a motto,--
‘If you want to kill a dog, give him a bad name, and nobody will object
to your killing him.’
To achieve this dirty work, newspapers were started in Pretoria,
Johannesburg, and all over South Africa. Only one line of conduct
seemed to have been laid down for the editors of these newspapers,
viz.,--Paint the Government of the South African Republic and Boers
generally with the blackest verbal paint you can invent; the editor who
can invent the most lies and write the dirtiest libels on the Transvaal
and on Boers that editor shall receive the greatest reward.
This programme was well followed.
The amalgamator of mines and countries had chosen his men well.
These editors must be in the possession of dictionaries unknown to
the rest of the world. Dictionaries with an alphabetical list of all
the bad names ever invented, with the addition of some specially
invented for the occasion. The writers for the papers belonging to
the organisation for _painting Boers black_ seemed to have a special
mode of writing their articles. A string of bad names is selected, and
manufactured into some tale of Boer cruelty, duplicity, dishonesty, or
something of the sort.
This story would be published and taken up by the various papers
belonging to the organisation, and any other paper in foreign lands
which might be misinformed enough to believe such stories. How England
and the rest of the world would be shocked with these tales. How
well-meaning people in distant England would cry shame at these
savage (?), cruel (?), and dishonest (?) Boers. Ah! this cowardly,
strike-a-man-behind-his-back, blacken-a-dog’s-name-and-then-kill-him,
Boer-hating, anti-freedom, anti-republican organisation knew well
that England can yet boast of millions of honest, fair-minded and
well-meaning people, who would not allow a free, peace-loving and
God-fearing people to be trampled under foot by a speculating,
company-mongering, Matabele-exterminating organisation. For this
reason, the Boer must first be blackened, his name must be made to
stink in the nostrils of the English and European public. It must
be made to appear a great deed of chivalry to exterminate these
_women-killing_ (?), slave-dealing (?). Uitlander-oppressing (?) Boers.
But the sequel has shown that there is a just Heaven above, who
watches over countries, empires, republics and peoples as well as over
individuals. The machinations of these plotters were made to fall back
upon their own heads by a just God. They were made to fall into their
own pits, dug for others. Read on and see.
Although evidently directed from Cape Town, the operations of the
organisation were centred in Johannesburg, as being the place where
the materials to be used for their purposes--_the Uitlanders_--were
most plentiful, and, also being in the heart of the Boer Republic, they
could strike more to the purpose.
Every pretext was made use of to find fault with Boers and Boer
government. Let them come across a God-fearing, religious Boer, and he
is described as a hypocritical, sanctimonious, double-faced knave. If,
on the contrary, a Boer is met who moves with the surrounding world,
speculates, goes to entertainments, or takes a drink at a bar, he again
is called a drunken, cheating, parasitical, half-civilised scoundrel.
Again, should the Government take righteous umbrage at haughty
and unjust demands from their particular party, and refuse them,
the Government is called a tyrannical, autocratic and oppressive
government. Should the Government again consider a request fair and
just, or tenable in any way, and grant it, then they are jeered at, now
they are beginning to be afraid and are obliged to give way. Or, again,
it was granted through favouritism, or through bribery. Such was the
one-sided criticism indulged in.
Familiarity brings contempt. The Government got to be so accustomed to
this one-sided abuse, that they really treated it with the contempt it
deserved. This gave courage to the black libellers.
Constant droppings will wear away a stone. The constant hacking and
pegging away at the Government began to take effect on the Uitlander
public. They began to believe it, saying, ‘Where there is smoke
there must surely be fire?’ At least such was the effect on the
least-informed portion of the Uitlander population.
The first visible and material victory obtained by the organisation was
the FLAG INCIDENT.
CHAPTER VIII
THE TRANSVAAL’S PRESIDENT AND FLAG INSULTED BY THE UITLANDERS
The President of the South African Republic is obliged by law to visit
outlying districts as much as possible, in rotation, to ascertain the
views, grievances and wants of the public.
The turn of Johannesburg came to receive such a visit. The President
went there in order to give the public an opportunity to state to him
personally what they wanted in the way of improvements generally. If
they had any wants or grievances to be redressed, now was their time
to say so, and obtain their desires as far as was just and fair. Was
this done?
No! When the President mounted the public platform, he was received
with groans and hootings. Paid roughs caused a disturbance, which was
taken up by the lower element amongst the crowd, and the President had
to escape as best he could from the dastardly roughs, who would not
have scrupled to lay their hands upon his person. The sacred, beloved
flag of the Republic was torn down and rent to shreds.
_This was the way Johannesburg sought redress for their grievances._
The loyal public were righteously enraged, and had it not been for the
conciliatory speeches of the President later on, the Burghers would not
have rested until due revenge had been taken for the dishonour done the
chief of their Republic and their flag.
But the Government refused to punish the scoundrels; they hoped to win
the Uitlanders over by gentleness and forbearance.
The next grand opportunity for the organisation to revile the
Government and the people came with the Malaboch war.
A petty chief rebelled, causing general disorder in the Zoutpansberg
district, and setting a bad example to the thousands and tens of
thousands of natives living in the district. Malaboch had to be subdued
and made to obey the laws of the land or the whole native population
would soon have been in rebellion. This was done.
Steve went as a volunteer on the expedition (he having privately
got the field cornet to commandeer him). He saw with surprise with
what consideration the rebels were treated. They were regarded as a
civilised nation; and repeated offers of mercy were made them if they
would submit. An invitation was sent them to send out their women and
children for safety, which was done, thereby prolonging the siege of
the native stronghold, as the provisions held out so much longer.
After the submission of the tribe, they were treated with all kindness.
They were conducted to Pretoria and well provided for.
To prevent a repetition of the rebellion, and of their retaking
possession of their former almost inaccessible stronghold, the native
tribe was broken up (as per precedent established by the English
administration in former years), and homes given them elsewhere.
The result of all this was that the Government was abused more than
ever before. It was affirmed that the grossest cruelties had been
perpetrated on the poor, innocent natives; the Boers made slaves of the
natives, etc., etc.
The most ridiculous statement of all was that the Boers ravished the
native women! Anybody knowing a Boer would know how impossible this
is! A Boer shrinks from touching the hands of the dirty, oily, reeking
native; how much more would he shrink from _embracing_ a native woman!
