Chapter Nine.Johannesburg by Night.Mr Philip Martin was an intelligent and entertaining speaker, with enough of the boy still about him to make him understand and interest our heroes.His age was thirty-two, and he had both travelled and read a great deal. A South African by birth and descent of three generations, all his sympathies and hopes lay in his native land. England, or rather Scotland, had been the original home of his ancestors, and their traditions of liberty and independence were not forgotten. But it was Africa, not Scotland, which held all that was most sacred to him.He had come to Johannesburg to superintend one of the mines, the same one from which Mr Raybold drew most of his immense income. Philip Martin was therefore a man with no personal vested interests in the Transvaal beyond his salary. He could therefore leave whenever he liked this inhospitable soil to Uitlanders.He could also plot and conspire, without the same risks that Mr Raybold ran. This perhaps rendered him more daring and independent than his host.During dinner, when not talking about the market, they conversed on indifferent subjects. Mr Martin seemed chiefly interested in hearing all about the life the lads had led at school.Ned had a notion that this bright, strong, swarthy man, with his air of interest, was drawing them out for some purpose of his own, and was reading them all the time he asked questions and listened to their replies.But he did not mind being studied, as his record and those of his companions were clean ones. Besides, he found it a pleasure to give his confidence to this man, for already he liked him very greatly, and felt that he would not be misjudged.So the three lads rattled on, recalling incidents of victories won in the class and in the field, while Mr Martin listened with his keen, bright eyes glowing upon them alternately, as if in his heart he was moving again with them through those merry past times.Mr Raybold also sat looking at them and listening with the indulgent smile of a genial host, who is pleased to find his guests enjoying themselves.It was a good dinner, and the lads did full justice to it, in spite of their chatter, for they had brought with them good travellers’ appetites. The solids disappeared rapidly as they were placed before them, without in the least spoiling their zest for the dessert. The wines, however, they did not touch, which Mr Martin also abstained from. Mr Raybold was the only one who indulged in anything stronger than water.“What do you drink?” asked Mr Martin, during a pause.“Water,” answered our heroes.“Right you are. That is my tipple also when I can get it; but in Africa one has to grow accustomed to moderate their desires even in this indulgence—particularly when on an exploring expedition.”“And that was our intention in coming out to Africa.”“You’ll have your chance, never fear. There is plenty of ground yet left to explore, and lots of big game to bag up-country.”Clarence looked wistfully and affectionately at his father during the dinner, who returned his glances with tenderness. The abject expression which Mr Raybold had seemed to have worn in the afternoon had now been replaced by an air of placid content and kindliness. Clarence felt greatly relieved, and began to regain hope and confidence.“Are you going to the club tonight, Philip?” he asked.“Yes; I’ll look in there about ten o’clock. Shall you be there?”“Yes; I think so,” replied the capitalist, quietly. “I have a few calls to make first.”“I suppose you don’t object to me taking the youngsters, to show them about?”“Well—no. If you consider them old enough, I don’t greatly object.”There was not much heartiness in Mr Raybold’s tones, and he looked in the direction of his son with a slightly troubled eye, while he rubbed his chin reflectively.“Oh, I’ll vouch for them, and take care that they do not get into any scrapes also,” answered Mr Martin, confidently.“Very well; I’ll trust them under your wing. Come into my sanctum and have a cigar first.”Mr Raybold rose and led the way with a pleasant smile; then, dismissing the servant who had followed them with coffee, he locked the door, and turned round to Philip Martin with a stern face—“Look here, Philip, I don’t like this! I am risking the biggest part of my fortune, and possibly my own life, to help on the cause, but I draw the line at giving up my son also.”Clarence sprang forward with a joyous cry, and flung his arms impulsively round his father’s neck.“Oh, father, how happy you have made me by those words! So you are not, after all, a tame serf?”“Wait, Clarence. I am speaking to Mr Martin at present,” said his father, gravely, at the same time pushing him away gently.“I have learnt enough from these lads, Mr Raybold, to know that no power on earth will keep them out of the fun if they live in Johannesburg,” answered Philip Martin, calmly. “If we don’t show them what is going on under the surface, they are too recently from the home of freedom to be able to endure the life here.”“I can send them away.”“Where? To Rhodesia, where they will be picked up and utilised by our friends outside?”Mr Raybold remained silent, as if he had not a reply handy.“Best get them initiated first,” continued Philip, “and then they will be able to hold their own. Cecil Rhodes has already seen them, and trusts them, young as they are; and you know he is not the man to make many mistakes. Besides, think of your son’s feelings. He must respect his father. Just give him a chance to speak for himself.”“Yes, father; let us go with Mr Martin. I want to be proud as well as fond of my father. We all want to help to shake down this horrible tyranny, and we can be trusted.”“Those are our sentiments, sir,” echoed Ned and Fred—“to be of some service to the British, and help to wipe out those ugly stains that now lie on our flag.”“My lads,” answered Mr Raybold, gravely, “it is not that I do not trust you, but that I fear to risk you. What has to be done is our business, not yours—men’s work, not boys’.”“Where a father goes, surely it is a son’s duty to follow,” said Clarence.“We’ll take the risk. And if we are boys, we are able to fight as well as most men, and run a good deal faster, if running is the game,” added Ned, with a flash in his eyes.“Besides,” said Fred, quietly, “we know too much already not to know more.”Philip Martin laughed, and cried—“That clinches it, I fancy. Come, Mr Raybold, I’d rather have these three youngsters in our ranks than a dozen of some fellows I know.”“I must yield, I suppose,” answered Mr Raybold, with a regretful sigh. “Only I wish I could have kept you out of this hornets’ nest, Clarence. Be careful, though, now that you are about to become conspirators, for we have a very wily enemy to hoodwink.”He went over to where the cigars were and took one, which he cut and lit, while he offered the box to Philip.“I’ll call the committee meeting for half-past ten. That will give you time to look round the town, Philip.”