Chapter Twenty Three.

Chapter Twenty Three.Rivers and Margetts hurried down the steep descent without pausing to pick their way, and reached the bottom just as the traveller, whose horse was evidently tired out, passed them at a broken-winded canter, which was the utmost speed, apparently, to which the unlucky animal could be urged.“Hallo!” shouted George,—“hallo, Hardy, if it really is you! Here are two old friends of yours, who would like to have some talk with you, if you can spare them the time.”The horseman drew his rein in evident surprise.“What! Rivers, Margetts!” he exclaimed. “Well, this is a piece of good luck. I was just thinking that the best thing I could do would be to ride round by Dykeman’s Hollow and ask you to help me. What brings you here?”“Oh, we have been confined within the bounds of Rogers’ property for several weeks, and we made up a party to-day to come here, more for something to do than anything else.”“And why are you confined within the bounds of Dykeman’s Hollow?” asked Hardy; “and who has confined you?”“Well, it is more prudence than necessity,” said George. “We don’t want to provoke the Dutchmen to attack us.”“You talk riddles,” said Hardy, “but I have no time to solve them. Can you tell me where Praetorius,—the great man among the Boers,—can you tell me where he is to be found?”“I don’t know with any certainty,” said George; “I expect he has gone southward with the others.”“Southward! what do you mean?” exclaimed Hardy hastily. “What can he have gone south for?”“Well, he didn’t tell me,” said Redgy, “but I think I can form a pretty good guess for what he has gone. It is to attack the English troops.”“English troops!” repeated Hardy in evident anxiety and alarm; “what English troops? I did not know that there were any in this neighbourhood.”“We hear that Sir George Colley is marching to the relief of Praetoria with, some say 1000, some 1500 men. Mr Rogers thinks he has got as far as Newcastle, if not still farther north,” said Rivers.“The relief of Praetoria!” again cried Hardy. “Is Pretoria besieged? Do you mean that the rebellion has actually broken out?”“No doubt of that,” replied Margetts; “that is an old story now. The English have for two or three weeks past been besieged by the Boers in all the large towns,—Praetoria, Potchefstroom, Standerton,—and there has been sharp fighting in several places. About the end of December, 250 men belonging to the 94th Regiment were killed or taken prisoners at Bronker’s Spruit, near Middelburgh.”“How did that come about?” asked Hardy.“Well, I suppose Colonel Anstruther didn’t know that there was any chance of his being attacked,—didn’t know, in fact, that any outbreak was likely to take place,—or his neglect of precautions would seem to be of a piece with what we remember. He was marching, with a number of waggons and 250 men, as Redgy said, along the road, his train being half a mile long, when, at a place called Bronker’s Spruit, two Dutchmen rode up to him and handed him a paper, which was found to be a letter from Joubert, who calls himself the Boer General. It stated that war had been declared between the Republic of the Transvaal and England, and called on him to surrender his men and waggons. I suppose Colonel Anstruther hardly thought that the summons was seriously meant; at all events, there was no superior force visible, to which he would be unable to offer resistance, and he only replied by forming his men in column and desiring them to move on, but—”“But Joubert had planted his sharpshooters under cover everywhere round, and they opened their fire on the soldiers before they knew of their presence.”“That was it, certainly. In ten minutes half the men had been shot down. They were entangled in a marsh, and had not been able to get sight of any enemy to shoot at in return.”“Exactly; and then, I suppose, Colonel Anstruther surrendered?”“Precisely; that is what he did, and he and his surviving men were taken prisoners.”“He could do nothing else. But I am afraid this will prevent any good being done by my mission. You say this occurred some weeks ago?”“Yes,” said Margetts; “the catastrophe near Middelburgh took place on the 28th of last month, and this is the 28th of January.”“Why, the 28th of last month was just about the time when I set out for Bloemfontein!” cried Hardy. “It is most extraordinary that I never heard this before!”“What have you been to Bloemfontein for?” asked Rivers.“I was sent there by the authorities at Natal,” answered Hardy, “in consequence of a message from the Colonial Office in England. The Colonial Secretary wanted to come to terms with these Boers. I suppose he thought (as every one else thought) that the annexation had been a most foolish procedure, and that it would be better to come to some reasonable understanding with the Boers than keep up an irritating quarrel with them.”“Small blame to him for that,” said George. “Well, go on.”“He thought that Brandt, the President of the Orange Free State, would be a good person to mediate between us and the Boers, and he sent me with a letter to him.”“Did you see him?” asked Margetts.“Yes; I had two or three very satisfactory interviews with him. He seemed quite sincere in the desire he expressed of preventing bloodshed, and I am the bearer of a letter from him to Praetorius, which, as I was in hopes, would prevent any outbreak of hostilities. He certainly did not know, when I left Bloemfontein, that fighting was going on. I should be almost afraid it will be too late now.”“Is it not extraordinary that no message was sent either from Durban or London, to stop any proceedings until the result of the negotiations with Mr Brandt were known?” asked Rivers.“It seems so to me, certainly,” replied Hardy; “but very likely there are reasons for it, of which I know nothing. Well, anyhow, I had better carry President Brandt’s letter to Praetorius. It is only carrying out my orders, and cannot do any harm.”“Not to any one but yourself, Hardy,” said Margetts; “but I am not sure it would be safe for you to put yourself in the way of these Boers. The leaders among them seem to behave well enough, but many of the subordinate officers, if one may call them so, are rude and brutal, and might shoot any Englishman who approached them, without inquiry and without listening to any representations.”“You are right, Redgy, I am afraid,” said Rivers. “I think Hardy had, at all events, better go with us to Dykeman’s Hollow and consult Mr Mansen. He might go with him to Praetorius, and he is so well known to the Boers—indeed, he is one of them himself—that there could be no danger in his company.”“Are the Mansens at Dykeman’s Hollow?” asked Hardy.“Yes, they are Mr Rogers’ guests; but they are nearer to us than that. They are up on the Kop yonder, though the trees hide them from our sight. Leave your horse here in Redgy’s keeping, and I will go with you up to the Kop.”Hardy accordingly dismounted, and he and George were just commencing the ascent, when three or four men, whose uniform showed that they belonged to the 58th Regiment, came running down one of the narrow passes at the utmost of their speed, close to the spot where the three friends were standing. They had evidently just escaped from some great danger. Their trousers were covered with mud, so that the regimental stripe could hardly be distinguished; their jackets were cut and stained with blood; two of them had lost their caps, and all had thrown away their arms, which would have impeded their flight. As they reached the corner of the road, they came in sight of George and Hardy, and would have turned another way, if the last-named had not called to them.“Hallo, my lads!” he shouted; “what has happened, and where are you running to?”Hearing themselves addressed in English, the fugitives stopped, and one of them, a corporal from his dress, answered,—“There has been a brush with the enemy at Laing’s Nek, if you know where that is.”“I know it well enough,” returned Hardy; “it is a narrow defile, filled with rocky boulders—just the sort of place where these Dutchmen would take up a position, quite out of sight, and shoot down our soldiers at their leisure. You don’t mean to say, I suppose, that you attacked the Boers there?”“Yes, we did, sir,” answered the corporal, “and to our cost. Half our men were killed or wounded in no time, and we couldn’t see a single Dutchman to fire at in return. The rest contrived to retreat to the camp, or there wouldn’t have been a man left alive. We were cut off by a party of mounted Boers, and offered to surrender to them. But they paid no heed, and fired on us, killing all but two or three. They are after us still, I expect. They couldn’t follow us on horseback up the mountain paths, but they are riding round, I believe, by another road. Can you shelter as?”“I suppose in strictness we oughtn’t to,” said Margetts. “But we can’t see our countrymen shot down in cold blood; I’d rather take the chance of being shot myself. Come along with me, my lads; you can hide in the caves under Kolman’s Kop. The Boers, unless they come from this neighbourhood, won’t know anything about them; and they will hardly venture in there after you, if they do. Only we must make all possible haste.”He mounted Hardy’s horse and rode off at a trot, the men following him as well as they were able.Rivers and Hardy watched them as they hurried along under the side of a steep cliff, and then turned into a narrow defile.“He is right, I suppose,” said George; “we are bound not to interfere; but if the laws of civilised warfare are set aside, as it seems they are by these Boers, they cannot expect us to observe them so rigidly as giving these poor fellows up to be shot would amount to. Don’t you think so?”“We have only their word that the Boers would give no quarter,” said Hardy, “and it may be that they didn’t understand what our fellows said. Still, I can’t blame Margetts, if that is what you mean. But we had better make our way to Dykeman’s Hollow, hadn’t we? I suppose your friends will have gone home by this time.”“All right!” said Rivers; “come this way.”They began climbing the steep path, and were nearly half-way up when they heard voices calling to them, and looking down saw a party of mounted Boers, who were levelling their rifles at them and shouting to them to descend.“What do you want with us?” called out Hardy in Dutch. “We are not soldiers, and have nothing to do with this war!”“You are English—I can tell that by your speech,” answered the man who had hailed them. “I want to ask some questions of you, to which I mean to have an answer. You had better come down at once, or we will send some bullets to fetch you.”This was evidently no idle threat Half a dozen Boers had already taken their aim, and the path at the point at which the Englishmen had been stopped was without shelter of any kind. There was no help for it. They had to retrace their steps, and presently found themselves face to face with the leader of the Boers, who proved to be no other than Rivers’ old acquaintance, Rudolf Kransberg.“Ha! it is you, Mynheer Rivers?” he remarked with a scowl. “You are an English soldier, I think, though your companion said you were not.”“Iwasan English soldier in the Zulu war,” returned George; “but I left the army at its conclusion, and am now a clergyman of the Church of England.”“I don’t care for that. I want to know whether you have seen some runaways from the battle that has been fought at Laing’s Nek. We are in pursuit of them, and they must, I think, have passed this way.”“We have told you that we are not belligerents,” replied George; “you have no right to question us.”“Ha! I see you will not answer, because you have seen your countrymen, and know where they are. As to having no right, we will see about that. We are at war with the English, and the English are our enemies, though they may choose to say they are not. I shall make you my prisoner. And this person,” he continued, turning to Hardy, “who is he?”