As we have said, Steve had been to the Malaboch war himself. He had
seen for himself the treatment accorded the natives, and the lying
statements published all over the world made him shiver with disgust
and anger.
The following year, with the Magoeba campaign, the same thing was
repeated all over. The causes were the same, the effects were the same.
Sir E. Ashmead Bartlette and others of his stamp (either deceiving,
or being deceived by others here) made ridiculous and untruthful
statements in the House of Commons, in public speeches, or in the daily
papers. All this was the result of the wire-pulling, worked by the
secret organisation for ‘painting Boers black.’
Finally, another grand opportunity came for a general carnival of abuse
and lies against the Government of the country--the festivities in
connection with the opening of the Delagoa Railway.
Not that we mean to state that these were the only times when the
Government was abused and libelled; daily opportunities were found
to distort facts; an anthill was made into a mountain; a good deed
into one of the blackest imaginable. And when no facts could be found
to distort, something was invented by some fiendish imagination. But
the festivities offered a grand opportunity for exaggerations and
distortions.
The Government was made to spend thousands of pounds sterling on
favourites, contracts for decorations were given to favourite
Hollanders, money was wasted, the Volksraad vote was greatly exceeded,
and goodness knows what besides. It is too sickening to enter into all
the petty lying faults that were found.
In this way the Government and people of the country had daily to
tamely and quietly hear themselves belittled and besmeared with the
lying libels of their foes; it was all patiently and quietly borne;
they wished for peace, and were always conciliating. This was taken by
the opposition as signifying fear and conscious weakness.
Matters went on in this way until December 1895 was reached. Steve was
watching the approaching clouds. He could hear the distant thunder. He
could see that a storm was coming, gathering force as it approached. A
crisis was at hand.
It was coming sooner than he could have wished. He knew it was coming,
but he would have liked it to have come a few years later, when the
Afrikander race, at the rate they were strengthening now, would be
considerably stronger and more able to cope with their opponents. But
let it come. We shall do our best to conquer, and if it is God’s will
that we should come out victorious, all praise be to Him. And if it be
His will, WE SHALL be victorious! If it be His will that we should be
conquered, His will be done; we can but die.
The secret organisation had lately taken more visible and definite
form. First, a National Union was formed by a few in the secret. The
innocent Uitlander public were led by the nose. When a meeting was
convened by the self-elected leaders of the so-called Union, the
public were only too glad to attend a meeting where some excitement
was promised them. They went to hear the inspired spoutings of their
self-elected leaders, and cheered where they were expected to do so, or
listened indifferently to eloquent advocates, speculators, etc. Many
of them were surprised to be told that they really had any grievances.
They had always thought they were better off in this country than they
had been in their own land; here they earned good wages, paid little
or no taxes, and were left alone and in peace; while in their own
countries, they earned very little, of which little they had to pay a
large percentage in taxes and rates of one kind or another.
But these learned men say we have grievances; they ought to know! And
if we really have any wrongs to be redressed, the sooner it is done the
better; so hurrah for these philanthropic (?) gentlemen who are going
to redress our wrongs. They say we ought to have the franchise, so the
franchise we will have, and so on.
It went uphill, it is true; the agents of the organisation found great
difficulty to get the public mind wound up to the right pitch, and when
they did succeed for an hour or so to get an enthusiastic audience
together, it only lasted for that brief hour.
But even for this want of enduring enthusiasm a remedy was found,
viz., a committee was appointed who were supposed to represent the
Uitlander population, who made up in themselves for all want of public
enthusiasm. Gold could do a great deal; besides, the head of the
organisation knew the art of _buying_ enthusiasm.
For a time the National Union took a spurt, kept alive by inflaming
speeches and circulars; but as soon as a little boom in shares took
place, the public would have nothing to do with politics, and again and
again the committee found the Union to consist of _themselves_. This
would never do; the objects of the Union would never be attained if
something was not done soon.
The plans of the parent organisation were nearing completion. Soon
it was rumoured that the president of the Union and other members of
the secret organisation were preparing to issue a manifesto, by which
means they hoped to once more wind up public opinion, and to inflame
the hotter Boer haters to the fullest extent. When once the public were
excited enough, a meeting would be held, where revolutionary proposals
would be made by certain agents, which, it was hoped, would be taken up
and supported by the public. This was December 1895.
CHAPTER IX
THE NATIONAL UNION MANIFESTO
It is Christmas 1895.
Peace on earth, good-will to all men is supposed to prevail at this
season; not so with the enemies of the country.
The President was away on one of his yearly visits to outlying
districts. He would return on Boxing Day, expecting everybody to be
indulging in the usual festivities of the season.
Alas! it is not so in a certain building in Johannesburg. A group
of men are exulting over a document. It is a proof of the famous
National Union Manifesto, issued by the chairman of the Union; issued
in the name of the Uitlander population, without their consent. On
their own responsibility, the chairman of the Union and a few of his
fellow-conspirators issued a manifesto with the full and deliberate
intention of causing a civil war in South Africa, a war of races--a
war, the result of which, and the ending of which, no man could
surmise.
Steve went to the station on Boxing Day to see the President arrive
by train from his tour. As he was standing talking to an acquaintance
about the air of mystery and expectancy on the faces of most people in
the crowd, he heard a newsboy crying,--
‘_The Star! The Star! National Union Manifesto!_’
‘Hillo! I might as well buy a copy and see what they have to say,’
he remarked, calling the boy and buying a paper. He read it with the
closest attention.
The manifesto was composed of several newspaper columns of close
printing.
What struck Steve was that, of all the grievances detailed in the
manifesto, only one was really worth complaining about, viz., the want
of franchise. All the rest were open to difference of opinion, or did
not exist at all. After a great deal had been said on one subject or
another, a list of ten wants was given:--
Firstly.--‘The establishment of _this_ Republic as a true Republic,’
I wonder if the compiler of the manifesto is an Irishman. He wants a
republic to be made a republic; he wants a cow to be turned into a cow;
a horse into a horse; a mule into a mule. Why he ought to know that if
he _is_ a mule, a mule he is.
Secondly.--‘A Grondwet or constitution is wanted, which shall be framed
by competent persons.’ Who? The committee of the National Union, I
suppose! No more need be said.
