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.