“Yes; that will do nicely. Come, boys, if you are ready we’ll start.”They found horses already saddled waiting for them at the front door, and together they cantered down the avenue and out to the main road.The moon was just rising as they started, and very soon it was shining upon their faces and casting long black shadows behind them. The three boys were filled with eagerness, not so much to see the town as to be introduced to that mysterious club.They had about four miles to ride before they reached the centre of the city, and through most of this distance they were passing private villas and gardens. The mines were situated on the other side of the city.Under the silver lustre of the moon, with the dark mystery of shadow which the shrubs and trees cast, these suburbs appeared to be centuries old. From the window-blinds of the mansions shone the mellow lamplights, while the sounds of singing and music all added to the charm of that warm and radiant night.Many people were out on the road, enjoying the beauty of the night—parties on horseback, lovers, natives, and not a few children. They all appeared happy and careless enough.Soon they came to the more crowded parts, all brightly lighted up with electric globes and gas-jets. Many of the shops were still open and doing a thriving trade. The hotels and canteens were, as usual, crowded, while the side paths were filled with pedestrians. All the citizens of Johannesburg seemed to be on the streets at this time, and a strange gathering of nationalities they were.“We have some of the worst blackguards on the face of the globe here,” observed Philip, as they rode slowly along Pritchard Street.“And some of the greatest cowards also, I should say,” replied Ned.“You are right; blackguards are very seldom brave men, although, of course, there are exceptions to every rule.”“I see Israel is to the fore here.”“Yes; that is one of the causes of our past failure. A Jew will never risk his property nor person for any cause outside of business. We don’t admit Jews nor Germans into the club where we are going tonight, nor, of course, Dutchmen either.”“I suppose we must not ask any questions about your club now?” asked Ned, timidly.“No; we shall dismount here, and leave our horses for the present. One thing I must ask of you, and that is, whatever you may see on the streets, do not interfere. This is a rough city, after dark particularly, and swarming with the vilest of both sexes. Yet restrain your generous instincts and do not pause either to remonstrate or protest. You will see and hear much to raise your just indignation, but keep your feelings under, or you will be of no use to the cause.”It was a timely warning, and the boys acted upon it, although their chivalrous feelings were sorely tried during that night walk. Almost from the moment they turned from the hotel, where they left their horses, to the time they entered the club-house, their eyes and ears were affronted by evidences of unbridled licence and brutal tyranny.All the inhabitants appeared to be more or less under the influence of drink, women as well as men. They were generally all well dressed, most of them overdressed, while on shirt-fronts and bare necks blazed out flashing diamonds.“Are there no respectable people in Johannesburg?” asked the boys in astonishment.“The respectable people mostly stay at home on nights like this,” replied Philip. “What you see are the scum of nations drawn here by the scent of gold, as vultures are to a battlefield. These are the camp followers of the great god Mammon, greater foes to freedom and progress than are the Boers. They are nearly all either thieves, spies, or reasonless beasts.”It was a gay sight and for ever changing. The women with their shining dresses and flashing diamonds looked like fireflies as they flaunted along under the electric lights from canteen to canteen. Tram-cars, Cape carts, cabs, and horsemen filled up the centre of the streets, while black men, and whites, showing prominent noses and smoking enormous cigars, passed to and fro incessantly.And amongst them swaggered shaggy-bearded and badly dressed Boers, scowling or jeering coarsely at the crowd they pushed so rudely through.They heard one drunken fellow begin to shout out, “Rule, Britannia,” but he was immediately seized by a couple of Zarps and dragged off to prison. No one interfered on his behalf, nor did our heroes feel much pity either; he had such an atrocious rasping voice that they were almost grateful to the Boers for silencing it. At last they turned down a quiet street, and soon reached a house where the front door stood wide open, and where the first-flat windows were lighted up.“This is our club,” said Philip, as they entered.There was an office in the hall where lay a visitors’ book. In this he entered their names, with his own. Then, with a nod to the silent hall-keeper, he showed them upstairs.“Our reading-room,” Philip said, as he ushered them into a large room comfortably furnished.There were a good number of gentlemen assembled, reading papers and magazines, or writing. Philip looked about him keenly, and, nodding to several, took a chair and touched the electric bell. Almost immediately a waiter entered from another room.“The committee are waiting for you, sir,” whispered the waiter to Philip.“All right. Excuse me for a few moments, boys. You will find all the latest magazines here, and I’ll not be long.”He went out of the room, and left them to amuse themselves as they best could amongst the papers and magazines.They had not very long to wait, however, before he returned and said—“Now, boys, come with me, and I’ll show you the other parts of these premises.”
Mr Philip Martin was an intelligent and entertaining speaker, with enough of the boy still about him to make him understand and interest our heroes.
His age was thirty-two, and he had both travelled and read a great deal. A South African by birth and descent of three generations, all his sympathies and hopes lay in his native land. England, or rather Scotland, had been the original home of his ancestors, and their traditions of liberty and independence were not forgotten. But it was Africa, not Scotland, which held all that was most sacred to him.
He had come to Johannesburg to superintend one of the mines, the same one from which Mr Raybold drew most of his immense income. Philip Martin was therefore a man with no personal vested interests in the Transvaal beyond his salary. He could therefore leave whenever he liked this inhospitable soil to Uitlanders.
He could also plot and conspire, without the same risks that Mr Raybold ran. This perhaps rendered him more daring and independent than his host.
During dinner, when not talking about the market, they conversed on indifferent subjects. Mr Martin seemed chiefly interested in hearing all about the life the lads had led at school.
Ned had a notion that this bright, strong, swarthy man, with his air of interest, was drawing them out for some purpose of his own, and was reading them all the time he asked questions and listened to their replies.
But he did not mind being studied, as his record and those of his companions were clean ones. Besides, he found it a pleasure to give his confidence to this man, for already he liked him very greatly, and felt that he would not be misjudged.
So the three lads rattled on, recalling incidents of victories won in the class and in the field, while Mr Martin listened with his keen, bright eyes glowing upon them alternately, as if in his heart he was moving again with them through those merry past times.
Mr Raybold also sat looking at them and listening with the indulgent smile of a genial host, who is pleased to find his guests enjoying themselves.