Thirdly.--‘An equitable franchise law, and fair representation.’ This
is the only real grievance that the Union could complain of. But
then a poor man sometimes complains because another man is rich and
possessed of more than his share of this world’s goods. The rich man
had patiently worked for and acquired his wealth, the poor man will
not work and will not wait for his time to come to make his ‘pile.’
Let the Uitlander bide his time patiently and earn the right to obtain
the franchise, and obtain it he will in the end. We all wish for the
franchise and hope to get it by proving to the Government that we
wish it well and not harm. But who is going to impoverish himself to
enrich his neighbour? Who, when attacked by an enemy, is going to
hand over his own revolver to be shot with? That is what the National
Union has proved itself to be up to now--_enemies_ pure and simple of
the Government. Let them show more good-will, more conciliation, more
honest friendship, and they may expect more consideration from the
Government.
Fourthly.--‘Equality of the Dutch and English language is demanded.’
This is a Dutch republic, founded by the Dutch, civilised and reclaimed
by the Dutch. Dutch is the official language of the country. The
English language is given all consideration in courts of law and public
offices. English is spoken freely everywhere, in courts of law or other
offices of administration. The law is winked at as regards enforcing
the use of Dutch. More cannot be claimed at present. If the English
language wins its way into further favour no one is going to grumble.
Fifthly.--‘Responsibility to the legislature of the heads of the great
departments.’ That is going to come without the aid of the National
Union!
Sixthly.--‘Removal of religious disabilities.’ The law of the country
allows every man to worship and think as he pleases. Only, the holders
of office and public officials must be Protestants. _The Transvaal
Burghers are mostly descended from Huguenots!_
Seventhly.--‘Independence of the courts of justice, with adequate and
secured remuneration of the judges.’ Even so, we all want that, and are
thankful to say ‘we have it.’
Eighthly.--‘Liberal and comprehensive education.’ The State has been
striving and aiming towards this laudable object for years, and is
striving for it still. Improvements in the department of education are
made yearly, and, let us hope, will be continued to be made.
Ninthly.--‘Improved civil service and provisions for a pension fund’
is asked. I wonder if the members of the National Union committee had
an eye for their own future prospects when they asked for this. Of
course they were going to be provided for in the way of offices in the
improved government and civil service, and they naturally wished to
make provision for their pensions.
Tenthly.--‘Free trade in South African products.’ Free trade is an old
question, and need not be discussed here. If it suits one party it does
not suit another, and the products of the State must be protected.
Something like the above were the mental comments of Steve as
he read the ‘Ten Wants’ of the Union. He saw no harm in the
ventilating of their wants by the Union, if it is done peacefully and
constitutionally, but the implied threat which appears in the question
‘How shall we get it?’--that is where he sees the spirit of the
manifesto. There is no reason why they should not get all, or nearly
all, they ask, if they ask for it in the right way. It all depends
upon what they decide to do to get it whether they get it or no; under
_threats_ they will _not_ get it.
The meeting to be held on the 6th January 1896 had to decide.
At last the train with the President on board steams into the station.
A line is formed from the saloon carriage to the President’s private
carriage, and the Transvaal ‘Grand Old Man’ steps forth, hat in
hand, bowing right and left. As Steve gazes upon that firm, calm and
strong countenance, all doubt as to the future prospects of his race
disappear. With _such_ a man as their leader, victory must attend
them. He gazes with exultation upon Paul Kruger; he had often seen
the President before, but he looked upon him with renewed interest
after reading that bouncing manifesto; and as he looked, he fancied
he saw before him a stormy sea, the billows roar, the winds blow, and
amidst all a strong, firm, upright rock receiving the dashing waves and
howling winds against its sides, unmoved. Such was the impression Paul
Kruger gave Steve that afternoon. The _simile_ was not out of place;
the storm was gathering. _Will Paul Kruger remain firm?_
CHAPTER X
A FISHING PARTY ON THE VAAL RIVER
From the time of publication of the National Union Manifesto, a cloud
seemed to hang over the country. On every street corner and under every
verandah where two or three were gathered together, politics were being
spoken of. What is going to happen? Was Johannesburg really going to
take the bit in its own teeth and go its own way, or was it all only
big talk and a case of the Union playing the bogey man to frighten the
Government into submission and into giving way to their demands. There
_were_ a few fiery-minded youths in Pretoria who talked big of the
mighty things the Uitlanders were going to do. They were armed; they
had twenty Maxims, cannons and small arms in plenty; they were going to
remove the Boer Government and raise a government of their own, etc.,
etc.
But the majority of the Uitlanders living in Pretoria expressed their
intention to stand by the present Government. They were not going
to have either the Imperial Government again, or a government of
capitalists. The former had made too many mistakes in South Africa
already to be desired; besides, are we not men, cannot we work out
our own salvation? As to the latter, enough of that has been seen in
Europe, America and Kimberley. No, we are satisfied with the present
Government, and with the improvements we know that we shall get soon.
The Government received daily assurances from leading Pretoria men of
staunch support in case of need. Even in Johannesburg, the Government
was not in want of many thousands of Uitlander friends.
One hardy old Scotchman, interviewed by a countryman lately arrived,
in answer to the question as to what his intentions were in case of
disturbances, replied by pointing to a gun standing in a corner and
saying,--
‘You see that gun? Well that gun and myself are at the service of Oom
Paul whenever he wants us. I am not going to see such an unrighteous
thing as deposing a just and kind Government by a lot of capitalists
and other knaves.’
Steve, amongst many others, never for a moment supposed that any
disturbance or breach of the peace would take place before the 6th
January, which was the date appointed by the National Union for their
great meeting, when they would decide upon future action. How was
he or the general public (mostly concerned) to know of the secret
preparations (whispered of, but not believed) made by the conspirators
to let the dogs of war--and that civil war--loose on or before the
date appointed? How was he or they to know that preparations were far
advanced for the invasion of the Transvaal by Chartered troops? The
different Governments concerned did not know of it; how could private
individuals know?
So Steve and his friends made preparations for a fishing party during
the New Year holidays on the Vaal River.
Accordingly, Saturday night saw Steve and his friends embarked on the
Cape train _en route_ for the Vaal River. They were going by rail as
far as Vereeniging, from which place they had made arrangements to
leave by a mule waggon, which they had chartered for the week. Arrived
at the border town, they loaded their tent and provisions on the mule
waggon, expecting to have a quiet but enjoyable picnic on the banks
of the Vaal. The site for their camp was chosen about eighteen miles
west from Vereeniging, as they wished to be away from the bustle of
town life for the few days of rest. Sunday afternoon saw the party
comfortably settled on a pretty spot on the river’s bank. A few
beautiful trees supplied them with the necessary shade from the heat of
the sun.