“I am an Englishman, like Mr Rivers,” answered Hardy; “like him, too, not a belligerent. Your President, Mynheer Praetorius, would not, I am sure, approve your proceedings.”“You think so, hey? Well, you may see him at Laing’s Nek, and find out how much respect he will have for your rights?”“We are quite willing to be taken before him,” said Hardy. “We will accompany you to the camp, and answer, without objection, any questions he may put to us.”Rudolf appeared to be somewhat puzzled by this suggestion, but saw no reason why he should not agree to it. Indeed, it had already occurred to him that George Rivers was the stepson of Ludwig Mansen, a man well known to, and respected by, the Boer leaders. Any violence used towards a near relative of his would probably be condemned by his superiors. And he further reflected that he had no kind of evidence that these two Englishmen had really encountered the soldiers, or knew where they were. It was also evidently no use to attempt any further pursuit of the runaways, every trace of whom had disappeared.“Very well,” he said, after a few minutes of silence, “you shall go with us to Laing’s Nek, and if the President is still there, and chooses to see you, he will do so. You can ride on the saddles of two of the men, but, I warn you, you will be shot without mercy if you make the slightest attempt to escape.”They mounted accordingly, and the party rode off. George, who understood Hardy’s manoeuvre, by which he would get access to Praetorius without attracting general attention, which it was his special object to avoid, made no demur to the arrangement. He further reflected that, as soon as he reached the Boer camp, he could ask for an interview with Vander Heyden, who would, no doubt, at once set him at liberty and grant him an escort to Dykeman’s Hollow. Nothing worse, therefore, was likely to happen to either of them than a ride to the Dutch camp and a few hours of detention there; and to this he was so far from objecting, that he was particularly anxious to learn from an authentic source what had really taken place and was likely to ensue.They rode in profound silence, the Boers being habitually taciturn, and George and Hardy anxious under present circumstances to say as little as possible. Presently the narrow defile running between lofty rocks and along the margin of mountain streams was passed, and they entered the broken and wild country which extends between Newcastle and the border of the Transvaal. After an hour’s ride, which would have been protracted to twice that length but for the Boers’ knowledge of the ground, they reached the camp, where some five or six thousand men had established themselves. George was at once struck with the difference between it and the camps to which he had been accustomed. There was an utter absence of the military discipline to which he had been used. It bore more the appearance of a great camp meeting, at which every person provided for his own lodging and maintenance; and yet there was a readiness to carry out the orders of the general officers in command, which seemed to take the place of the regular routine of a camp. As they rode over the ground where the battle had been fought that morning, they passed numbers of men employed in the melancholy duties which follow only too surely on an armed encounter. Wounded men were being conveyed on stretchers to the farmhouses and inns, which had been turned into temporary hospitals; others, whose injuries were too severe to permit of removal, were being ministered to on the ground as well as circumstances allowed; while several parties were engaged in digging graves to receive the dead bodies which lay scattered in all directions. One of these companies was working under the direction of Henryk Vander Heyden; and the latter no sooner perceived the two Englishmen than he rode up to them, and, after a friendly salutation, inquired what had brought them to Laing’s Nek.“This gentleman, Mynheer Kransberg,—I am not aware of his military rank,—but he has brought us here as his prisoners,” replied Rivers.“Prisoners! You have not been—”“We have not been interfering in military matters at all,” interposed George. “We had given you our parole not to do so, and, I need not say, have not broken it. We told Mr Kransberg so.”“Then how comes this, Lieutenant Kransberg?” said Vander Heyden haughtily. “Mr Rivers holds a protection which at my instance was granted to him by the President, which exempts him from all interference on the part of the military authorities.”“He did not produce it,” said Kransberg sullenly.“He had no time to do so,” interposed Hardy. “But if you would grant me one moment, Commandant Vander Heyden,—that, I believe, is your proper title,—I will explain why the protection was not shown to Mynheer Kransberg. It was because I wished to avail myself of his escort hither. I am the bearer of a letter from Mr Brandt, the President of the Orange Free State, to your President, Mynheer Praetorius, which he was in hopes would prevent the outbreak of war. I regret to find I have arrived too late for that.”“I regret also, Mr Hardy, to say that you have. We have been attacked, and we have driven back our enemies with heavy loss. But we should have preferred to gain our object without spilling of blood.”“Just so,” said Hardy; “and you would prefer to gain it now without further bloodshed?”“Undoubtedly,” assented Vander Heyden.“Then will you obtain me an audience with the President, at which I can still present this letter? If the terms it proposes should be acceptable to him, an armistice may be agreed on, and the question of a settlement between the English Government and that of the Transvaal may be discussed.”“I would take you to him this instant,” returned the Dutchman, “were it in my power to do so. But he is not at present in the camp. He has to-day gone northwards on business of urgent importance, nor can I say, without inquiry, when he will return. In his absence I fear the Vice-President and the Commandant-General Joubert could not discuss—certainly could not decide—a question of this importance. But if you will come with me, I will take you to General Joubert’s quarters.”“I will go at once; but I should like to ask Rivers what he proposes to do, or rather, what you advise so far as he is concerned.”“He can, of course, return to Dykeman’s Hollow if he wishes it, and I will send an escort with him. But I believe they are greatly in want of clergymen to attend the sick and dying in the English camp. Perhaps, if he knew that, he would prefer going there. I need not say he will be at full liberty to do so. But we can speak to him after you have seen Mynheer Joubert. We had better lose no time in going thither.”Hardy accordingly followed Vander Heyden across the rugged and stony ground on which the action had been fought that morning, to a tent—it was the only one in the camp—where the Commandant-General had fixed his quarters. No difficulty was made about obtaining an interview, and Hardy almost immediately found himself in the presence of the rebel leader, as well as in that of another bearded and grave-looking personage, who, he was informed, was Kruger, the Vice-President of the newly-proclaimed Republic.Hardy looked with interest at the Boer general, who, although he had not at that time attained all the celebrity now attaching to his name, had already achieved some brilliant successes. His family, as Hardy subsequently learned, was of Huguenot extraction, having migrated to the Cape at the time of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. But intermarriages with the Dutch in succeeding generations had had their effect, and Joubert had all the appearance of a genuine Boer. Like his fathers, he had followed the calling of a farmer, and had had no experience of warfare, except with native tribes. But he was possessed of rare military ability, and if he had had the advantage of professional training, would have made a great general.In personal appearance he was of middle height and powerful frame, with an unusually dark complexion, a beard and moustache, and features expressing intelligence and good humour. He was apparently somewhat advanced in years, though he had not passed the vigour of life. He received Hardy with civility, and, after he had heard his story, expressed his regret, as Vander Heyden had done, that the President was not in the camp, so that the matter might be immediately dealt with. Praetorius was expected back very shortly, and then instant attention should be given to it.“Meanwhile, be assured,” he said, “that we desire peace with England, and are willing to concede everything to her, except our national independence. You may not, perhaps, be aware that when the Volksraad declared that the Transvaal Republic was again established, it passed several resolutions, which may well form the basis of negotiations with the agents of the British Government.”“I have only just arrived in the country after an absence of several weeks,” said Hardy, “and have therefore had no opportunity of learning what those resolutions were.”“They are soon recited,” said Joubert. “The first proclaimed a general amnesty for all past offences. The second ratified all the acts of the British Government up to the date of the proclamation, and the third declared that questions relating to foreign policy might be made matter of special discussion. I think you will allow that these resolutions are not framed in any spirit hostile to your Government.”“I must allow that they are not,” replied Hardy. “I should certainly hope that they might form the basis of negotiations satisfactory to both parties. That was also the opinion of the President of the Orange Free State.”“I may add, it is also the opinion of our countrymen in Holland, who have sent an urgent entreaty to the Queen of England that our national independence may be restored to us. The same sentiment has been expressed in other European countries. But I should hardly have thought that such a petition would require foreign support, when it had once been submitted to the English people. They have ever been the first, the most uncompromising of all nations in the assertion of their own liberty. Why should they grudge to others that which they value so highly themselves?”“You speak well, sir,” said Hardy. “I am unable to deny the force of your appeal. We may hope that when the President returns, communications may be opened with the English Government which may lead to a settlement honourable and satisfactory to both parties. But meanwhile, ought not all hostile operations to be suspended? They could not facilitate any negotiations that might be set on foot, but they might seriously impede them.”“If the English general proposes an armistice, it will certainly be agreed to,” said Joubert. “On our side we have no need to make any such proposition. If we are not attacked, we shall not ourselves make any attack. The British have only to do the same, and all fighting will be suspended. But, of course, if we are assailed, we shall repel the assault.”Hardy bowed and took his leave. On returning to the place where he had left George Rivers, he found that the latter had already taken his departure for the British camp, where, as the reader has heard, his services were greatly needed. A few days passed without any resumption of hostilities, when, on the 8th of February, Sir George Colley unexpectedly sallied out of his camp, and the action at Hooge’s Chain, between Laing’s Nek and Newcastle, on the banks of the Ingogo, was fought, with a result as discreditable and damaging to the English arms as that of Laing’s Nek had been.“What has come to our generals and soldiers I cannot think,” said Hardy to George, when he encountered him after the battle on the field, whither both had gone to minister to the wounded and dying. “They seem to me absolutely to court defeat. The only comfort is, that they will hardly make a third attempt after two such calamitous failures.”