It was a good dinner, and the lads did full justice to it, in spite of their chatter, for they had brought with them good travellers’ appetites. The solids disappeared rapidly as they were placed before them, without in the least spoiling their zest for the dessert. The wines, however, they did not touch, which Mr Martin also abstained from. Mr Raybold was the only one who indulged in anything stronger than water.
“What do you drink?” asked Mr Martin, during a pause.
“Water,” answered our heroes.
“Right you are. That is my tipple also when I can get it; but in Africa one has to grow accustomed to moderate their desires even in this indulgence—particularly when on an exploring expedition.”
“And that was our intention in coming out to Africa.”
“You’ll have your chance, never fear. There is plenty of ground yet left to explore, and lots of big game to bag up-country.”
Clarence looked wistfully and affectionately at his father during the dinner, who returned his glances with tenderness. The abject expression which Mr Raybold had seemed to have worn in the afternoon had now been replaced by an air of placid content and kindliness. Clarence felt greatly relieved, and began to regain hope and confidence.
“Are you going to the club tonight, Philip?” he asked.
“Yes; I’ll look in there about ten o’clock. Shall you be there?”
“Yes; I think so,” replied the capitalist, quietly. “I have a few calls to make first.”
“I suppose you don’t object to me taking the youngsters, to show them about?”
“Well—no. If you consider them old enough, I don’t greatly object.”
There was not much heartiness in Mr Raybold’s tones, and he looked in the direction of his son with a slightly troubled eye, while he rubbed his chin reflectively.
“Oh, I’ll vouch for them, and take care that they do not get into any scrapes also,” answered Mr Martin, confidently.
“Very well; I’ll trust them under your wing. Come into my sanctum and have a cigar first.”
Mr Raybold rose and led the way with a pleasant smile; then, dismissing the servant who had followed them with coffee, he locked the door, and turned round to Philip Martin with a stern face—
“Look here, Philip, I don’t like this! I am risking the biggest part of my fortune, and possibly my own life, to help on the cause, but I draw the line at giving up my son also.”
Clarence sprang forward with a joyous cry, and flung his arms impulsively round his father’s neck.
“Oh, father, how happy you have made me by those words! So you are not, after all, a tame serf?”
“Wait, Clarence. I am speaking to Mr Martin at present,” said his father, gravely, at the same time pushing him away gently.
“I have learnt enough from these lads, Mr Raybold, to know that no power on earth will keep them out of the fun if they live in Johannesburg,” answered Philip Martin, calmly. “If we don’t show them what is going on under the surface, they are too recently from the home of freedom to be able to endure the life here.”
“I can send them away.”
“Where? To Rhodesia, where they will be picked up and utilised by our friends outside?”
Mr Raybold remained silent, as if he had not a reply handy.
“Best get them initiated first,” continued Philip, “and then they will be able to hold their own. Cecil Rhodes has already seen them, and trusts them, young as they are; and you know he is not the man to make many mistakes. Besides, think of your son’s feelings. He must respect his father. Just give him a chance to speak for himself.”
“Yes, father; let us go with Mr Martin. I want to be proud as well as fond of my father. We all want to help to shake down this horrible tyranny, and we can be trusted.”
“Those are our sentiments, sir,” echoed Ned and Fred—“to be of some service to the British, and help to wipe out those ugly stains that now lie on our flag.”
“My lads,” answered Mr Raybold, gravely, “it is not that I do not trust you, but that I fear to risk you. What has to be done is our business, not yours—men’s work, not boys’.”
“Where a father goes, surely it is a son’s duty to follow,” said Clarence.
“We’ll take the risk. And if we are boys, we are able to fight as well as most men, and run a good deal faster, if running is the game,” added Ned, with a flash in his eyes.
“Besides,” said Fred, quietly, “we know too much already not to know more.”
Philip Martin laughed, and cried—
“That clinches it, I fancy. Come, Mr Raybold, I’d rather have these three youngsters in our ranks than a dozen of some fellows I know.”
“I must yield, I suppose,” answered Mr Raybold, with a regretful sigh. “Only I wish I could have kept you out of this hornets’ nest, Clarence. Be careful, though, now that you are about to become conspirators, for we have a very wily enemy to hoodwink.”
He went over to where the cigars were and took one, which he cut and lit, while he offered the box to Philip.
“I’ll call the committee meeting for half-past ten. That will give you time to look round the town, Philip.”
“Yes; that will do nicely. Come, boys, if you are ready we’ll start.”
They found horses already saddled waiting for them at the front door, and together they cantered down the avenue and out to the main road.
The moon was just rising as they started, and very soon it was shining upon their faces and casting long black shadows behind them. The three boys were filled with eagerness, not so much to see the town as to be introduced to that mysterious club.
They had about four miles to ride before they reached the centre of the city, and through most of this distance they were passing private villas and gardens. The mines were situated on the other side of the city.
Under the silver lustre of the moon, with the dark mystery of shadow which the shrubs and trees cast, these suburbs appeared to be centuries old. From the window-blinds of the mansions shone the mellow lamplights, while the sounds of singing and music all added to the charm of that warm and radiant night.
Many people were out on the road, enjoying the beauty of the night—parties on horseback, lovers, natives, and not a few children. They all appeared happy and careless enough.
Soon they came to the more crowded parts, all brightly lighted up with electric globes and gas-jets. Many of the shops were still open and doing a thriving trade. The hotels and canteens were, as usual, crowded, while the side paths were filled with pedestrians. All the citizens of Johannesburg seemed to be on the streets at this time, and a strange gathering of nationalities they were.
“We have some of the worst blackguards on the face of the globe here,” observed Philip, as they rode slowly along Pritchard Street.
“And some of the greatest cowards also, I should say,” replied Ned.
“You are right; blackguards are very seldom brave men, although, of course, there are exceptions to every rule.”
“I see Israel is to the fore here.”
“Yes; that is one of the causes of our past failure. A Jew will never risk his property nor person for any cause outside of business. We don’t admit Jews nor Germans into the club where we are going tonight, nor, of course, Dutchmen either.”
“I suppose we must not ask any questions about your club now?” asked Ned, timidly.