Sunday afternoon and evening were spent in quiet rest, after the
necessary operations of fixing up camp were over.
Monday morning early, fishing was begun in earnest. A fairly successful
day was spent on the river bank. Towards sundown the party returned to
camp.
After coffee had been made and partaken of, Steve proposed that they
should go to the little country store, lying about half-a-mile away.
‘It will be a nice little walk before supper,’ he remarked, ‘and,
besides, we might hear some news from the shopkeeper, as he is the
post-agent here.’ His proposal was accepted, and the party strolled
forth. Arrived at the store, they found the proprietor to be one Nande.
This Nande was an Afrikander born, but an English educated young
man; handsome, stout, and well spoken, but slightly deaf. As to his
character, that will be sufficiently gathered from his conversation and
acts.
After a few trifling purchases had been made in the store, as a sort of
introduction, Steve inquired if he had heard any news from Pretoria or
Johannesburg to-day.
‘Oh, yes, I have heard news, and if it is true, I shall be jolly glad;
it will show these miserable Boers that the British people are not to
be trifled with. I hear that Jameson has entered the Transvaal with
eight hundred troopers, and is marching on to Johannesburg at full
speed; it is only a rumour as yet, I heard it at the station this
afternoon.’
At the first few words Steve trembled with agitation and apprehension
for the Transvaal, for, if this was true, it really meant war with
Great Britain, for Jameson and his men were really British troops. But
a moment’s reflection showed him how improbable such a thing must be.
He could not believe England capable of such perfidy. The Transvaal
was at peace with England, and had done absolutely nothing to provoke
an invasion, or even a talk of an invasion from England. Besides, the
last decade of the nineteenth century was not a time when one civilised
country invades another, unprovoked and without rhyme or reason. No,
the wish was only father to the thought, it was not to be believed for
a moment. But what struck Steve with disgust was that this young man,
who looked like an Afrikander, appeared to wish for such an invasion,
and seemed to glory in the very idea of it.
‘May I ask what your name is, sir?’ he said, turning to the storekeeper.
‘My name is Nande.’
‘But that is a pure Afrikander name.’
‘So it is. I was born in the Cape Colony, and have been in the
Transvaal now for five years.’
‘But why do you speak as if you wished for the downfall of our
Afrikander Republic?’
‘Because I do not think it right that we should be governed by these
Boers any longer. Why, they refused to give me a situation just because
I could not write Hollander-Dutch; they rather gave it to a Hollander
than to an Afrikander.’
‘I think that shows their good sense,’ replied Steve; ‘if you had
learned your mother tongue as well as you did English, they would not
have refused you.’
‘Well, I only hope that Jameson and the Uitlanders will succeed in
chucking the whole lot out, then a man who has received an English
education will be able to get a Government situation too. I hope to see
the British flag flying once more over the Transvaal in a week or so.’
‘Hurrah for Jameson and the British flag!’ cried Steve’s cousin.
This young man had been in the habit of running the English down ever
since he had come to the Transvaal, because he thought it good policy,
but now that he believed the English were going to be victorious, he
thought it was high time to put on his Anglo-Saxon coat and go with
the winning party. It is all very well to be an Afrikander while
Afrikanderism is popular, and while Afrikanders hold the handle of the
knife. But now it seems England is going to wrest the handle out of the
hands of the Boers, so ‘British I will be now,’ was his philosophy--ugh!
Keith and Harrison did not say a word; they seemed to be stricken dumb
at what they heard.
‘Oh, so you are taking a fit of Anglo-mania, too, now--you--cur,
you--dog, you coward.’
‘And I am a Britisher too, and I also say Hurrah for Jameson,’ cried
Nande.
Steve stood with clenched hands, pale as death.
‘And I say that the man who turns his coat and stands away from his
countrymen in their time of need is worse than a _dog_, is worse than a
Kaffir, for even a Kaffir will stand by his people in time of need. You
are both dogs--_curs_, and worse than curs, you mongrel Afrikanders.’
‘Look here, young man, you must be careful what you say; you must
remember we are four against you alone; we will soon take your gas out
of you,’ said Nande.
‘Come on then all of you. One true Afrikander can always _down_
half-a-dozen cowardly curs like you. I do not believe a hundred like
you would have the pluck to tackle one single Boer. Come on, I am ready
for you.’
He stood with his back against the wall, with clenched fists, fierce
set face, and gleaming eyes.
Nande snatched an axe handle standing near, and crying to the other
three to ‘come on and let us silence this miserable Boer,’ he walked in
a threatening way to within three paces of Steve. Steve stood calmly
but determinedly awaiting the attack. When Nande stopped three paces in
front of him, Steve looked him full in the eyes. Nande could not stand
that look; he trembled with fear, and looking away, he turned to the
others and said,--
‘Are you fellows not going to help me to give this Boer a good
thrashing?’
Keith and Harrison looked contemptuously at him, the former remarking
that,--
‘If any help were required, we would certainly give it to Steve. _He_
is a _man_. You are a cowardly renegade. I would be ashamed of you, if
you really were an Englishman.’
‘Thank God there are very few Afrikanders such as these two,’ said
Steve. ‘It would be a bad lookout for us if there were many such.’
‘You are right, Steve,’ said Harrison. ‘They are about the only two I
have ever met. I wish I had the privilege to be a born Afrikander. I
would not thus turn renegade, but would be only too happy to fight for
my country; and, by God, if this is true about Jameson, I _will_ fight
for them. If Englishmen can act as treacherously as this, then I shall
disown my own country and become a true citizen of this, my adopted
country; that, at least, would not be turning renegade, for I should be
fighting for the country I live in.’
‘And so say I, too,’ said Keith.
Nande, seeing how the land lay, and the mistake he had made when he
expected to be supported by the young Englishmen, backed out, and
retreated behind his counter.
The party now left, and returned to their camp with Steve’s cousin
slinking on behind them. He kept out of Steve’s way for the rest of the
evening, as he saw that he was in the minority now, and that was not a
_rôle_ he delighted in playing.