Rivers and Margetts hurried down the steep descent without pausing to pick their way, and reached the bottom just as the traveller, whose horse was evidently tired out, passed them at a broken-winded canter, which was the utmost speed, apparently, to which the unlucky animal could be urged.

“Hallo!” shouted George,—“hallo, Hardy, if it really is you! Here are two old friends of yours, who would like to have some talk with you, if you can spare them the time.”

The horseman drew his rein in evident surprise.

“What! Rivers, Margetts!” he exclaimed. “Well, this is a piece of good luck. I was just thinking that the best thing I could do would be to ride round by Dykeman’s Hollow and ask you to help me. What brings you here?”

“Oh, we have been confined within the bounds of Rogers’ property for several weeks, and we made up a party to-day to come here, more for something to do than anything else.”

“And why are you confined within the bounds of Dykeman’s Hollow?” asked Hardy; “and who has confined you?”

“Well, it is more prudence than necessity,” said George. “We don’t want to provoke the Dutchmen to attack us.”

“You talk riddles,” said Hardy, “but I have no time to solve them. Can you tell me where Praetorius,—the great man among the Boers,—can you tell me where he is to be found?”

“I don’t know with any certainty,” said George; “I expect he has gone southward with the others.”

“Southward! what do you mean?” exclaimed Hardy hastily. “What can he have gone south for?”

“Well, he didn’t tell me,” said Redgy, “but I think I can form a pretty good guess for what he has gone. It is to attack the English troops.”

“English troops!” repeated Hardy in evident anxiety and alarm; “what English troops? I did not know that there were any in this neighbourhood.”

“We hear that Sir George Colley is marching to the relief of Praetoria with, some say 1000, some 1500 men. Mr Rogers thinks he has got as far as Newcastle, if not still farther north,” said Rivers.

“The relief of Praetoria!” again cried Hardy. “Is Pretoria besieged? Do you mean that the rebellion has actually broken out?”

“No doubt of that,” replied Margetts; “that is an old story now. The English have for two or three weeks past been besieged by the Boers in all the large towns,—Praetoria, Potchefstroom, Standerton,—and there has been sharp fighting in several places. About the end of December, 250 men belonging to the 94th Regiment were killed or taken prisoners at Bronker’s Spruit, near Middelburgh.”

“How did that come about?” asked Hardy.

“Well, I suppose Colonel Anstruther didn’t know that there was any chance of his being attacked,—didn’t know, in fact, that any outbreak was likely to take place,—or his neglect of precautions would seem to be of a piece with what we remember. He was marching, with a number of waggons and 250 men, as Redgy said, along the road, his train being half a mile long, when, at a place called Bronker’s Spruit, two Dutchmen rode up to him and handed him a paper, which was found to be a letter from Joubert, who calls himself the Boer General. It stated that war had been declared between the Republic of the Transvaal and England, and called on him to surrender his men and waggons. I suppose Colonel Anstruther hardly thought that the summons was seriously meant; at all events, there was no superior force visible, to which he would be unable to offer resistance, and he only replied by forming his men in column and desiring them to move on, but—”

“But Joubert had planted his sharpshooters under cover everywhere round, and they opened their fire on the soldiers before they knew of their presence.”

“That was it, certainly. In ten minutes half the men had been shot down. They were entangled in a marsh, and had not been able to get sight of any enemy to shoot at in return.”

“Exactly; and then, I suppose, Colonel Anstruther surrendered?”

“Precisely; that is what he did, and he and his surviving men were taken prisoners.”

“He could do nothing else. But I am afraid this will prevent any good being done by my mission. You say this occurred some weeks ago?”

“Yes,” said Margetts; “the catastrophe near Middelburgh took place on the 28th of last month, and this is the 28th of January.”

“Why, the 28th of last month was just about the time when I set out for Bloemfontein!” cried Hardy. “It is most extraordinary that I never heard this before!”

“What have you been to Bloemfontein for?” asked Rivers.

“I was sent there by the authorities at Natal,” answered Hardy, “in consequence of a message from the Colonial Office in England. The Colonial Secretary wanted to come to terms with these Boers. I suppose he thought (as every one else thought) that the annexation had been a most foolish procedure, and that it would be better to come to some reasonable understanding with the Boers than keep up an irritating quarrel with them.”

“Small blame to him for that,” said George. “Well, go on.”

“He thought that Brandt, the President of the Orange Free State, would be a good person to mediate between us and the Boers, and he sent me with a letter to him.”

“Did you see him?” asked Margetts.

“Yes; I had two or three very satisfactory interviews with him. He seemed quite sincere in the desire he expressed of preventing bloodshed, and I am the bearer of a letter from him to Praetorius, which, as I was in hopes, would prevent any outbreak of hostilities. He certainly did not know, when I left Bloemfontein, that fighting was going on. I should be almost afraid it will be too late now.”

“Is it not extraordinary that no message was sent either from Durban or London, to stop any proceedings until the result of the negotiations with Mr Brandt were known?” asked Rivers.

“It seems so to me, certainly,” replied Hardy; “but very likely there are reasons for it, of which I know nothing. Well, anyhow, I had better carry President Brandt’s letter to Praetorius. It is only carrying out my orders, and cannot do any harm.”

“Not to any one but yourself, Hardy,” said Margetts; “but I am not sure it would be safe for you to put yourself in the way of these Boers. The leaders among them seem to behave well enough, but many of the subordinate officers, if one may call them so, are rude and brutal, and might shoot any Englishman who approached them, without inquiry and without listening to any representations.”

“You are right, Redgy, I am afraid,” said Rivers. “I think Hardy had, at all events, better go with us to Dykeman’s Hollow and consult Mr Mansen. He might go with him to Praetorius, and he is so well known to the Boers—indeed, he is one of them himself—that there could be no danger in his company.”

“Are the Mansens at Dykeman’s Hollow?” asked Hardy.

“Yes, they are Mr Rogers’ guests; but they are nearer to us than that. They are up on the Kop yonder, though the trees hide them from our sight. Leave your horse here in Redgy’s keeping, and I will go with you up to the Kop.”

Hardy accordingly dismounted, and he and George were just commencing the ascent, when three or four men, whose uniform showed that they belonged to the 58th Regiment, came running down one of the narrow passes at the utmost of their speed, close to the spot where the three friends were standing. They had evidently just escaped from some great danger. Their trousers were covered with mud, so that the regimental stripe could hardly be distinguished; their jackets were cut and stained with blood; two of them had lost their caps, and all had thrown away their arms, which would have impeded their flight. As they reached the corner of the road, they came in sight of George and Hardy, and would have turned another way, if the last-named had not called to them.

“Hallo, my lads!” he shouted; “what has happened, and where are you running to?”

Hearing themselves addressed in English, the fugitives stopped, and one of them, a corporal from his dress, answered,—

“There has been a brush with the enemy at Laing’s Nek, if you know where that is.”

“I know it well enough,” returned Hardy; “it is a narrow defile, filled with rocky boulders—just the sort of place where these Dutchmen would take up a position, quite out of sight, and shoot down our soldiers at their leisure. You don’t mean to say, I suppose, that you attacked the Boers there?”

“Yes, we did, sir,” answered the corporal, “and to our cost. Half our men were killed or wounded in no time, and we couldn’t see a single Dutchman to fire at in return. The rest contrived to retreat to the camp, or there wouldn’t have been a man left alive. We were cut off by a party of mounted Boers, and offered to surrender to them. But they paid no heed, and fired on us, killing all but two or three. They are after us still, I expect. They couldn’t follow us on horseback up the mountain paths, but they are riding round, I believe, by another road. Can you shelter as?”

“I suppose in strictness we oughtn’t to,” said Margetts. “But we can’t see our countrymen shot down in cold blood; I’d rather take the chance of being shot myself. Come along with me, my lads; you can hide in the caves under Kolman’s Kop. The Boers, unless they come from this neighbourhood, won’t know anything about them; and they will hardly venture in there after you, if they do. Only we must make all possible haste.”

He mounted Hardy’s horse and rode off at a trot, the men following him as well as they were able.

Rivers and Hardy watched them as they hurried along under the side of a steep cliff, and then turned into a narrow defile.

“He is right, I suppose,” said George; “we are bound not to interfere; but if the laws of civilised warfare are set aside, as it seems they are by these Boers, they cannot expect us to observe them so rigidly as giving these poor fellows up to be shot would amount to. Don’t you think so?”

“We have only their word that the Boers would give no quarter,” said Hardy, “and it may be that they didn’t understand what our fellows said. Still, I can’t blame Margetts, if that is what you mean. But we had better make our way to Dykeman’s Hollow, hadn’t we? I suppose your friends will have gone home by this time.”

“All right!” said Rivers; “come this way.”

They began climbing the steep path, and were nearly half-way up when they heard voices calling to them, and looking down saw a party of mounted Boers, who were levelling their rifles at them and shouting to them to descend.

“What do you want with us?” called out Hardy in Dutch. “We are not soldiers, and have nothing to do with this war!”

“You are English—I can tell that by your speech,” answered the man who had hailed them. “I want to ask some questions of you, to which I mean to have an answer. You had better come down at once, or we will send some bullets to fetch you.”

This was evidently no idle threat Half a dozen Boers had already taken their aim, and the path at the point at which the Englishmen had been stopped was without shelter of any kind. There was no help for it. They had to retrace their steps, and presently found themselves face to face with the leader of the Boers, who proved to be no other than Rivers’ old acquaintance, Rudolf Kransberg.

“Ha! it is you, Mynheer Rivers?” he remarked with a scowl. “You are an English soldier, I think, though your companion said you were not.”

“Iwasan English soldier in the Zulu war,” returned George; “but I left the army at its conclusion, and am now a clergyman of the Church of England.”

“I don’t care for that. I want to know whether you have seen some runaways from the battle that has been fought at Laing’s Nek. We are in pursuit of them, and they must, I think, have passed this way.”

“We have told you that we are not belligerents,” replied George; “you have no right to question us.”

“Ha! I see you will not answer, because you have seen your countrymen, and know where they are. As to having no right, we will see about that. We are at war with the English, and the English are our enemies, though they may choose to say they are not. I shall make you my prisoner. And this person,” he continued, turning to Hardy, “who is he?”