“No; we shall dismount here, and leave our horses for the present. One thing I must ask of you, and that is, whatever you may see on the streets, do not interfere. This is a rough city, after dark particularly, and swarming with the vilest of both sexes. Yet restrain your generous instincts and do not pause either to remonstrate or protest. You will see and hear much to raise your just indignation, but keep your feelings under, or you will be of no use to the cause.”
It was a timely warning, and the boys acted upon it, although their chivalrous feelings were sorely tried during that night walk. Almost from the moment they turned from the hotel, where they left their horses, to the time they entered the club-house, their eyes and ears were affronted by evidences of unbridled licence and brutal tyranny.
All the inhabitants appeared to be more or less under the influence of drink, women as well as men. They were generally all well dressed, most of them overdressed, while on shirt-fronts and bare necks blazed out flashing diamonds.
“Are there no respectable people in Johannesburg?” asked the boys in astonishment.
“The respectable people mostly stay at home on nights like this,” replied Philip. “What you see are the scum of nations drawn here by the scent of gold, as vultures are to a battlefield. These are the camp followers of the great god Mammon, greater foes to freedom and progress than are the Boers. They are nearly all either thieves, spies, or reasonless beasts.”
It was a gay sight and for ever changing. The women with their shining dresses and flashing diamonds looked like fireflies as they flaunted along under the electric lights from canteen to canteen. Tram-cars, Cape carts, cabs, and horsemen filled up the centre of the streets, while black men, and whites, showing prominent noses and smoking enormous cigars, passed to and fro incessantly.
And amongst them swaggered shaggy-bearded and badly dressed Boers, scowling or jeering coarsely at the crowd they pushed so rudely through.
They heard one drunken fellow begin to shout out, “Rule, Britannia,” but he was immediately seized by a couple of Zarps and dragged off to prison. No one interfered on his behalf, nor did our heroes feel much pity either; he had such an atrocious rasping voice that they were almost grateful to the Boers for silencing it. At last they turned down a quiet street, and soon reached a house where the front door stood wide open, and where the first-flat windows were lighted up.
“This is our club,” said Philip, as they entered.
There was an office in the hall where lay a visitors’ book. In this he entered their names, with his own. Then, with a nod to the silent hall-keeper, he showed them upstairs.
“Our reading-room,” Philip said, as he ushered them into a large room comfortably furnished.
There were a good number of gentlemen assembled, reading papers and magazines, or writing. Philip looked about him keenly, and, nodding to several, took a chair and touched the electric bell. Almost immediately a waiter entered from another room.
“The committee are waiting for you, sir,” whispered the waiter to Philip.
“All right. Excuse me for a few moments, boys. You will find all the latest magazines here, and I’ll not be long.”
He went out of the room, and left them to amuse themselves as they best could amongst the papers and magazines.
They had not very long to wait, however, before he returned and said—
“Now, boys, come with me, and I’ll show you the other parts of these premises.”
Chapter Ten.The Three Aces.There was nothing about the premises of the Three Ace Club so far to show its character. It was entered as a non-political club for British Africanders. As drink and gambling were strictly prohibited, and its object was more for reading than social intercourse or discussion, it was regarded as a very slow affair by the majority of the community, and only patronised by the most staid and respectable. A considerable number of members, however, were entered upon its books, and as far as subscriptions went, it was in a flourishing enough condition.It had been organised since the fiasco of 1896, and although Uncle Paul had regarded it with suspicion at first, its respectable and sleepy character had allayed even his suspicions.Philip Martin led the boys up to the second landing, and then, taking them into a bedroom, he shut the door.“I am about to confide in you, my lads, a secret which you must promise never to reveal to any one.”“You may depend upon us.”“I feel I can, otherwise I should not have brought you here. You may have read about the insurrection of 1896, when the Boers disarmed the citizens. They were disappointed in only finding four thousand rifles instead of the thirty thousand they were led to expect.”“Yes; it was generally thought that the reformers had been boasting.”“That was the general impression, and so I also thought before I came to Johannesburg and was initiated.”“Had they this number of weapons?” asked Ned.“Yes; more than that number, as you will see presently.”“Then why did the cowards hold back and allow Dr Jim to be defeated?”“Because, firstly, they had a majority of cowards amongst them; and, secondly, because they were not properly organised, and the leaders were afraid to trust their men. Now, however, we have altered all that. Come with me, and you will see our arsenal.”He opened the door of a wardrobe which stood at the side of the wall, and, pulling out the drawer first, he touched a secret spring, and immediately the bottom moved up and showed them a flight of stairs underneath.“This is the way down. You go first, while I close the entrance.”He had only to pull back the drawer from the inside, and the aperture was securely fastened, wardrobe door and all.He struck a wax vesta, and showed them their course down the steps, which were like the steps down to the stoke-holes of an ocean liner.“These steps can all be raised and laid flat against the ceilings of each landing, as well as covered from sight, at a moment’s notice,” explained Philip, as they went down. “In the flat below, which we entered, is a press, through which we pass, with shelves that drop down when the ladders are raised.”“It is very ingenious.”“Very, and unless a traitor showed the working, quite impossible to discover. We are now passing through the pantry on the ground floor. Now we are below the street.”The steps they had used hitherto were composed of iron, felt covered, but now they were descending solid stone stairs, also carpeted with thick felt to deaden the sound of their feet.The walls and roof were likewise composed of stone and covered with cement, while at regular intervals along the ceiling were electric globes, which gave them plenty of light.They went down about forty of these stone steps before they came to level ground, and then, before them, they saw a long, straight, and well-lighted lobby with an arched roof.“This is the secret of the Three Ace Club. We have to take precautions when we have the like of Oom Paul to deal with,” remarked Philip, with a smile. “Here you may make as much noise as you like, for no one outside could hear even a gun report. We have stopped the echo.”“It must have cost something to excavate this vault,” said the boys.“Yes; a good deal of Rand money has been sunk here. But come and see our shooting-gallery, arsenal, and general meeting-place.”He led the way along the lobby until they came to a door, against which he gave three loud knocks, at the same time pressing a knob.Immediately the door opened, and they entered.An underground hall of four hundred feet spread before them, in which were assembled a number of men.It was lighted like the lobby by electricity, and lined, floor, ceiling, walls, and doors, with felt. At the far end were placed three targets, and all round on racks, from floor to ceiling, were rifles. Not thirty thousand, but over a hundred thousand weapons, were here placed ready for use.Along two sides were placed a row of maxim guns. Ted counted thirty to each side. He also noticed that there were several doors at different parts of this vast gallery.Philip Martin saw their amazement, and smiled again.