CHAPTER XI
NEWS OF AN UNEXPECTED INVASION AND BREAK UP OF THE FISHING PARTY
The next day fishing was resumed. Steve did not attach much credence
to Nande’s story of Jameson’s invasion, so he was not much disturbed
about it. He thought he had plenty of time to enjoy his little holiday
and to be back home by the 6th January, when he would be able to watch
events and be at hand in case his services were needed to defend his
country.
What a surprise awaited him!
As the party returned about midday to camp for lunch, they found
a young man there who had just drawn rein for a moment to let his
sweating horse breathe, and get a drink of water for himself.
‘Hillo! Whither away in such a hurry?’ hailed Steve in a hospitable
way. ‘Stay and have lunch with us.’
‘I dare not. I am in a great hurry. Have you heard the news?’
‘No; what is it?’
‘Jameson has invaded Transvaal territory, and is marching on to
Johannesburg.’
‘My God! is it true after all?’
‘Only too true. I am postmaster and telegraphist at H----, and I have
just received a wire from headquarters to let the field cornet know
at once, with orders for him to _commandeer_ every available Burgher
without a moment’s delay. They are to guard the borders against
any further invasion from any other direction. The Burghers from
Potchefstroom, Rustenburg and Krugersdorp are ordered to intercept
Jameson and to capture him before he enters Johannesburg.’
‘May I know your name, sir?’ asked Steve.
‘Certainly; my name is A----n.’
‘But that is a British name, is it not?’
‘It is; but I am colonial born, and I consider myself an Afrikander,
and I am going to stand by the Afrikanders to the bitter end. My God!
do you think I will stand by and see our Republic invaded in such a
treacherous manner, and not do all in my power to resist it? I am not
obliged to bear dispatches in this way, but for such a cause I would do
a great deal more.’
‘I am proud to shake hands with you, sir,’ said Steve, suiting the
action to the word. ‘With such men as you to stand by us, our future is
assured.’
‘I am glad to see you’re one of us, sir, and hope to meet you again in
more peaceful times; in the meanwhile, now my horse has had a breathing
spell, I must hurry on.’
‘One moment, sir,’ said Steve. ‘I want to leave at once for the scene
of action. Which is the best way, do you think, to reach it?’
‘I suppose, to take train as far as you can, and where you find
yourself stopped, to get a horse (the best way you can), and go on
horseback until you reach the place where fighting is going on.’
‘Thank you, sir. Good-bye, and God speed the Republican cause.’
‘Amen, good-bye, and good luck.’
Steve was intensely excited, his breath came in short, quick gasps. He
turned to Keith and Harrison, saying,--
‘Look here, you chaps, I do not know what you intend doing, but I can’t
stay here another hour, I must get away without a moment’s unnecessary
delay.’
‘But, Steve, what could you do if you did go? One man more or less will
make no difference. Stay and let us finish our fishing. Time enough to
go fighting when we have to go back and our holiday is over.’
Steve shook his head, saying,--
‘No, old man, if everybody were to say that, and want to enjoy their
New Year festivities before responding to their country’s call, then
Jameson would have an easy march to Johannesburg. No, I must go. The
only question is, How? Will you fellows go too, or will you stay and
let me have the mule waggon to the station, then I can send it back to
you, and you can stay here and have the full benefit of your holiday.’
‘No, Steve, if go you must, I go too,’ said Keith.
‘And I will go too. If there is going to be excitement on, we might
as well be at hand and see what is going on?’ said Harrison. ‘As to
fighting, I do not yet know what I shall do personally, but one thing
I am sure of, I am not going to fight against the Boers. If they have
to be suppressed, I will take no hand in it, while I may yet decide to
fight with them; for if they are really invaded in this back-handed,
treacherous way, the sympathy of all right-minded people ought to go
with them.’
‘Well, if we are to go, the sooner the better,’ said Keith, responding
kindly to Steve’s wishes.
The driver was called, and told to get the mules and inspan at once,
while the rest of the party busied themselves in getting everything
packed and ready for their departure.
Steve’s cousin was not consulted as to his willingness to leave or
not; he was in the minority and had to accept the decision arrived
at; he was sulking on one side, refusing to render assistance in the
preparations for leaving. He was undecided what to do; he was not quite
sure yet whether the Boers were going to lose or not, so he thought he
would keep quiet a little longer, and see in which way matters tended.
No notice was taken of him by the others.
In a short time the driver’s assistant arrived with a message to the
effect that the mules were lost and must have strayed away. The driver
had gone farther to search for them. Steve was in despair.
‘My God!’ he cried, ‘what have I done that this should come to me?
Would that I had never left Pretoria, then I might at least have been
able to do something.’
‘Keith, come with me like a good fellow and help me to bribe Nande into
selling or hiring me a horse. I _must_ get away.’
‘I will go with pleasure, Steve; but I am afraid that after last
night’s scene, Nande will by no means be eager to render you a favour.’
They went, but in vain. Nande was still feeling very sore at the
straightforward words of Steve, and refused absolutely to let him have
a horse on any terms whatever. Steve offered to pay any price, but in
vain. He attempted threats, but Nande was strong in the knowledge that
in this case, law was on his side, and that Steve could not force him
to give up his horse.
‘Well, Keith, old man, I am going to walk. Good-bye, and thank you for
your kindness.’
Keith remonstrated in vain, telling him to wait until the mules were
found, and that he could never arrive in time to catch the train if he
walked, but Steve was mad with excitement. He felt that inaction was
impossible; he must do something, and with one handshake he started
on his way on foot. He walked fast and long. It soon began to rain,
but he walked blindly on, on and on. ‘I must get on. If my people must
fight for liberty I must be with them.’ He did not heed the water
running into his shoes or streaming down his clothing. The road was
very indistinct; the water was running over it, so that he was not sure
always whether he was on the road or not. It was getting dark. Surely
he ought to have reached the station by this time. He had walked six
long hours, and he must have covered more than eighteen miles now.
Where can the town be? He could barely walk now, he was so tired and so
wet, but on and on he struggled. The strongest human passion possessed
him: the passion of outraged patriotism. At last he saw a small
building in front of him; it was only a small place, but he hoped to
find somebody from whom he might inquire his whereabouts. He did find a
man there.
‘Will you please tell me where I am, sir. I am afraid I have lost my
way. I want to go to Vereeniging.’