“I am an Englishman, like Mr Rivers,” answered Hardy; “like him, too, not a belligerent. Your President, Mynheer Praetorius, would not, I am sure, approve your proceedings.”

“You think so, hey? Well, you may see him at Laing’s Nek, and find out how much respect he will have for your rights?”

“We are quite willing to be taken before him,” said Hardy. “We will accompany you to the camp, and answer, without objection, any questions he may put to us.”

Rudolf appeared to be somewhat puzzled by this suggestion, but saw no reason why he should not agree to it. Indeed, it had already occurred to him that George Rivers was the stepson of Ludwig Mansen, a man well known to, and respected by, the Boer leaders. Any violence used towards a near relative of his would probably be condemned by his superiors. And he further reflected that he had no kind of evidence that these two Englishmen had really encountered the soldiers, or knew where they were. It was also evidently no use to attempt any further pursuit of the runaways, every trace of whom had disappeared.

“Very well,” he said, after a few minutes of silence, “you shall go with us to Laing’s Nek, and if the President is still there, and chooses to see you, he will do so. You can ride on the saddles of two of the men, but, I warn you, you will be shot without mercy if you make the slightest attempt to escape.”

They mounted accordingly, and the party rode off. George, who understood Hardy’s manoeuvre, by which he would get access to Praetorius without attracting general attention, which it was his special object to avoid, made no demur to the arrangement. He further reflected that, as soon as he reached the Boer camp, he could ask for an interview with Vander Heyden, who would, no doubt, at once set him at liberty and grant him an escort to Dykeman’s Hollow. Nothing worse, therefore, was likely to happen to either of them than a ride to the Dutch camp and a few hours of detention there; and to this he was so far from objecting, that he was particularly anxious to learn from an authentic source what had really taken place and was likely to ensue.

They rode in profound silence, the Boers being habitually taciturn, and George and Hardy anxious under present circumstances to say as little as possible. Presently the narrow defile running between lofty rocks and along the margin of mountain streams was passed, and they entered the broken and wild country which extends between Newcastle and the border of the Transvaal. After an hour’s ride, which would have been protracted to twice that length but for the Boers’ knowledge of the ground, they reached the camp, where some five or six thousand men had established themselves. George was at once struck with the difference between it and the camps to which he had been accustomed. There was an utter absence of the military discipline to which he had been used. It bore more the appearance of a great camp meeting, at which every person provided for his own lodging and maintenance; and yet there was a readiness to carry out the orders of the general officers in command, which seemed to take the place of the regular routine of a camp. As they rode over the ground where the battle had been fought that morning, they passed numbers of men employed in the melancholy duties which follow only too surely on an armed encounter. Wounded men were being conveyed on stretchers to the farmhouses and inns, which had been turned into temporary hospitals; others, whose injuries were too severe to permit of removal, were being ministered to on the ground as well as circumstances allowed; while several parties were engaged in digging graves to receive the dead bodies which lay scattered in all directions. One of these companies was working under the direction of Henryk Vander Heyden; and the latter no sooner perceived the two Englishmen than he rode up to them, and, after a friendly salutation, inquired what had brought them to Laing’s Nek.

“This gentleman, Mynheer Kransberg,—I am not aware of his military rank,—but he has brought us here as his prisoners,” replied Rivers.

“Prisoners! You have not been—”

“We have not been interfering in military matters at all,” interposed George. “We had given you our parole not to do so, and, I need not say, have not broken it. We told Mr Kransberg so.”

“Then how comes this, Lieutenant Kransberg?” said Vander Heyden haughtily. “Mr Rivers holds a protection which at my instance was granted to him by the President, which exempts him from all interference on the part of the military authorities.”

“He did not produce it,” said Kransberg sullenly.

“He had no time to do so,” interposed Hardy. “But if you would grant me one moment, Commandant Vander Heyden,—that, I believe, is your proper title,—I will explain why the protection was not shown to Mynheer Kransberg. It was because I wished to avail myself of his escort hither. I am the bearer of a letter from Mr Brandt, the President of the Orange Free State, to your President, Mynheer Praetorius, which he was in hopes would prevent the outbreak of war. I regret to find I have arrived too late for that.”

“I regret also, Mr Hardy, to say that you have. We have been attacked, and we have driven back our enemies with heavy loss. But we should have preferred to gain our object without spilling of blood.”

“Just so,” said Hardy; “and you would prefer to gain it now without further bloodshed?”

“Undoubtedly,” assented Vander Heyden.

“Then will you obtain me an audience with the President, at which I can still present this letter? If the terms it proposes should be acceptable to him, an armistice may be agreed on, and the question of a settlement between the English Government and that of the Transvaal may be discussed.”

“I would take you to him this instant,” returned the Dutchman, “were it in my power to do so. But he is not at present in the camp. He has to-day gone northwards on business of urgent importance, nor can I say, without inquiry, when he will return. In his absence I fear the Vice-President and the Commandant-General Joubert could not discuss—certainly could not decide—a question of this importance. But if you will come with me, I will take you to General Joubert’s quarters.”

“I will go at once; but I should like to ask Rivers what he proposes to do, or rather, what you advise so far as he is concerned.”

“He can, of course, return to Dykeman’s Hollow if he wishes it, and I will send an escort with him. But I believe they are greatly in want of clergymen to attend the sick and dying in the English camp. Perhaps, if he knew that, he would prefer going there. I need not say he will be at full liberty to do so. But we can speak to him after you have seen Mynheer Joubert. We had better lose no time in going thither.”

Hardy accordingly followed Vander Heyden across the rugged and stony ground on which the action had been fought that morning, to a tent—it was the only one in the camp—where the Commandant-General had fixed his quarters. No difficulty was made about obtaining an interview, and Hardy almost immediately found himself in the presence of the rebel leader, as well as in that of another bearded and grave-looking personage, who, he was informed, was Kruger, the Vice-President of the newly-proclaimed Republic.

Hardy looked with interest at the Boer general, who, although he had not at that time attained all the celebrity now attaching to his name, had already achieved some brilliant successes. His family, as Hardy subsequently learned, was of Huguenot extraction, having migrated to the Cape at the time of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. But intermarriages with the Dutch in succeeding generations had had their effect, and Joubert had all the appearance of a genuine Boer. Like his fathers, he had followed the calling of a farmer, and had had no experience of warfare, except with native tribes. But he was possessed of rare military ability, and if he had had the advantage of professional training, would have made a great general.

In personal appearance he was of middle height and powerful frame, with an unusually dark complexion, a beard and moustache, and features expressing intelligence and good humour. He was apparently somewhat advanced in years, though he had not passed the vigour of life. He received Hardy with civility, and, after he had heard his story, expressed his regret, as Vander Heyden had done, that the President was not in the camp, so that the matter might be immediately dealt with. Praetorius was expected back very shortly, and then instant attention should be given to it.

“Meanwhile, be assured,” he said, “that we desire peace with England, and are willing to concede everything to her, except our national independence. You may not, perhaps, be aware that when the Volksraad declared that the Transvaal Republic was again established, it passed several resolutions, which may well form the basis of negotiations with the agents of the British Government.”

“I have only just arrived in the country after an absence of several weeks,” said Hardy, “and have therefore had no opportunity of learning what those resolutions were.”

“They are soon recited,” said Joubert. “The first proclaimed a general amnesty for all past offences. The second ratified all the acts of the British Government up to the date of the proclamation, and the third declared that questions relating to foreign policy might be made matter of special discussion. I think you will allow that these resolutions are not framed in any spirit hostile to your Government.”

“I must allow that they are not,” replied Hardy. “I should certainly hope that they might form the basis of negotiations satisfactory to both parties. That was also the opinion of the President of the Orange Free State.”

“I may add, it is also the opinion of our countrymen in Holland, who have sent an urgent entreaty to the Queen of England that our national independence may be restored to us. The same sentiment has been expressed in other European countries. But I should hardly have thought that such a petition would require foreign support, when it had once been submitted to the English people. They have ever been the first, the most uncompromising of all nations in the assertion of their own liberty. Why should they grudge to others that which they value so highly themselves?”

“You speak well, sir,” said Hardy. “I am unable to deny the force of your appeal. We may hope that when the President returns, communications may be opened with the English Government which may lead to a settlement honourable and satisfactory to both parties. But meanwhile, ought not all hostile operations to be suspended? They could not facilitate any negotiations that might be set on foot, but they might seriously impede them.”

“If the English general proposes an armistice, it will certainly be agreed to,” said Joubert. “On our side we have no need to make any such proposition. If we are not attacked, we shall not ourselves make any attack. The British have only to do the same, and all fighting will be suspended. But, of course, if we are assailed, we shall repel the assault.”

Hardy bowed and took his leave. On returning to the place where he had left George Rivers, he found that the latter had already taken his departure for the British camp, where, as the reader has heard, his services were greatly needed. A few days passed without any resumption of hostilities, when, on the 8th of February, Sir George Colley unexpectedly sallied out of his camp, and the action at Hooge’s Chain, between Laing’s Nek and Newcastle, on the banks of the Ingogo, was fought, with a result as discreditable and damaging to the English arms as that of Laing’s Nek had been.

“What has come to our generals and soldiers I cannot think,” said Hardy to George, when he encountered him after the battle on the field, whither both had gone to minister to the wounded and dying. “They seem to me absolutely to court defeat. The only comfort is, that they will hardly make a third attempt after two such calamitous failures.”