“You see we are not altogether so much at the mercy of the Boers as they fondly imagine. That door to your right leads off to our magazine, where we have sufficient ammunition for our purpose. That other door on your left leads to a tunnel which we are at present engaged in boring. When finished it will take us into the fort where Kruger has fixed his Krupps. We are more than two-thirds on the way now. Those other doors are exits, and lead to different parts of the city. Oh yes, when next we rise, if we are forced, it shall not be against our wives and children that the fort guns will be discharged. We’ll use them for another purpose, and be much obliged to Oom Paul for his valuable gift.”Philip Martin was treating these young novices as if they were sage men, which proved his knowledge of human nature. If you wish a boy to act like a man, treat him like a man, and respect his amour propre.He was showing them round as if they were distinguished visitors, and opening his mind to them with a frankness that won their hearts completely. It flattered their self-respect and quickened their reflective faculties. They felt that they were expected to feel, speak, and act like the men they were amongst, and whose lives were entrusted to their discretion.Then they become grave, attentive, and observant, and got into the proper mood for the work that lay before them. In England men are apt to underrate boys, therefore they grow slowly. Napoleon never made this mistake, but then he was young himself when he became a man, and moulded his ideas from the youthful heroes of the great past.Philip Martin, like Napoleon, had the timely quality of being able to appreciate young men. He knew from experience that heroism comes more natural to a youth than to a sage. Johannesburg had been chock-a-block with prudent sages during the last conspiracy, which had so miserably failed. He meant to work with enthusiasts this time—have men who needed curbing instead of urging.The effect of this treatment was that our heroes, however much amazed they were at what they saw, managed to control their feelings, and look coolly about them. The only thing which caused them regret was, every arrangement had already been made, and they seemed to have arrived too late to be of the slightest use.“Johannesburg seems to be already in the hands of your party, Mr Martin. I fear we can be of but small service to you,” said Ned, sadly.“Don’t think such a thing, my lad,” replied Philip, warmly. “The message you brought in from Cecil Rhodes entitles you to our deepest gratitude, as you will know perhaps presently. It was too important a bit of paper to be trusted to an ordinary messenger, and as you are a new-comer and young, you and your friends are just the kind we most urgently require. As for Johannesburg being in our hands because we have weapons, and will soon be able to hold the fort, that is of very little advantage to us while the Home Government work with the Boers and forbid us to claim our rights. We are helpless, even with this arsenal in our midst, to do more than protect our lives if our masters wantonly attack us. We must wait for them to begin hostilities. Say, are you fair marksmen?”“Not first rate, but we have had some practise in Stellenbosch.”“Then go over to the rack there and select rifles, and amuse yourselves by trying to get some bull’s-eyes, while I talk to the committee about the news you have brought us. I’ll introduce you presently, and get you enrolled as members of our Three Ace Club.”“What a strange name! Why do you call it this?”“Because we believe we hold ‘three aces’ at present in the game we are playing against this rotten Republic. Oom Paul believes he holds all the aces. We give him credit of one, but that, we fear, is the trump. However, we don’t despair. With good luck and hanging on, I hope we may yet be able to call our party the four ace club yet. Then we can exhibit our hands.”He took the boys over to where a party of young men were standing, and introduced them, telling them to fix them up with cartridges and have some practice. Then he went and joined some of the elders, amongst whom Clarence saw his father.They were received in a very friendly way by the young fellows. That they were there at all was guarantee enough for their principles.For the next half-hour their attention was fully occupied by the target in front of them. Out of a dozen shots each, Ned put nine into the centre, Clarence eight, and Fred ten, at the four hundred yards.They were congratulated by their companions, and would have been fairly satisfied only that they found the others so much better. Out of six dozen of the other cartridges, only one struck the other edge of the mark; the other seventy-one went straight, one over the other, right in the centre. The man who struck the edge looked disgusted with himself.As for those other nine misses, they could easily be counted on the white.The self-satisfaction of our heroes died away at their own miserable display. They felt suddenly as if they were worthy only of contempt.“It isn’t at all bad shooting for the first try at a new target,” said the young men, encouragingly. “You must remember that we spend most of our evenings here, drilling and practising.”That was something in their favour certainly.“You must join our squad; we go through our manoeuvres here every night from seven till ten o’clock. We have the very best instructors in the British Army to teach us, and I reckon we will make a good show when the time arrives to show our paces above the ground.”Our heroes resolved that, while they remained in Johannesburg, they would fill out their evenings in this way.While they had been shooting, Philip Martin and the council were engaged in another part of the hall discussing politics. The message which Philip delivered to them seemed to give them universal satisfaction.But they were finished now, for Philip came forward and called the boys.“I am happy to tell you that you have been accepted as members of this society. Come and be sworn in.”They followed him over to a table, where the secretary of the society was seated with the roll-book in front of him.“Young gentlemen,” he said, “I am pleased to welcome you to Johannesburg, and proud to accept you as volunteers to the cause of liberty and the rights of Englishmen. Our cause is a just and a holy one, which must commend itself to every loyal member of the British race, whichever home he hails from. Our objects are threefold: first, to uphold the power and honour of our Empire, which means the spread of civilisation and humanity; secondly, the harmony and unity of Africa, and the federation of all our colonies under the protection of this Empire of Great Britain; thirdly, the downfall of all tyrants and traitors to the Empire. Experience has taught us that the Boer Government is an impossibility, and that while they, the Boers, have authority, there can be no peace or progress in Africa. They have denied us all the rights of human beings, and disgraced our name. They have shown us that they are our enemies and evil-wishers. They have cajoled us too often for us to trust them any more, for they have proved themselves to be crafty, cruel, and pitiless savages, utterly unworthy of a place among nations. Therefore we are banded together to destroy this Dutch Republic in Africa, and restore the land, that traitors to England gave to these enemies, once again to the Empire as it was before. We are banded to unite the whole of South Africa under one flag, and that flag must be the British flag. Are you prepared to swear that you will help us to achieve this end, and wipe away the stains which these savages have placed upon that flag?”“We are,” answered our heroes, earnestly.“With all your energies—with the last drop of your blood, if called upon?”“We are.”“Swear also that you will be faithful to the trust we repose in you from this night, obedient to the command of those officers who may be placed over you, and true to your comrades.”“We swear to be faithful, obedient, and true to the cause.”“These are the three aces which form our watchword—loyalty, obedience, and good faith. Now sign your names here, and receive your badge.”Our heroes went home with Mr Raybold that night proud that they were at least members of this noble brotherhood, and prepared to live and die worthy of the small joined aces which they carried in their pockets.