‘Why, sir, you are walking away from Vereeniging. You are about
twenty-five miles from the station now. Where are you coming from?’
‘I left about one o’clock from Nande’s Store on the Vaal River. I am
afraid I must have taken the wrong road.’
‘Yes, you must have taken the left instead of the right hand road, a
few miles after you left Nande.’
‘My God! what shall I do now?’
‘Where do you wish to go to?’
‘I want to reach Johannesburg or Krugersdorp as soon as possible.’
‘Well, you are at least twenty miles nearer your destination now than
when you left Nande, so your time is not altogether lost.’
‘Sir, will you not do me a great favour by selling or hiring me a
horse, or tell me where I can get one near by; it is most important
that I should lose no time.’
‘I am very sorry, but I have no horse; you might get one three miles
away, where there is a Boer farm. They have several horses; but come
in and have a cup of coffee first. You are wet and cold. I will give
you some of my dry clothing to put on in exchange for your wet ones. It
would be death for you to keep those wet clothes on.’
Steve accepted with pleasure. He was wet, tired and hungry. He had had
nothing to eat since breakfast, as the news received at lunch time
had taken away all idea of eating. He entered, had a cup of coffee
with a dry biscuit, changed his clothes, and, in spite of his host’s
invitation to spend the night there, departed.
‘No thank you, sir. I thank you for your kindness to me, a stranger. If
at any time you come to Pretoria, here is my card. If I can return your
kindness, please let me know.’
He proceeded in the direction pointed out to him and soon arrived at
the Boer farm. It was a well-appointed substantial building, and it was
evident that well-to-do people lived there, so no doubt he would be
able to get a horse.
CHAPTER XII
OFF TO THE WAR--A NIGHT’S RIDE--TERRIBLE NEWS
When about two hundred yards away from the house, Steve came across an
old bushman with a pail of milk in his hands, evidently coming from the
cattle kraals.
‘Naand, baas.’ (Good evening, baas).
‘Good evening, my boy. Who lives here?’
‘Baas Meyer lives here, baas.’
‘Is your baas in?’ Steve asked.
‘No, my baas left with his two sons this afternoon, on commando. They
say the English are coming to take the country again, and my baas left
to fight the English.’
‘Who is at home now?’
‘Only the _nooi_ (mistress) and her daughter.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Jankie, baas.’
‘Well, Jankie, here are two shillings for you.’
Steve thought it best to make friends where he could.
‘Thank you, thank you, baas,’ said the bushman, receiving the coin and
slipping it into his mouth.
‘Look here, Jankie, is there a good riding horse in the stable?’
‘Only young Baas Willim’s horse, on which he goes courting.’
‘Is it a good horse, Jankie?’
‘I have never seen a better one, baas; it is a black stallion. He never
gets _flamed_ (never gives in).’
‘That is just the horse I want, Jankie. Do you think your mistress will
lend him to me to go and fight the English?’
‘I am afraid not, baas. Young Baas Willim never allows anyone besides
himself to ride that horse; but come in and ask the _nooi_.’
Steve went up to the house and knocked. The door was opened by a
pretty, fair-haired girl, evidently the daughter of the house. He was
shown into the sitting-room, the good and well-appointed furniture of
which again indicated the wealth of the owners.
Steve asked to see Mijf Meyer. She soon appeared, and without much
beating about the bush, Steve stated what he required.
‘Madam, I was on a picnic on the Vaal River. There I heard that the
English were again invading the country. I want to go and fight against
our enemies, but I have no horse to go from here. Will you lend me one?’
‘No, sir; you look too much like an Englishman yourself to go and fight
against the English. Why do you shame your face, just like the _rooi
nekke_. No, sir, I know your people’s tricks too well to be caught by
you. If a real Afrikander wants a horse to fight the English, he can
have all we have, but you look like one who is more likely to help our
enemies than to fight for us. I don’t know you.’
Steve explained and expostulated, begged and threatened, in vain. The
old lady believed him to be a spy and enemy. His looks were against
him; and in any case he was a stranger to her; and an Afrikander has
never been known to tramp about in city clothes like his looking for a
horse; she would neither sell nor lend.
Steve saw that he was distrusted, and that further pleading was in
vain. He turned to leave, when the girl came up to him, saying,--
‘Sir, you must excuse my mother, but we cannot risk giving an enemy
a horse to fight against our own people. Perhaps you know how the
Uitlanders have been threatening us lately; my father and brothers are
even now on their way to fight against the English, who want to take
our country from us again. But if you want food, or anything else, you
are welcome.’
Steve thanked her, and told her he could not blame them for distrusting
a stranger. ‘But,’ with tears in his eyes, ‘I do so long to be in the
fight. I would dearly like to strike a blow for our liberty against
our enemies, and now I am so tired I can’t walk much farther, and time
is passing by. Oh, that I could find a horse.’
He walked out; he was in despair. The tears were running fast down his
face, and he was ashamed to let the girl see him weep.
Steve did not walk more than a hundred yards away from the house when
he sank down on the ground in a passion of tears and despair.
‘Oh, what have I done that I should be caged like this? My countrymen
are perhaps even now struggling for life and liberty, and here I am
in the open veld, without a horse or means of reaching the commando
in time. Oh, my God, send me aid, help me to get away. Oh, God, I
would give all I have for a horse to-night. Jesus, thou hast so often
answered my prayers before, answer me now, when I ask for a horse to
go and fight against our enemy.’ He shook with a passion of tears and
intense earnestness as he prayed in his despair. Steve had great faith
in prayer, and when all else failed, he believed that God would not
fail him. As he prayed thus, a feeling of comfort and relief came over
him; he fancied he heard a voice say, ‘Fear not, my son, thy prayer is
heard.’ The next moment he felt a touch on his arm; a pale face looked
into his eyes. Steve saw that it was the girl he had just left. She was
weeping now, too; a great faith in him was shining in her face.
‘Oh, forgive us for mistrusting you; I see now that you are one of us.
I stood looking after you, I saw you were in trouble, and when I saw
you drop down here, I came to see what was the matter with you, and I
heard all you said in your grief and despair. Come with me, God has
heard your prayer.’
Steve was surprised at this turn of affairs. He followed the girl. She
led him to the stable and lighted a lantern. In the lantern-light Steve
saw a beautiful black stallion standing. He thought to himself that
Jankie had not said too much for young Baas Willim’s courting horse.
