CHAPTER XXIII

MIJNHEER MEYER CLAIMS HIS HORSE, ONLY TO GIVE IT UP AGAIN--THE SONG OF THE BOER

During the last few chapters we have almost lost sight of our hero’s daily life. But it must not be forgotten that we are not writing a mere romance, but are recording a narrative of real life, earnest and real. Nor must it be forgotten or lost sight of, that the real object of the work is to tell of the hopes of future national existence, of the patriotism and love of people and country of a young Afrikander brought up from his youth with the idea that his race is struggling for a place amongst the nations of the world, and that he must do all in his power to further that object. Therefore, we have during the last few chapters told of the struggles of his countrymen towards that object, in which he so greatly sympathised, and of his thoughts and opinions on those struggles. We have been simply recording his thoughts, his joys for victories won and troubles overcome and avoided by his race. The story of his country is his own story. We shall resume the thread of his own life where we left it off, having brought the political question of the day that so much interested him up to date. After Steve had sent off the telegram to his mother informing her that Johannesburg had surrendered, he thought he could do no better than to take his horse (or rather Mijnheer Meyer’s horse) out for a little exercise, especially as the horse had been having a good rest, and had been well fed since his arrival at Pretoria. While Steve was riding proudly along the streets of Pretoria on the beautiful stallion, the thought which had troubled him before reoccurred to him again. How was he going to return the horse to its owner? He had made inquiries as to the whereabouts of Mijnheer Meyer, but owing to his speedy departure from Krugersdorp with the prisoners of war, he had been unable to find the gentleman in question, as the commando with which Mijnheer Meyer served remained in that neighbourhood.

Suddenly Steve heard an exclamation of surprise.

‘_Alle magty Kerel_, where did you get that horse?’

Steve saw that this question was addressed to him, and he also felt that it was a most awkward question to be asked. He could not answer the question, so he asked another.

‘Why do you ask, sir?’

‘Because it seems to me I know the horse,’ was the reply of the man, who was a fine-looking, good-natured, elderly man. At his side walked a stalwart, broad-shouldered young man, who seemed strong enough to fell any ox with a blow of his hard fist. This young man seemed to gaze on the horse with great interest.

‘Sir, if you know the horse, you can perhaps tell me where I can find its owner, as I wish to return him his property,’ said Steve.

‘Well, you won’t have far to go to find his owner, for here is the owner himself,’ said the old man, pointing to his companion, who it was apparent at first sight must be his son.

‘Perhaps you will allow me to ask your name, sir?’ said Steve, suspiciously.

‘I am Meyer,’ was the reply.

Steve did not answer until he had dismounted, when he walked up to the young man with the reins on his arm, and said,--

‘Mijnheer Meyer, I hope you will forgive me, but I came in possession of your horse under most peculiar circumstances; I trust you will accept my explanation and allow me to pay for the use of your horse, and any other reasonable expense incurred, or to be incurred.’ And Steve told in a few words how he had come in possession of the horse.

The old man and his son did not say much, but asked Steve if he had been in time to see any of the fighting; to which Steve replied by telling them that he had taken part in the fight at Doornkop.

‘Can you prove this?’

‘Yes, sir, easily; as it happens that the field-cornet under whom I served is near by, if you will take a short walk with me I will take you to him.’ This was done in silence. Steve introduced Mijnheer Meyer to the field-cornet, and at the request of the former left them together.

After ten minutes’ talk to the field-cornet and a short conference between the old man and his son, they walked up to Steve, when the old man took Steve by the hand, and warmly shaking it, said,--

‘Mijnheer Joubert, my son feels happy that his horse should have served to bring such a brave young fellow to the assistance of his country. Your field-cornet has told me how bravely you fought at Doornkop, and we have had a letter from my daughter in which she told me how, and why, she had lent you the horse. You have done well, and my son thinks you have taken such good care of the horse, judging by appearances, and that you ride him so well, that he wishes you to keep him as a remembrance of Doornkop.’

‘But, sir, that would be too much kindness on his part, much as I have learnt to love the noble animal. I cannot consent to rob him of the best horse in Pretoria.’

‘Never mind, he shall not lose by it: I shall see to that; I have one as good as this, which he shall have,’ replied the old man, in a way which showed Steve that to refuse would be taken as an insult.

‘I accept your kind offer on one condition,’ replied Steve, turning to the smiling young man, ‘and that is, that you will accept this little offer in token of my gratitude,’ and he took off his only extravagance--his gold watch and chain--and handed it to the young man, who received it as graciously as he had given his horse.

Steve was indeed glad to be the owner of the beautiful horse, all the more so as he had learned to love the animal that had borne him so enduringly and so swiftly, and had given him his heart’s desire--the opportunity to strike a blow for his country.

Mijnheer Meyer and his son stayed for a week in Pretoria, during which they and Steve were almost inseparable, as a great friendship had arisen between the young men, and the old man had learned to love Steve as a son.

But soon the order came for all Burghers to return home: amongst others, Mijnheer Meyer and his son--as only a guard of a few score Burghers was to be retained for a little while longer; and a temporary parting came for the new-found friends.

I can conclude this chapter in no more fitting way than by quoting here--

THE SONG OF THE BOER

O’er hill and o’er dale, O’er mountain and vale Went a cry: ‘For our dear country’s right, Ye must arm for the fight, To do or to die!’

And ev’ry man heard, And straight booted and spurred To war ’gainst the ‘Queen of the Sea’; ‘For our children and wives We will lay down our lives, Or live to be FREE--to be Free!’

CHORUS.--Then ride! ride! ride! The Asvogel screams o’er the lea, And to-night I may rest, With his beak in my breast, While my children may orphans be.

With cannon and drum, The invader hath come In his might; But our courage ne’er fails, Nor no heart ever quails At the perilous sight.

Now the roar of the battle And musketry’s rattle Goes up to the vault of the sky; While the plain gleameth red With the blood of the dead, And the blood of those doomed to die.

CHORUS--

But the God of Battles had fought on our side, And our country so loved is free; For the strength of His arm doth with us abide, And we thank Him on bended knee.

He hath scattered our foes in the pride of their ways, And shielded the lowly Boer; To Him be the glory, to Him be the praise For ever and ever more.

CHORUS.--Then ride! ride! ride! For my loved ones are waiting for me, And to-night I shall bide With my vrouw by my side, And my little ones round my knee.[1]

[1] The above is a composition of Mr Luscombe Searelle’s, which was published in _The Press_ of Pretoria some time ago, and is taken over from that paper.