There was nothing about the premises of the Three Ace Club so far to show its character. It was entered as a non-political club for British Africanders. As drink and gambling were strictly prohibited, and its object was more for reading than social intercourse or discussion, it was regarded as a very slow affair by the majority of the community, and only patronised by the most staid and respectable. A considerable number of members, however, were entered upon its books, and as far as subscriptions went, it was in a flourishing enough condition.
It had been organised since the fiasco of 1896, and although Uncle Paul had regarded it with suspicion at first, its respectable and sleepy character had allayed even his suspicions.
Philip Martin led the boys up to the second landing, and then, taking them into a bedroom, he shut the door.
“I am about to confide in you, my lads, a secret which you must promise never to reveal to any one.”
“You may depend upon us.”
“I feel I can, otherwise I should not have brought you here. You may have read about the insurrection of 1896, when the Boers disarmed the citizens. They were disappointed in only finding four thousand rifles instead of the thirty thousand they were led to expect.”
“Yes; it was generally thought that the reformers had been boasting.”
“That was the general impression, and so I also thought before I came to Johannesburg and was initiated.”
“Had they this number of weapons?” asked Ned.
“Yes; more than that number, as you will see presently.”
“Then why did the cowards hold back and allow Dr Jim to be defeated?”
“Because, firstly, they had a majority of cowards amongst them; and, secondly, because they were not properly organised, and the leaders were afraid to trust their men. Now, however, we have altered all that. Come with me, and you will see our arsenal.”
He opened the door of a wardrobe which stood at the side of the wall, and, pulling out the drawer first, he touched a secret spring, and immediately the bottom moved up and showed them a flight of stairs underneath.
“This is the way down. You go first, while I close the entrance.”
He had only to pull back the drawer from the inside, and the aperture was securely fastened, wardrobe door and all.
He struck a wax vesta, and showed them their course down the steps, which were like the steps down to the stoke-holes of an ocean liner.
“These steps can all be raised and laid flat against the ceilings of each landing, as well as covered from sight, at a moment’s notice,” explained Philip, as they went down. “In the flat below, which we entered, is a press, through which we pass, with shelves that drop down when the ladders are raised.”
“It is very ingenious.”
“Very, and unless a traitor showed the working, quite impossible to discover. We are now passing through the pantry on the ground floor. Now we are below the street.”
The steps they had used hitherto were composed of iron, felt covered, but now they were descending solid stone stairs, also carpeted with thick felt to deaden the sound of their feet.
The walls and roof were likewise composed of stone and covered with cement, while at regular intervals along the ceiling were electric globes, which gave them plenty of light.
They went down about forty of these stone steps before they came to level ground, and then, before them, they saw a long, straight, and well-lighted lobby with an arched roof.
“This is the secret of the Three Ace Club. We have to take precautions when we have the like of Oom Paul to deal with,” remarked Philip, with a smile. “Here you may make as much noise as you like, for no one outside could hear even a gun report. We have stopped the echo.”
“It must have cost something to excavate this vault,” said the boys.
“Yes; a good deal of Rand money has been sunk here. But come and see our shooting-gallery, arsenal, and general meeting-place.”
He led the way along the lobby until they came to a door, against which he gave three loud knocks, at the same time pressing a knob.
Immediately the door opened, and they entered.
An underground hall of four hundred feet spread before them, in which were assembled a number of men.
It was lighted like the lobby by electricity, and lined, floor, ceiling, walls, and doors, with felt. At the far end were placed three targets, and all round on racks, from floor to ceiling, were rifles. Not thirty thousand, but over a hundred thousand weapons, were here placed ready for use.
Along two sides were placed a row of maxim guns. Ted counted thirty to each side. He also noticed that there were several doors at different parts of this vast gallery.
Philip Martin saw their amazement, and smiled again.
“You see we are not altogether so much at the mercy of the Boers as they fondly imagine. That door to your right leads off to our magazine, where we have sufficient ammunition for our purpose. That other door on your left leads to a tunnel which we are at present engaged in boring. When finished it will take us into the fort where Kruger has fixed his Krupps. We are more than two-thirds on the way now. Those other doors are exits, and lead to different parts of the city. Oh yes, when next we rise, if we are forced, it shall not be against our wives and children that the fort guns will be discharged. We’ll use them for another purpose, and be much obliged to Oom Paul for his valuable gift.”
Philip Martin was treating these young novices as if they were sage men, which proved his knowledge of human nature. If you wish a boy to act like a man, treat him like a man, and respect his amour propre.
He was showing them round as if they were distinguished visitors, and opening his mind to them with a frankness that won their hearts completely. It flattered their self-respect and quickened their reflective faculties. They felt that they were expected to feel, speak, and act like the men they were amongst, and whose lives were entrusted to their discretion.
Then they become grave, attentive, and observant, and got into the proper mood for the work that lay before them. In England men are apt to underrate boys, therefore they grow slowly. Napoleon never made this mistake, but then he was young himself when he became a man, and moulded his ideas from the youthful heroes of the great past.
Philip Martin, like Napoleon, had the timely quality of being able to appreciate young men. He knew from experience that heroism comes more natural to a youth than to a sage. Johannesburg had been chock-a-block with prudent sages during the last conspiracy, which had so miserably failed. He meant to work with enthusiasts this time—have men who needed curbing instead of urging.