Chapter Twenty Four.It seemed as if Hardy’s anticipations were going to be fulfilled. For more than a fortnight after the disaster on the banks of the Ingogo, both armies remained quietly in their camps, though both were largely reinforced. Negotiations had been opened with the English Government, which bore every appearance of an amicable solution of difficulties. On the afternoon of the 26th of February, Hardy went down to the British lines, with a white flag despatched by Joubert with him, to take some letters to George which had arrived from Dykeman’s Hollow. It was some time before he could find his friend, the whole camp being in a state of extraordinary bustle and confusion. Officers and men were hurrying about; one of the guns had been brought out, the horses already harnessed, and the gunners and drivers belonging to it were all in readiness, it appeared, for some immediate movement. Every face bore token that something of grave importance was about to take place.“What does this mean, George?” asked Hardy as they shook hands. “Sir George Colley cannot anticipate an attack. Everything in the Boer camp, which I have only just left, is quite quiet, and the peace negotiations are proceeding prosperously.”“I cannot tell you, Hardy, what it does mean,” answered George. “I hear vague rumours, but they are not to be trusted. One thing, however, is certain, and that is that Sir George Colley cannot get over his defeats by these Boers. I fancy he at first entertained the same contempt for them which English people generally feel. He thought that they were a race of cowards, who would shoot down helpless savages from a safe distance, but dared not face soldiers in a field of battle.”“We have already agreed that that is a mistake,” observed Hardy. “Their mode of fighting is quite different from ours. They have no disciplined troops, as we have; and if they were to face us, as Sir George expects, on a field of battle, must inevitably suffer defeat. But they are brave and resolute men, and fight after their own fashion; which is as dangerous and disastrous to our troops as our mode of lighting would be to them.”“Exactly,” said Rivers; “and Sir George has chosen to fight after their fashion instead of ours, and these disasters have been the consequence. But that does not reconcile him to them. He is afraid that peace will be made before he has any opportunity of redeeming his military reputation, which he thinks has been terribly damaged by Laing’s Nek and the action on the Ingogo. He wants to give them one tremendous thrashing before peace is concluded and the opportunity is lost.”“I can well understand that,” said Hardy, “though I think he is quite wrong. But do I understand you to mean that the preparations which I see going on are for another attack on the Boers? Really I do not think that would be a defensible proceeding. If there has been no formal suspension of hostilities, there is a tacit understanding to that effect, which the Boers have most faithfully adhered to.”“I am afraid the preparations do mean that,” answered George, “though, of course, I have made no inquiries, nor has any one volunteered the information. I think Sir George means to attack the Boer camp again, though probably he will choose a different quarter from which to assail it.”“It is to be hoped he will, at all events,” rejoined Hardy, “unless he wishes exactly the same results to follow as before. Well, we shall soon know what is going to happen, for here come Sir George and his staff. They are evidently about to set out somewhere.”“Come to the high ground on the west of the camp,” suggested Rivers. “You can see the whole road to the Dutch lines from it, and some of the waggons immediately under Amajuba hill.”“Amajuba hill,” repeated Hardy. “Is that the name of that steep hill yonder, with a flattish top, which completely overlooks the camp? I wonder the Dutch have not occupied it, I must say. Sir George’s position here wouldn’t be tenable if they did. But then, to be sure, they have no cannon. Well, I may as well go with you as you propose, for, of course, if your conjecture is correct, I should not be allowed to leave the English camp.”They took up their position accordingly, and presently saw the troops, seven or eight hundred in number, move out with the gun which Hardy had seen an hour or two before, the most complete silence being observed. The darkness was already coming on when they set out, and before long it became impossible to distinguish any object, except those close at hand.“Sir George must intend a night attack,” said Hardy; “but, independently of all other considerations, the Boers are less likely to be thrown into confusion by that than our own troops are. They are taught to fight independently of one another. Every man takes up his own position and shifts for himself. If they are disturbed in the middle of the night, they will simply get up,—ready dressed, for they always lie down in their clothes,—take their rifles, pick out the securest spot they can find, and open fire on any enemy they see. Well, George, we had better stay here awhile and see what comes of this. If night fighting is intended, we shall soon know all about it.”Rivers assented. They were as conveniently placed as they could well be for learning what was going on. There was a hollow in the rock large enough to shelter them from wind and rain, if either should come on, and a quantity of moss and heather would make a comfortable bed, if they lay down to sleep. They agreed that they would keep alternate watch through the night, so that nothing that might occur should escape their notice.The night, however, passed without disturbance, and when the morning dawned it revealed an unexpected spectacle. The British force was clearly to be discerned, by the first beams of the sun, stationed on the top of the Amajuba hill, the ascent of which must have occupied the hours of darkness. It must have been a most difficult and perilous undertaking, and it seemed wonderful that it could have been accomplished in the dark, and without arousing the vigilance of the Boers, who were encamped in the immediate vicinity. There they were, however,—the scarlet uniforms forming bright spots against the background of rock and sky,—and the brass gun, which, by a marvel of engineering skill, had been dragged up the precipitous steeps, sparkling in the sun, as it was fixed in its position, commanding the camp of the sleeping Boers below.“How in the world can they have managed that?” exclaimed Rivers. “Nothing but a bird, I should have thought, could get up there. The gun, of course they must have hoisted up after them. It is a most daring exploit; but I suppose Sir George has got the upper hand of them now.”“I am not so sure of that,” rejoined Hardy. “I grant you this is as bold and venturous a feat as ever has been attempted in war. But I don’t know that it will succeed against these Boers. You see, though they have taken possession of the heights, they have not intrenched themselves. The broken masses of rock furnish a cover behind which sharpshooters may hide themselves while they fire on the enemy. But the Boers will be able to fire up at them quite as securely as they will be able to fire down at the Boers. And if the Boers, whose numbers greatly exceed theirs, clamber up on all sides, under cover of the fire of their friends, there is nothing to keep them back. Our men will be overpowered by weight of numbers. I wish I could see them begin to intrench themselves, but there is no sign of it. I hope we are not going to see the Isandhlwana disaster acted over again.”“I suppose they must have been too tired, when they got up there last night to throw up intrenchments,” remarked George.“Very likely indeed,” returned Hardy, “but they do not appear to be too tired this morning. If they are wise, they will not begin firing until they have made their position safe.”Meanwhile on the summit of the hill there was triumph and rejoicing. The soldiers had felt keenly the defeats which they had again and again sustained at the hands of an enemy for whom they had entertained a traditional contempt, and who, they were persuaded, if they could once bring them to a fair encounter, would fly before them. But they had been shot down from behind cover, without the chance being given them of returning their adversaries’ fire. But here, at last, the tables were turned. They occupied now the vantage-ground from which the foe might be assailed without the risk of suffering retaliation. A genuine British cheer broke forth as the gun opened on the slumbering Dutchmen below, followed by bursts of merriment as the sleepers started up in alarm and confusion, rushing in all directions to find protection from the deadly hail from above. But they did not take to immediate flight, as their assailants had expected. Niching themselves in the hollows of the rocks or behind the mountain ridges, they opened a fire from all directions on the occupants of the hill, obliging these to keep close behind the cover of the rocks as the only mode of escaping the storm of musketry that continued to be poured upon them. No attempt, however, was made to dislodge them, and it was obvious that, if they retained their position on the crest of the hill, the Boer camp must be broken up, leaving the way open for the British troops to enter the Transvaal.But the English had been once more deceived by the skilful manoeuvring of their enemies. Under cover of a tall cliff which interposed between them and Amajuba hill, the Boer leaders were determining their plan of operations.“I am sure one of the paths is practicable,” Vander Heyden was saying. “It is on the opposite side to that by which the English made their way to the top, and I think it most likely that they know nothing of it. It is completely sheltered from their fire until you are close to the top, and there is a hollow near that where a number of men may be massed. Our adversaries, with their usual contempt for their enemies, have omitted to intrench themselves or fortify their position. There would probably not be more than half a dozen men keeping guard at the point in question. A rush of a dozen or twenty would force the way in, and then the others would follow. As there is no shelter or means of escape except down the steep sides of the hill, they must all surrender or be killed.”“Do you yourself know the way up the path, Vander Heyden?” asked the Boer general.“Yes,” answered Henryk; “I have twice been up to the top that way to make an examination of the English camp.”“Then I think you are the man to lead the assault. What say you?”“I desire nothing better,” returned Vander Heyden, the dark light, which had become habitual with him at seasons of danger, flashing in his eyes.“Good. Who is there prepared to follow you?”There was no lack of volunteers; and Vander Heyden’s only difficulty consisted in his unwillingness to reject any. Presently the number was made up. Orders were given to the sharpshooters in ambush to pour their fire more hotly on every crevice of the rocks above, so as to engage as much as possible the attention of the garrison.Then Vander Heyden, rifle in hand, crept cautiously and silently up the rocky ladder, pausing continually to allow those behind him to approach closely to him, until the hollow place, of which he had spoken, was reached, and a dozen of his most trusted followers assembled in it. Then the word was given. The foremost of the party rushed round the corner of the rock, poured in a close fire, and pressed on to force the passage. For the moment they succeeded, but the next a shout was raised, and a bayonet charge met the assailants, bearing them back and almost forcing them down the rocky descent. But more of the Dutchmen had now come on the scene. A second volley cleared the way, and the assailants rushed in in ever-increasing numbers. Presently the whole plateau had become a battlefield, and the English, outnumbered and borne back by the overwhelming mass of Boers, were either shot down, or made their escape by the steep mountain paths, followed by their victorious enemies, who stabbed and shot them down without mercy. If the guns from the camp had not opened their fire and checked the pursuit, it is probable that scarcely any of the British soldiers who had climbed those heights on the previous evening would ever have descended them again, unless as corpses carried to interment.About the centre of the plateau a group of Boers were gathered round an English officer, who had been struck by a bullet which apparently had instantly killed him. Vander Heyden directed them to take off the leather helmet which partially concealed his features.