The girl showed him a saddle and bridle hanging on a peg against the
wall, and bid him put on the saddle.
‘But what will your mother say?’ he asked.
‘I will answer for everything. It is for our dear country and liberty
you want the horse. If mother believed in you as I do now, she would
never have refused you. Be quick now.’
Steve looked at her for a moment, but he reflected it was for a great
and noble cause, moreover it was urgent, so he hesitated no longer. The
horse was soon saddled and led out of the stable. He took the girl by
the hand and said,--
‘God bless you for your goodness. I hope I may earn your good opinion
in the struggle we are going to have. I will try not to disgrace your
brother’s horse. Good-bye, and God bless you,’ and with a hearty
handshake he jumped on the horse.
‘Wait a moment,’ the girl called. ‘Which way are you going?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I would advise you to go in the same direction our Burghers went
to-day. Take that road,’ pointing in a northerly direction, ‘keep to
the main road, and you are sure to meet with some of the Burghers going
to the commando. They all expect the fighting to take place somewhere
between Johannesburg and Krugersdorp, so you had better inquire your
way to Krugersdorp first.’
‘Thank you. Good-bye.’
‘Good-bye, and good luck.’
Steve let go the rein, and the stallion, nothing loth, shot forward
like an arrow. But Steve was a good horseman, he knew he had far to go,
and a horse, however good, is yet not a machine, therefore the strength
of the horse must be economised. He soon got the stallion to settle
down to a good, easy, comfortable pace at the rate of six miles an hour.
As Steve sat on his pleasant, comfortable seat, with his horse going
as easy as a spring carriage, he had much time for thought. It was a
beautiful but weird moonlight night. Thin, long streaks of mare’s-tail
clouds stretched across the sky, and Steve fancied he saw all sorts of
fantastical shapes in those clouds. He remembered the old superstition
that, when such clouds filled the sky, somebody was dying? Who was
dying? Was it, perhaps, his countrymen, who, surprised by the sneaking
enemy, had been overcome and murdered? Who knows? Perhaps a few score
Burghers only had met the enemy, and had been overcome. The postmaster
of H---- had told them that Jameson had Maxims and field-pieces; and
what could a hundred or two hundred Burghers do, armed only with
rifles, if they were to meet Jameson and his eight hundred freebooters?
When such thoughts came to Steve, he would unconsciously urge on his
horse. ‘On--forward--who knows, every man may mean the straw which
might break the camel’s back. Even I may do something which might turn
the tide of battle.’
With such and other thoughts Steve rode on. He saddled off three
different times for an hour before day broke, to give his horse a
rest and to allow him to crop the grass along the road. Even this he
grudged; he wanted to go on, always on, but prudence taught him to go
slowly if he wanted to keep on going. Steve saw that he really rode an
exceptional horse. When day broke, with the little rest he had had, the
horse seemed almost quite fresh.
When day came, Steve began to come up with straggling parties of
Burghers, who were moving forward as rapidly as their different modes
of travelling permitted. He questioned some of them.
‘Your horse does not seem to be going very good, uncle.’
‘No, he is not of the best; he can keep on, but he can’t go very fast.
If he could go as fast as the rest, I should not be so far behind. All
the best horses are in front. The order of our field cornet is for
every man to go as fast as he can; never mind those who stay behind.
You see there is no time to wait. Those who can ride fast must go ahead
and keep the enemy busy until we come up.’
He next came to a party of six young men, dressed in holiday attire,
but on foot.
‘Hillo, _neefs_ (cousins), are you off to the war too?’
‘You bet we are; you won’t catch us staying behind.’
‘But how is it that you have no horses; you do not seem too poor to
possess horses.’
‘No, but we were too far from home to go for our horses. We had come by
ox-waggon to spend New Year’s Day at Oom Paulus Stichling’s, and when
we heard that the English had invaded our country again we just set off
on foot, and let Jameson just wait till we come there we will show him,
_waar David de wortels gegrawen het_.’
Steve met many more such parties who had been spending their New
Year’s holiday from home, and who had left just as they were to go
and meet the enemy. All the mounted Burghers he met were mostly of
the very poorest, who could not afford horses of the best speed, and
were consequently left behind. As Steve saw that the order of the day
was for every man to go as fast as he could, and never mind those who
stayed behind, he thought he could do no better than follow suit;
consequently, he did not stand on any ceremony, but rode on as fast as
he thought prudent, leaving one party after the other behind him.
About midday, he came to a small copse of trees, which he thought just
the place to saddle off for a good rest for his horse and himself,
as he felt a little tired by this time, and as he was somewhat more
reassured now, and the excitement he had felt was a little worn off; he
also began to feel a little sleepy. He decided to knee-halter his horse
and sleep for an hour, after which he would again proceed. As he was
taking the saddle off, he thought he heard voices a little deeper in
the copse. He knee-haltered his horse and went to see who was there.
He saw two boys of about twelve years of age, gun in hand, sitting
eating slices of bread and butter.
‘Well, sonnies, and where are you off to?’
‘Going to fight Jameson.’
‘_What?_’
‘Are you deaf, uncle? We are going to fight Jameson.’
‘Does your pa know that you are going to the war?’
‘Oh, no, our parents are all away; my father and his (nodding towards
his companion) are both gone to the war. They left us to look after the
house, but as soon as they were gone, we each took a gun and followed;
_we_ are not going to stay at home while the old people fight, ha! ha!’
‘Well you are the right kind of Afrikanders, you are no cowards; the
English will never take our country while our young men have such
patriotism,’ and Steve felt proud to shake hands with these youngsters;
he saw that in such a spirit lay the strength of his nation.
The boys, with the usual spirit of Afrikander hospitality, offered to
share their bread and butter with Steve. He gladly accepted a slice,
as he had eaten nothing since the evening before, when he had had a
biscuit and a cup of coffee with the stranger.
After the boys had finished their dinner, they shouldered their guns
and resumed their journey, while Steve laid himself down on the grass
and fell asleep. When he woke, he saw that he had slept an hour and a
half. He hastily saddled his horse and rode on. The horse seemed to
have taken full advantage of Steve’s long sleep, as he seemed quite
refreshed again. Steve could not but congratulate himself again and
again as he saw what great enduring powers the horse possessed.