The effect of this treatment was that our heroes, however much amazed they were at what they saw, managed to control their feelings, and look coolly about them. The only thing which caused them regret was, every arrangement had already been made, and they seemed to have arrived too late to be of the slightest use.
“Johannesburg seems to be already in the hands of your party, Mr Martin. I fear we can be of but small service to you,” said Ned, sadly.
“Don’t think such a thing, my lad,” replied Philip, warmly. “The message you brought in from Cecil Rhodes entitles you to our deepest gratitude, as you will know perhaps presently. It was too important a bit of paper to be trusted to an ordinary messenger, and as you are a new-comer and young, you and your friends are just the kind we most urgently require. As for Johannesburg being in our hands because we have weapons, and will soon be able to hold the fort, that is of very little advantage to us while the Home Government work with the Boers and forbid us to claim our rights. We are helpless, even with this arsenal in our midst, to do more than protect our lives if our masters wantonly attack us. We must wait for them to begin hostilities. Say, are you fair marksmen?”
“Not first rate, but we have had some practise in Stellenbosch.”
“Then go over to the rack there and select rifles, and amuse yourselves by trying to get some bull’s-eyes, while I talk to the committee about the news you have brought us. I’ll introduce you presently, and get you enrolled as members of our Three Ace Club.”
“What a strange name! Why do you call it this?”
“Because we believe we hold ‘three aces’ at present in the game we are playing against this rotten Republic. Oom Paul believes he holds all the aces. We give him credit of one, but that, we fear, is the trump. However, we don’t despair. With good luck and hanging on, I hope we may yet be able to call our party the four ace club yet. Then we can exhibit our hands.”
He took the boys over to where a party of young men were standing, and introduced them, telling them to fix them up with cartridges and have some practice. Then he went and joined some of the elders, amongst whom Clarence saw his father.
They were received in a very friendly way by the young fellows. That they were there at all was guarantee enough for their principles.
For the next half-hour their attention was fully occupied by the target in front of them. Out of a dozen shots each, Ned put nine into the centre, Clarence eight, and Fred ten, at the four hundred yards.
They were congratulated by their companions, and would have been fairly satisfied only that they found the others so much better. Out of six dozen of the other cartridges, only one struck the other edge of the mark; the other seventy-one went straight, one over the other, right in the centre. The man who struck the edge looked disgusted with himself.
As for those other nine misses, they could easily be counted on the white.
The self-satisfaction of our heroes died away at their own miserable display. They felt suddenly as if they were worthy only of contempt.
“It isn’t at all bad shooting for the first try at a new target,” said the young men, encouragingly. “You must remember that we spend most of our evenings here, drilling and practising.”
That was something in their favour certainly.
“You must join our squad; we go through our manoeuvres here every night from seven till ten o’clock. We have the very best instructors in the British Army to teach us, and I reckon we will make a good show when the time arrives to show our paces above the ground.”
Our heroes resolved that, while they remained in Johannesburg, they would fill out their evenings in this way.
While they had been shooting, Philip Martin and the council were engaged in another part of the hall discussing politics. The message which Philip delivered to them seemed to give them universal satisfaction.
But they were finished now, for Philip came forward and called the boys.
“I am happy to tell you that you have been accepted as members of this society. Come and be sworn in.”
They followed him over to a table, where the secretary of the society was seated with the roll-book in front of him.
“Young gentlemen,” he said, “I am pleased to welcome you to Johannesburg, and proud to accept you as volunteers to the cause of liberty and the rights of Englishmen. Our cause is a just and a holy one, which must commend itself to every loyal member of the British race, whichever home he hails from. Our objects are threefold: first, to uphold the power and honour of our Empire, which means the spread of civilisation and humanity; secondly, the harmony and unity of Africa, and the federation of all our colonies under the protection of this Empire of Great Britain; thirdly, the downfall of all tyrants and traitors to the Empire. Experience has taught us that the Boer Government is an impossibility, and that while they, the Boers, have authority, there can be no peace or progress in Africa. They have denied us all the rights of human beings, and disgraced our name. They have shown us that they are our enemies and evil-wishers. They have cajoled us too often for us to trust them any more, for they have proved themselves to be crafty, cruel, and pitiless savages, utterly unworthy of a place among nations. Therefore we are banded together to destroy this Dutch Republic in Africa, and restore the land, that traitors to England gave to these enemies, once again to the Empire as it was before. We are banded to unite the whole of South Africa under one flag, and that flag must be the British flag. Are you prepared to swear that you will help us to achieve this end, and wipe away the stains which these savages have placed upon that flag?”
“We are,” answered our heroes, earnestly.
“With all your energies—with the last drop of your blood, if called upon?”
“We are.”
“Swear also that you will be faithful to the trust we repose in you from this night, obedient to the command of those officers who may be placed over you, and true to your comrades.”
“We swear to be faithful, obedient, and true to the cause.”
“These are the three aces which form our watchword—loyalty, obedience, and good faith. Now sign your names here, and receive your badge.”
Our heroes went home with Mr Raybold that night proud that they were at least members of this noble brotherhood, and prepared to live and die worthy of the small joined aces which they carried in their pockets.