“It is he!” he exclaimed, as his order was obeyed. “That is the English general; that is Sir George Colley.”He had scarcely uttered the words when a stray bullet struck him in the breast, and he fell to the ground beside his prostrate enemy. His companions raised him in their arms and earned him down the hill to a room in an adjoining farmhouse, where his wound was examined by a surgeon. The latter shook his head after a brief inspection. The bullet had not touched either heart or lungs; but the internal haemorrhage could not be stopped, and life could not be long protracted. Vander Heyden himself was aware of his condition. He made no other request than that a flag of truce might be sent to the English lines, asking permission for the Reverend George Rivers, who was serving, he was informed, as a chaplain in the camp, to visit him on his deathbed. The request was granted; and in an hour’s time after the conclusion of the fight Rivers entered the chamber where he was lying.Vander Heyden raised himself as well as he was able to greet him, and desired that the room might be cleared.“George,” he said when this had been done, “I am glad you have come. There is no time to lose, for I feel that death is very near. You remember our conversation about my sister many months ago near Intombe.”“It is not likely that I should forget it,” answered George.“I told you two things—first, that my father had forbidden me to give her in marriage to an Englishman; and secondly, that if she did marry one, she would forfeit the whole of her inheritance.”“That is what you said.”“And I said no more than the fact. But I thought even then, and I am now more fully persuaded of it, that my father was mistaken in the resolution to which he came. The English had been harsh and unjust to us. But every Englishman is not harsh and unjust; and if my sister has chosen—as in my heart I believe she has—a generous and upright man, it is hard that she should be denied her wish merely because he was an Englishman.”He paused a moment to recover breath, and then went on.“Men alter strangely. A twelvemonth ago I thought it impossible I could ever feel as I do now. And if I had married, and had children to follow in my steps, I do not think I could have so altered. But that hope died out and could never be revived, and Annchen’s future was all I had to care for. She does not know my change of feeling. When I took leave of her last night, I felt assured that I was parting from her for the last time, though I could not tell her so; but this letter will convey to her my dying wishes. I have drawn up a fresh will, by which everything is left to her and to you. Give me your hand.”They exchanged a cordial grasp. “Now, Rivers,” he continued, “we will speak no more of this. But you must remain with me to the end.”There is no need to dwell on what followed. Vander Heyden lingered for an hour, and then passed away quietly, without pain, remaining conscious to the last. When all was over, George gave the order, as his friend had desired him to do, for the conveyance of the body to the burying-ground at Utrecht, where the remains of the hapless Lisa van Courtlandt had been deposited. He himself accompanied the corpse as chief mourner, and saw the funeral rites performed. Then he proceeded to Newcastle, and sought an interview with Annchen, with whom his mother and Thyrza were now staying. They had gone over, by his request, to convey to her the melancholy tidings, and had remained at her earnest entreaty to comfort her.She did indeed feel unutterably desolate. Her brother and Frank Moritz had been her only near relatives, and of both these she had been bereaved; and the man who, she felt, might have been nearer and dearer than any, was hopelessly separated from her by Henryk’s decree. His wishes had always been law to her while he lived; and, now that he had been taken from her for ever, her only satisfaction in life would be to fulfil his pleasure. When the message was brought to her that George desired an interview, she was at first unwilling to grant it. It was possible that he might renew his suit, considering all obstacles to their union as being now removed; and if so, their meeting would be needlessly painful. It was only when Thyrza told her that her brother was the bearer of a letter, which Henryk had sent her from his dying bed, that she consented to receive him.She was sitting near the window when he entered. Her black dress rendered the dazzling fairness of her complexion more remarkable. Even the look of unutterable sadness seemed to enhance her beauty. He went slowly up to her, took her hand and pressed it to his lips, and then without speaking, placed the letter in her hands. Her tears fell fast over it as she opened it, and it seemed as if they must have prevented her from deciphering its contents; for she twice read it through without appearing to understand its purport. At last a faint flush on her cheek and a strange light in her eye told him that she had realised the meaning of her brother’s words. She sat for a few minutes with her eyes fixed on the ground, and then looked up into her lover’s face, as if seeking there a confirmation of the wondrous joy that had broken thus suddenly upon her. His smile seemed to satisfy her. She rose and threw herself into his arms.“Oh, George,” she exclaimed, “is it wicked, at a time of sorrow like this, to feel so happy?”“It is what he wished,” answered Rivers. “It was the thought which comforted him at the last.”A few days afterwards, Annchen joined the family circle at Dykeman’s Hollow, when it was found that she was not the only bride to whom congratulations were due. George had taken an early opportunity of explaining to his mother and stepfather—to whom the former referred him—the change that had taken place in his circumstances. He was now, or would shortly be, the owner of Pieter’s Dorf and Vander Heyden’s other property, and, for a resident in that country, a very wealthy man. It was his wish to surrender all interest in his mother’s estate in favour of Thyrza. At the same time he pleaded the cause of his friend Redgy Margetts. He had known, he said, for some time past that he was deeply attached to Thyrza, and had reason to believe that she was not indifferent to him. If that should prove to be the case, might not a second marriage take place? Mr Rogers had been consulted, and had declared himself so well satisfied with Margetts, that he was willing to put him into the farm hitherto occupied by George—which was already in a thriving state, with every prospect of improvement. Here he and Thyrza might live, until the time came when Umtongo would be their own.Farmer Mansen heard his stepson to the end,—he had never, indeed, been known to interrupt any one,—and then answered that he and his wife had already spoken together on this subject, and had no fault to find with Mr Margetts. But it would be impossible for them to accept him as a suitor for Thyrza, because Mynheer Rudolf Kransberg had been received in that capacity, and no decisive answer had as yet been given him. To this George replied that he had had some conversation with Thyrza on the subject, and she had informed him that young Kransberg had never visited her since the day when he himself had left Umtongo, and as that was fully nine months ago, Thyrza had concluded he had abandoned all idea of seeking her as his wife.“She is too hasty,” remarked Ludwig. “Nine months are no unreasonable time for a Dutch suitor to delay; we do not do things in this country in a hurry. She cannot allow the addresses of a new suitor, until the old one has been formally dismissed.”“But, good gracious! how long is that to go on?” pleaded George. “He may pay another visit six months hence, and another a twelvemonth after that. And Thyrza may be an old maid before she has the opportunity of relieving herself from the attentions of her admirer by refusing him.”“You do not understand our customs,” said Ludwig sedately. “We do everything deliberately.”This reply George was obliged to transmit to Margetts, by whom, it needs not to say, it was not received with much satisfaction. Redgy, in fact, propounded a variety of schemes for bringing Rudolf von Kransberg up to the scratch, the mildest of which was lassoing him after the fashion of the South American hunters and conveying him in that condition to Thyrza’s presence, when she would avail herself of the opportunity of giving her inamorato hiscongé. All these were rejected by George and Thyrza, and the dissatisfaction of the baffled suitor every day waxed more grievous to behold, when one day he chanced to encounter Hardy in the street at Newcastle, and learned from him that Rudolf Kransberg was not only paying his addresses to Gretchen Groetweld, the plump and comely daughter of the Landrost of Lichtenberg, but, it was generally believed, had been accepted by her.“I met him riding down the street,” said Hardy, “dressed in his best holiday suit, and a large nosegay in his buttonhole. He was mounted on a showy horse,—‘the courting horse,’ as they call it,—which he made amble and prance down the street to the great admiration of the spectators. Presently he drew up at Mynheer Groetweld’s door, when the worthy burgess greeted him with ceremonious politeness and requested him to enter. I heard from the Landrost, who delayed a few minutes to speak to me, that Mistress Gretchen is well satisfied with her sweetheart, and the formal betrothal is straightway to take place.”This intelligence, which was presently confirmed by Mynheer Groetweld himself, overcame even Ludwig Mansen’s punctilio; and Reginald Margetts and Thyrza were allowed to plight their troth to one another.Mr Rogers, who had always felt a warm interest in the Mansens, and who latterly conceived a still warmer regard for Rivers and Margetts, was much pleased at the course which events had taken. Notwithstanding the recent death of Henryk Vander Heyden, it was not thought advisable to postpone for more than a few weeks Rivers’ and Annchen’s wedding; and the Mansens agreed that Redgy and Thyrza should be married on the same day, the chapel attached to Mr Rogers’ house being chosen as the place where both ceremonies were to be performed.The guests were limited to the near relatives of the brides, the only exception being Hardy, who arrived on the wedding morning, bearing the intelligence that the terms between the English Government and the Boers had been finally arranged. The suzerainty of the Queen was to be maintained, but, apart from this, the most complete independence was conceded to the Transvaal Republic, all the terms for which they had stipulated being fully granted.“Well,” said Mr Rogers, “I never thought I should live to regret the reversal of that most mischievous and ill-judged of measures, the annexation of the Transvaal, but I have lived to regret it nevertheless. It appears to me that every blunder that was possible has been made. First of all, advantage is taken of a temporary reverse to impose on a nation a yoke which they are supposed to desire, but which they really dislike. Then, when reasonable and respectful petitions are presented, pointing out that the step is to the injury of both countries, and praying that it might be undone, they are curtly refused. Then, when the aggrieved citizens take up arms to compel the recognition of their rights, an attempt is made to crush them by force of arms, but the campaign is conducted in such a manner as to give them an easy and certain victory. I don’t suppose the Tenth Legion of Caesar, or the Old Guard of Napoleon, or Wellington’s Peninsular veterans, could have done anything but stand to be killed, if they had been led into action as our soldiers were. And lastly, when the prestige of England has suffered so seriously that a victory (which could easily have been gained) has become imperatively necessary for its restoration, all that had been refused to moderate entreaty is granted to defiant and almost insolent demand! I don’t suppose the injury that has been done to British ascendancy in South Africa will be undone in less than fifty years, if it is undone then! Well, things are at their worst now; and when they have come to the worst, then the proverb says they will begin to mend! That must be our comfort, for I am afraid we have no other!”The End.