At dusk our hero arrived at a wayside hotel. His horse was now
thoroughly tired. He saw that he would have to stay here several hours,
unless he wanted his horse to give in. His first inquiry was for
forage, which luckily was to be had in any quantity at a big price.
After having seen his horse well fed and rubbed down, Steve went into
the house and asked for some supper. Some cold meat, bread, butter and
coffee was placed before him, and he made as good a meal of it as could
be expected.
After supper, he asked for a room to lie down for a few hours. He was
shown a room not very clean and neat; still a tired man could at least
rest in it; besides, beggars could not be choosers.
But before lying down, Steve went out to once more see his horse
supplied with forage. As he was superintending the cutting up of the
oat sheaves, the proprietor--whom he had not yet seen--came up to him.
After a few introductory remarks between them, his host asked him in
English where he was going.
He replied in the same language, with as pure an accent as the
Englishman’s own, that he was going to Krugersdorp.
‘Have you heard the glorious news?’ asked the host.
‘No; what is it?’
‘The Boers and Jameson have met, and Jameson has defeated the Boers,
killing three hundred of them.’
Steve turned pale in the dark. He could hardly speak at first. At last
he managed to say,--
‘How do you know this?’
‘I have just come back from our post-office, where I had been to get
some news. I there met a man who had left the battlefield at noon; it
was near Krugersdorp; he had been riding post-haste to carry despatches
somewhere. He says it was an awful sight to see it. Jameson’s troops
were simply mowing the Boers down with Maxims and Nordenfelds. The
Boers had no Maxims or field-pieces, and could simply do nothing with
their rifles against the troopers.’
‘But who is this despatch rider? Can his story be believed?’
‘Oh, as to that, there can be no doubt of it, he is one of Jameson’s
own officers; his name is Captain Thatcher, so it must be true. It is
a glorious day for Englishmen. Amajuba has been wiped out at last,
and the English flag shall now once more fly over the Transvaal.’ He
thought he was speaking to an Englishman. Steve answered not a word.
He walked away. He felt he could not restrain himself much longer in
this man’s presence. He walked blindly away towards the open veld. It
was moonlight, but he saw nothing about him. He could only see in his
mind’s eye, on an open plain, a battlefield, and on this battlefield he
could see hundreds of his beloved countrymen lying--dead--murdered--by
the freebooters. Oh, what a fearful sight. What homes are rendered
desolate to-night in this country? Can it be true? Alas, I am afraid
it is only too true. Jameson’s troops are well prepared and armed.
Those terrible Maxims _mowed_ down thousands of Matabeles in the same
way, and our poor Burghers were unprepared. There was no time for them
to wait for cannon and Maxims to come up; they had to try and stop
Jameson’s advance as best they could, before he entered Johannesburg;
and, unprepared as they were, they fell into the terrible death-trap
laid for them.
‘Oh, my God, why hast Thou permitted this? What hast Thy people done
that Thou should desert them now in their hour of need? Oh, God of
Mercy, have mercy on Thy people. Jesus, it can surely not be Thy will
that these murdering, grasping, gold-worshipping, godless freebooters
should slay Thy people in this way. Oh, Father in Heaven, it is surely
Thy will--nay, it _is_ Thy will, that we should become a people, a
nation, FREE and UNITED. God, Thou hast shown it in the past; Thou
hast led them on step by step, day by day, year by year, and Thou hast
always given them glorious victory in their greatest time of peril.
Thou hast ever been their salvation; wilt Thou desert them now? Nay,
Thou art not a God who does anything by half; Thou wilt not leave Thy
work incomplete. Oh, God of Battles, show Thine wondrous power once
more, and save Thy people yet.’
With what earnestness did Steve pray. He prayed and wrestled with God
as he had never prayed or wrestled before. When he left his landlord
he was faint with grief; great sobs of woe welled up from his very
heart; but now his faith in God once more brought comfort and hope. He
believed that God would not desert his people.
He went to a stream which he heard rippling near by, pulled off his
clothes and had a moonlight bath, after which he felt so much refreshed
that he thought he could sleep now. Going to his room, he once more
uttered a prayer for help and guidance, and fell peacefully asleep,
trusting all to his God.
He was awake at earliest daybreak, and, after rousing his landlord to
pay his bill, he resumed his journey.
CHAPTER XIII
THE BATTLE OF DOORNKOP
Steve’s horse went bravely on, but with slackened speed. We will not
follow his further journey too closely; he met many people, all telling
different tales as to the fortunes of war. One confirmed Captain
Thatcher’s tale, while others totally denied it.
Steve now found himself in the vicinity of Krugersdorp. It was
Thursday, the third day since he had left his friends on the banks of
the Vaal. He had travelled about one hundred and fifty miles or more
during the forty-eight hours since he had left them.
He was riding along as fast as his horse would go; for he knew he was
reaching his journey’s end, and he could restrain his impatience no
longer. He saw a man galloping towards him in a slanting direction,
which would take him towards Krugersdorp. As the man approached near
enough, he recognised him to be a newspaper reporter whom he had known
in Pretoria.
He stopped the reporter and inquired eagerly for news.
‘Oh! the Burghers are holding their own bravely. Since yesterday they
have kept Jameson dancing about, trying to force his way through to
Johannesburg, but in vain; Jameson can’t get any nearer Johannesburg.
The Burghers are gradually enclosing him, and soon they will have him
and his freebooters at their mercy.’
‘Thank God! but how many Burghers have been killed?’
‘Up to now, two or three at the most, and as many wounded, while
Jameson has lost heavily all along.’
‘What? You are fooling me!’
‘Why?’
‘Last night I heard a report, spread by one Captain Thatcher, a
despatch rider of Jameson’s, that three hundred Boers were killed, and
that Jameson had beaten the Boers.’
‘It is a d----d lie!’ was the impolite but emphatic denial. ‘You can
take my word for it that not more than two or three Boers are killed,
and one was killed by accident in the dark by his own people, while the
Boers have never been beaten yet by Jameson; on the contrary, the Boers
have held Jameson in check all along, and have only been waiting for
reinforcements and their artillery to carry Jameson and his troopers by
storm.’
The reporter here stopped, and sat looking at Steve open-mouthed. The
antics of this young man were really amusing, to say the least of it.
He had rolled off his horse, and was now lying on his back, kicking his
feet in the air, and now he was capering about on the grass, throwing
summersault upon summersault, all the while shouting and laughing like
one possessed.