It seemed as if Hardy’s anticipations were going to be fulfilled. For more than a fortnight after the disaster on the banks of the Ingogo, both armies remained quietly in their camps, though both were largely reinforced. Negotiations had been opened with the English Government, which bore every appearance of an amicable solution of difficulties. On the afternoon of the 26th of February, Hardy went down to the British lines, with a white flag despatched by Joubert with him, to take some letters to George which had arrived from Dykeman’s Hollow. It was some time before he could find his friend, the whole camp being in a state of extraordinary bustle and confusion. Officers and men were hurrying about; one of the guns had been brought out, the horses already harnessed, and the gunners and drivers belonging to it were all in readiness, it appeared, for some immediate movement. Every face bore token that something of grave importance was about to take place.

“What does this mean, George?” asked Hardy as they shook hands. “Sir George Colley cannot anticipate an attack. Everything in the Boer camp, which I have only just left, is quite quiet, and the peace negotiations are proceeding prosperously.”

“I cannot tell you, Hardy, what it does mean,” answered George. “I hear vague rumours, but they are not to be trusted. One thing, however, is certain, and that is that Sir George Colley cannot get over his defeats by these Boers. I fancy he at first entertained the same contempt for them which English people generally feel. He thought that they were a race of cowards, who would shoot down helpless savages from a safe distance, but dared not face soldiers in a field of battle.”

“We have already agreed that that is a mistake,” observed Hardy. “Their mode of fighting is quite different from ours. They have no disciplined troops, as we have; and if they were to face us, as Sir George expects, on a field of battle, must inevitably suffer defeat. But they are brave and resolute men, and fight after their own fashion; which is as dangerous and disastrous to our troops as our mode of lighting would be to them.”

“Exactly,” said Rivers; “and Sir George has chosen to fight after their fashion instead of ours, and these disasters have been the consequence. But that does not reconcile him to them. He is afraid that peace will be made before he has any opportunity of redeeming his military reputation, which he thinks has been terribly damaged by Laing’s Nek and the action on the Ingogo. He wants to give them one tremendous thrashing before peace is concluded and the opportunity is lost.”

“I can well understand that,” said Hardy, “though I think he is quite wrong. But do I understand you to mean that the preparations which I see going on are for another attack on the Boers? Really I do not think that would be a defensible proceeding. If there has been no formal suspension of hostilities, there is a tacit understanding to that effect, which the Boers have most faithfully adhered to.”

“I am afraid the preparations do mean that,” answered George, “though, of course, I have made no inquiries, nor has any one volunteered the information. I think Sir George means to attack the Boer camp again, though probably he will choose a different quarter from which to assail it.”

“It is to be hoped he will, at all events,” rejoined Hardy, “unless he wishes exactly the same results to follow as before. Well, we shall soon know what is going to happen, for here come Sir George and his staff. They are evidently about to set out somewhere.”

“Come to the high ground on the west of the camp,” suggested Rivers. “You can see the whole road to the Dutch lines from it, and some of the waggons immediately under Amajuba hill.”

“Amajuba hill,” repeated Hardy. “Is that the name of that steep hill yonder, with a flattish top, which completely overlooks the camp? I wonder the Dutch have not occupied it, I must say. Sir George’s position here wouldn’t be tenable if they did. But then, to be sure, they have no cannon. Well, I may as well go with you as you propose, for, of course, if your conjecture is correct, I should not be allowed to leave the English camp.”

They took up their position accordingly, and presently saw the troops, seven or eight hundred in number, move out with the gun which Hardy had seen an hour or two before, the most complete silence being observed. The darkness was already coming on when they set out, and before long it became impossible to distinguish any object, except those close at hand.

“Sir George must intend a night attack,” said Hardy; “but, independently of all other considerations, the Boers are less likely to be thrown into confusion by that than our own troops are. They are taught to fight independently of one another. Every man takes up his own position and shifts for himself. If they are disturbed in the middle of the night, they will simply get up,—ready dressed, for they always lie down in their clothes,—take their rifles, pick out the securest spot they can find, and open fire on any enemy they see. Well, George, we had better stay here awhile and see what comes of this. If night fighting is intended, we shall soon know all about it.”

Rivers assented. They were as conveniently placed as they could well be for learning what was going on. There was a hollow in the rock large enough to shelter them from wind and rain, if either should come on, and a quantity of moss and heather would make a comfortable bed, if they lay down to sleep. They agreed that they would keep alternate watch through the night, so that nothing that might occur should escape their notice.

The night, however, passed without disturbance, and when the morning dawned it revealed an unexpected spectacle. The British force was clearly to be discerned, by the first beams of the sun, stationed on the top of the Amajuba hill, the ascent of which must have occupied the hours of darkness. It must have been a most difficult and perilous undertaking, and it seemed wonderful that it could have been accomplished in the dark, and without arousing the vigilance of the Boers, who were encamped in the immediate vicinity. There they were, however,—the scarlet uniforms forming bright spots against the background of rock and sky,—and the brass gun, which, by a marvel of engineering skill, had been dragged up the precipitous steeps, sparkling in the sun, as it was fixed in its position, commanding the camp of the sleeping Boers below.

“How in the world can they have managed that?” exclaimed Rivers. “Nothing but a bird, I should have thought, could get up there. The gun, of course they must have hoisted up after them. It is a most daring exploit; but I suppose Sir George has got the upper hand of them now.”

“I am not so sure of that,” rejoined Hardy. “I grant you this is as bold and venturous a feat as ever has been attempted in war. But I don’t know that it will succeed against these Boers. You see, though they have taken possession of the heights, they have not intrenched themselves. The broken masses of rock furnish a cover behind which sharpshooters may hide themselves while they fire on the enemy. But the Boers will be able to fire up at them quite as securely as they will be able to fire down at the Boers. And if the Boers, whose numbers greatly exceed theirs, clamber up on all sides, under cover of the fire of their friends, there is nothing to keep them back. Our men will be overpowered by weight of numbers. I wish I could see them begin to intrench themselves, but there is no sign of it. I hope we are not going to see the Isandhlwana disaster acted over again.”

“I suppose they must have been too tired, when they got up there last night to throw up intrenchments,” remarked George.

“Very likely indeed,” returned Hardy, “but they do not appear to be too tired this morning. If they are wise, they will not begin firing until they have made their position safe.”

Meanwhile on the summit of the hill there was triumph and rejoicing. The soldiers had felt keenly the defeats which they had again and again sustained at the hands of an enemy for whom they had entertained a traditional contempt, and who, they were persuaded, if they could once bring them to a fair encounter, would fly before them. But they had been shot down from behind cover, without the chance being given them of returning their adversaries’ fire. But here, at last, the tables were turned. They occupied now the vantage-ground from which the foe might be assailed without the risk of suffering retaliation. A genuine British cheer broke forth as the gun opened on the slumbering Dutchmen below, followed by bursts of merriment as the sleepers started up in alarm and confusion, rushing in all directions to find protection from the deadly hail from above. But they did not take to immediate flight, as their assailants had expected. Niching themselves in the hollows of the rocks or behind the mountain ridges, they opened a fire from all directions on the occupants of the hill, obliging these to keep close behind the cover of the rocks as the only mode of escaping the storm of musketry that continued to be poured upon them. No attempt, however, was made to dislodge them, and it was obvious that, if they retained their position on the crest of the hill, the Boer camp must be broken up, leaving the way open for the British troops to enter the Transvaal.

But the English had been once more deceived by the skilful manoeuvring of their enemies. Under cover of a tall cliff which interposed between them and Amajuba hill, the Boer leaders were determining their plan of operations.

“I am sure one of the paths is practicable,” Vander Heyden was saying. “It is on the opposite side to that by which the English made their way to the top, and I think it most likely that they know nothing of it. It is completely sheltered from their fire until you are close to the top, and there is a hollow near that where a number of men may be massed. Our adversaries, with their usual contempt for their enemies, have omitted to intrench themselves or fortify their position. There would probably not be more than half a dozen men keeping guard at the point in question. A rush of a dozen or twenty would force the way in, and then the others would follow. As there is no shelter or means of escape except down the steep sides of the hill, they must all surrender or be killed.”

“Do you yourself know the way up the path, Vander Heyden?” asked the Boer general.

“Yes,” answered Henryk; “I have twice been up to the top that way to make an examination of the English camp.”

“Then I think you are the man to lead the assault. What say you?”

“I desire nothing better,” returned Vander Heyden, the dark light, which had become habitual with him at seasons of danger, flashing in his eyes.

“Good. Who is there prepared to follow you?”

There was no lack of volunteers; and Vander Heyden’s only difficulty consisted in his unwillingness to reject any. Presently the number was made up. Orders were given to the sharpshooters in ambush to pour their fire more hotly on every crevice of the rocks above, so as to engage as much as possible the attention of the garrison.

Then Vander Heyden, rifle in hand, crept cautiously and silently up the rocky ladder, pausing continually to allow those behind him to approach closely to him, until the hollow place, of which he had spoken, was reached, and a dozen of his most trusted followers assembled in it. Then the word was given. The foremost of the party rushed round the corner of the rock, poured in a close fire, and pressed on to force the passage. For the moment they succeeded, but the next a shout was raised, and a bayonet charge met the assailants, bearing them back and almost forcing them down the rocky descent. But more of the Dutchmen had now come on the scene. A second volley cleared the way, and the assailants rushed in in ever-increasing numbers. Presently the whole plateau had become a battlefield, and the English, outnumbered and borne back by the overwhelming mass of Boers, were either shot down, or made their escape by the steep mountain paths, followed by their victorious enemies, who stabbed and shot them down without mercy. If the guns from the camp had not opened their fire and checked the pursuit, it is probable that scarcely any of the British soldiers who had climbed those heights on the previous evening would ever have descended them again, unless as corpses carried to interment.

About the centre of the plateau a group of Boers were gathered round an English officer, who had been struck by a bullet which apparently had instantly killed him. Vander Heyden directed them to take off the leather helmet which partially concealed his features.

“It is he!” he exclaimed, as his order was obeyed. “That is the English general; that is Sir George Colley.”

He had scarcely uttered the words when a stray bullet struck him in the breast, and he fell to the ground beside his prostrate enemy. His companions raised him in their arms and earned him down the hill to a room in an adjoining farmhouse, where his wound was examined by a surgeon. The latter shook his head after a brief inspection. The bullet had not touched either heart or lungs; but the internal haemorrhage could not be stopped, and life could not be long protracted. Vander Heyden himself was aware of his condition. He made no other request than that a flag of truce might be sent to the English lines, asking permission for the Reverend George Rivers, who was serving, he was informed, as a chaplain in the camp, to visit him on his deathbed. The request was granted; and in an hour’s time after the conclusion of the fight Rivers entered the chamber where he was lying.

Vander Heyden raised himself as well as he was able to greet him, and desired that the room might be cleared.

“George,” he said when this had been done, “I am glad you have come. There is no time to lose, for I feel that death is very near. You remember our conversation about my sister many months ago near Intombe.”

“It is not likely that I should forget it,” answered George.

“I told you two things—first, that my father had forbidden me to give her in marriage to an Englishman; and secondly, that if she did marry one, she would forfeit the whole of her inheritance.”

“That is what you said.”

“And I said no more than the fact. But I thought even then, and I am now more fully persuaded of it, that my father was mistaken in the resolution to which he came. The English had been harsh and unjust to us. But every Englishman is not harsh and unjust; and if my sister has chosen—as in my heart I believe she has—a generous and upright man, it is hard that she should be denied her wish merely because he was an Englishman.”

He paused a moment to recover breath, and then went on.

“Men alter strangely. A twelvemonth ago I thought it impossible I could ever feel as I do now. And if I had married, and had children to follow in my steps, I do not think I could have so altered. But that hope died out and could never be revived, and Annchen’s future was all I had to care for. She does not know my change of feeling. When I took leave of her last night, I felt assured that I was parting from her for the last time, though I could not tell her so; but this letter will convey to her my dying wishes. I have drawn up a fresh will, by which everything is left to her and to you. Give me your hand.”

They exchanged a cordial grasp. “Now, Rivers,” he continued, “we will speak no more of this. But you must remain with me to the end.”

There is no need to dwell on what followed. Vander Heyden lingered for an hour, and then passed away quietly, without pain, remaining conscious to the last. When all was over, George gave the order, as his friend had desired him to do, for the conveyance of the body to the burying-ground at Utrecht, where the remains of the hapless Lisa van Courtlandt had been deposited. He himself accompanied the corpse as chief mourner, and saw the funeral rites performed. Then he proceeded to Newcastle, and sought an interview with Annchen, with whom his mother and Thyrza were now staying. They had gone over, by his request, to convey to her the melancholy tidings, and had remained at her earnest entreaty to comfort her.

She did indeed feel unutterably desolate. Her brother and Frank Moritz had been her only near relatives, and of both these she had been bereaved; and the man who, she felt, might have been nearer and dearer than any, was hopelessly separated from her by Henryk’s decree. His wishes had always been law to her while he lived; and, now that he had been taken from her for ever, her only satisfaction in life would be to fulfil his pleasure. When the message was brought to her that George desired an interview, she was at first unwilling to grant it. It was possible that he might renew his suit, considering all obstacles to their union as being now removed; and if so, their meeting would be needlessly painful. It was only when Thyrza told her that her brother was the bearer of a letter, which Henryk had sent her from his dying bed, that she consented to receive him.

She was sitting near the window when he entered. Her black dress rendered the dazzling fairness of her complexion more remarkable. Even the look of unutterable sadness seemed to enhance her beauty. He went slowly up to her, took her hand and pressed it to his lips, and then without speaking, placed the letter in her hands. Her tears fell fast over it as she opened it, and it seemed as if they must have prevented her from deciphering its contents; for she twice read it through without appearing to understand its purport. At last a faint flush on her cheek and a strange light in her eye told him that she had realised the meaning of her brother’s words. She sat for a few minutes with her eyes fixed on the ground, and then looked up into her lover’s face, as if seeking there a confirmation of the wondrous joy that had broken thus suddenly upon her. His smile seemed to satisfy her. She rose and threw herself into his arms.

“Oh, George,” she exclaimed, “is it wicked, at a time of sorrow like this, to feel so happy?”

“It is what he wished,” answered Rivers. “It was the thought which comforted him at the last.”

A few days afterwards, Annchen joined the family circle at Dykeman’s Hollow, when it was found that she was not the only bride to whom congratulations were due. George had taken an early opportunity of explaining to his mother and stepfather—to whom the former referred him—the change that had taken place in his circumstances. He was now, or would shortly be, the owner of Pieter’s Dorf and Vander Heyden’s other property, and, for a resident in that country, a very wealthy man. It was his wish to surrender all interest in his mother’s estate in favour of Thyrza. At the same time he pleaded the cause of his friend Redgy Margetts. He had known, he said, for some time past that he was deeply attached to Thyrza, and had reason to believe that she was not indifferent to him. If that should prove to be the case, might not a second marriage take place? Mr Rogers had been consulted, and had declared himself so well satisfied with Margetts, that he was willing to put him into the farm hitherto occupied by George—which was already in a thriving state, with every prospect of improvement. Here he and Thyrza might live, until the time came when Umtongo would be their own.

Farmer Mansen heard his stepson to the end,—he had never, indeed, been known to interrupt any one,—and then answered that he and his wife had already spoken together on this subject, and had no fault to find with Mr Margetts. But it would be impossible for them to accept him as a suitor for Thyrza, because Mynheer Rudolf Kransberg had been received in that capacity, and no decisive answer had as yet been given him. To this George replied that he had had some conversation with Thyrza on the subject, and she had informed him that young Kransberg had never visited her since the day when he himself had left Umtongo, and as that was fully nine months ago, Thyrza had concluded he had abandoned all idea of seeking her as his wife.

“She is too hasty,” remarked Ludwig. “Nine months are no unreasonable time for a Dutch suitor to delay; we do not do things in this country in a hurry. She cannot allow the addresses of a new suitor, until the old one has been formally dismissed.”

“But, good gracious! how long is that to go on?” pleaded George. “He may pay another visit six months hence, and another a twelvemonth after that. And Thyrza may be an old maid before she has the opportunity of relieving herself from the attentions of her admirer by refusing him.”

“You do not understand our customs,” said Ludwig sedately. “We do everything deliberately.”

This reply George was obliged to transmit to Margetts, by whom, it needs not to say, it was not received with much satisfaction. Redgy, in fact, propounded a variety of schemes for bringing Rudolf von Kransberg up to the scratch, the mildest of which was lassoing him after the fashion of the South American hunters and conveying him in that condition to Thyrza’s presence, when she would avail herself of the opportunity of giving her inamorato hiscongé. All these were rejected by George and Thyrza, and the dissatisfaction of the baffled suitor every day waxed more grievous to behold, when one day he chanced to encounter Hardy in the street at Newcastle, and learned from him that Rudolf Kransberg was not only paying his addresses to Gretchen Groetweld, the plump and comely daughter of the Landrost of Lichtenberg, but, it was generally believed, had been accepted by her.

“I met him riding down the street,” said Hardy, “dressed in his best holiday suit, and a large nosegay in his buttonhole. He was mounted on a showy horse,—‘the courting horse,’ as they call it,—which he made amble and prance down the street to the great admiration of the spectators. Presently he drew up at Mynheer Groetweld’s door, when the worthy burgess greeted him with ceremonious politeness and requested him to enter. I heard from the Landrost, who delayed a few minutes to speak to me, that Mistress Gretchen is well satisfied with her sweetheart, and the formal betrothal is straightway to take place.”

This intelligence, which was presently confirmed by Mynheer Groetweld himself, overcame even Ludwig Mansen’s punctilio; and Reginald Margetts and Thyrza were allowed to plight their troth to one another.

Mr Rogers, who had always felt a warm interest in the Mansens, and who latterly conceived a still warmer regard for Rivers and Margetts, was much pleased at the course which events had taken. Notwithstanding the recent death of Henryk Vander Heyden, it was not thought advisable to postpone for more than a few weeks Rivers’ and Annchen’s wedding; and the Mansens agreed that Redgy and Thyrza should be married on the same day, the chapel attached to Mr Rogers’ house being chosen as the place where both ceremonies were to be performed.

The guests were limited to the near relatives of the brides, the only exception being Hardy, who arrived on the wedding morning, bearing the intelligence that the terms between the English Government and the Boers had been finally arranged. The suzerainty of the Queen was to be maintained, but, apart from this, the most complete independence was conceded to the Transvaal Republic, all the terms for which they had stipulated being fully granted.

“Well,” said Mr Rogers, “I never thought I should live to regret the reversal of that most mischievous and ill-judged of measures, the annexation of the Transvaal, but I have lived to regret it nevertheless. It appears to me that every blunder that was possible has been made. First of all, advantage is taken of a temporary reverse to impose on a nation a yoke which they are supposed to desire, but which they really dislike. Then, when reasonable and respectful petitions are presented, pointing out that the step is to the injury of both countries, and praying that it might be undone, they are curtly refused. Then, when the aggrieved citizens take up arms to compel the recognition of their rights, an attempt is made to crush them by force of arms, but the campaign is conducted in such a manner as to give them an easy and certain victory. I don’t suppose the Tenth Legion of Caesar, or the Old Guard of Napoleon, or Wellington’s Peninsular veterans, could have done anything but stand to be killed, if they had been led into action as our soldiers were. And lastly, when the prestige of England has suffered so seriously that a victory (which could easily have been gained) has become imperatively necessary for its restoration, all that had been refused to moderate entreaty is granted to defiant and almost insolent demand! I don’t suppose the injury that has been done to British ascendancy in South Africa will be undone in less than fifty years, if it is undone then! Well, things are at their worst now; and when they have come to the worst, then the proverb says they will begin to mend! That must be our comfort, for I am afraid we have no other!”

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