Chapter Eleven.The Boer Paramount.The life which our heroes led for the next few weeks in Johannesburg, although excessively useful, was not momentous. They learned to be sure of hitting the centre of the bull’s-eye with every shot. Also, what would be of more service in actual Boer warfare, they mastered the science of taking a bead swiftly and hitting a rapidly moving object. Sword and bayonet exercises were not neglected, nor horse and foot drill.They saw the miners at work on the tunnel that was slowly crawling towards the German-filled fort, and helped to carry the débris through one of the several exits. This was the most delicate part of the work, yet it was managed without much difficulty by the numerous members who composed the league.During the daytime they walked about the city or rode over the veldt, getting gradually acquainted with most of their brothers, and learning whom to avoid amongst the inhabitants.They no longer wondered why the former rising had ended in disaster. Amongst all the crowds who were called Uitlanders not a sixth portion were, even at this time, bona fide Britishers. At the time of Dr Jim’s gallant raid they were not a twelfth part. The rest of the population was made up of Russians, French, and German Jews, with a large sprinkling of other nationalities. Germans mostly, however, predominated, and they made no secret of their deep and violent hatred of everything British. Not a single Englishman was employed in any public department either in Johannesburg or anywhere else throughout the Transvaal. The labourers even, who were employed by Government were either Germans or Hollanders when they were not Kaffirs. In the highest posts were placed Boers, Hollanders, and Germans exclusively. It was a clear case of “no English need apply” to any burgher employer.The president, Paul Kruger, and his bigoted and ignorant Executive Council had got every concession which crafty greed and tyranny could get from cowardice and treason. They had introduced German soldiers wholesale into their country, and purchased nearly all the arms and ammunition which had entered Africa for the past two years. This, with blind and misplaced confidence, they had been allowed to do by the other colonists. Indeed, throughout Cape Colony and Natal, the Dutch Africanders had been openly spending all their spare money in arming themselves, while the colonials, as a majority, had been watching them doing this, and neglecting to take the same precautions. At the present moment, to all appearance, the Boers and their friends were the only effectively armed people throughout South Africa. We must except, of course, those who were under the influence of Cecil Rhodes—the men of Rhodesia and the Three Ace Club league. Affairs were in a fairly quiescent condition at present. The citizens of Johannesburg had given over asking for their rights, and accepted each fresh insult and oppression quietly, and without outward remonstrance. They knew such were utterly futile with that obstinate bigot, who regarded himself as an avenging instrument in the hands of the Lord.Neither was it any secret what all these warlike preparations were aiming at. If the Home Government shut its eyes, not a man, woman, or child in Africa but knew that the old man of Pretoria intended nothing less than the subjugating of Africa to the Boers, as soon as matters were ripe enough. They would soon find excuses for their violence and treason when they were ready to begin. As for the anarchy and massacres that would follow, they were satisfied that they would find plenty of defenders amongst the reptile gangs of Little Englanders, who were at present doing their utmost to help them in their work of destruction. It was an open secret that the hated English were to be driven out of Africa, and the country torn from the empire.This was to be the result of our clemency and weak indulgence to a race who understood only revenge and oppression. The remorseless principles and inhuman tenets of the Boer religion belonged to those dark ages which civilisation and the true knowledge of Christianity has swept from the other portions of the globe where the Bible is known and honoured. Their colonial history is a long record of steadfast atrocity and abuse of power. Wherever they have trekked they have left a broad trail of blood and disaster. Wherever they have settled, progress has ceased to exist. They are, as a race, the most ignorant, the most remorseless, and the rudest of barbarians.The history of Africa, from the most remote ages, has been one of conquest. There are, therefore, no aboriginal owners to restrain the hand of the taker, or lay bona fide claims to compensation for land seized. It has been, in the past, ruthlessly torn from the weak by the strong, and held only by force of arms. Humanitarians, therefore, cannot urge the claims of the Kaffirs over the white conquerors. From a humanitarian point of view, the race that has proved most worthy of advancing humanity and civilisation has the best of all possible rights to this open country.For the sake of future races, it is only one of the great existing nations that dare take up this grave responsibility.Neither Germany, France, nor Russia, so far as their colonial policy and history is concerned, have shown that they are adapted for this great work. England only has proved that she is equal to the task, as long ago, Imperial Rome did in a lesser way. Our great empire liberates and advances every land which she protects. She frees the slave, educates the savage, and makes the black man equal with the white. She welcomes the stranger within her gates, asks no tyrannical pledges from the Uitlander before she gives him employment and all the rights of her own children. She embraces all humanity as her children, without shackling them with conditions, either individually or tribal. Whatever king or chief they owe allegiance to—whatever flag they honour—makes, no difference to their rights as colonists and citizens while they live under and claim the protection of the British flag. This is our best defence for our right to extend and hold our empire in the face of envious enemies and internal traitors. What we give up, or lose, or forego is a distinct loss to civilisation, progression, and humanity. We are the only holders and dispensers of liberty. The German makes a good colonist under British control; so do the French, the Dutch, and many of the other clans on the earth’s surface.But when Germany seizes a land she treats it as the warlike Kaffirs did. She butchers the original owners, and insists on all outsiders relinquishing their private rights, and becoming subjects. As the Kaiser has truly said, “On whatever land the German Eagle fixes its talons, that land is German.” This means, it is no longer free, only a German is entitled to civil rights.The Boer, wherever he has possessed any authority, has pursued a similar policy, only, being more medieval and ignorantly conservative in his ideas, he goes many steps further in his candid tyranny than does his friend the German. His religion is a blending of gross superstition, narrowness, intolerance, and Judaism in its most relentless and savage aspect.He honestly believes in the justice of the curse of Ham; but he believes more, for, like the Moslem with his women, he says that the dark races of the earth are like the beasts, soulless; whom to shoot down is no murder; whom to enslave is his right, as one of the masterful and heaven-favoured races.He believes in revenge and hatred as sacred duties. “An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,” are words which he gloats upon.According to the patriarchal laws he is a good husband and father, and will fight for his own like any red Indian. Like all savages, however, he does not care for fighting in the open. He prefers to skulk behind rocks, and take his enemy at a disadvantage.He is a mass of gross superstition; in this he even surpasses the Kaffir. He believes fervently in ghosts and omens, and dreads the dark with trembling horror. He is utterly devoid of chivalry, truth, or common honesty. A pledge in his estimation means only an expedient to hoodwink his adversary and gain time. He will make a promise at any time, and break it without the slightest scruple. He laughs at those who trust him, as fools. Like the wild boar, he hates to see his lair disturbed. He would much rather trek than live where civilisation is. He is rude, uncouth, and pre-eminently inhospitable, and prefers his own ignorance and superstition to enlightenment. By nature he is a morose and uncompromising savage who has no place among civilised races, and not the faintest conception of democracy.His greed is sateless; his audacity boundless; and his sense of gratitude nil. Philanthropy and mercy are qualities which he despises, because he cannot understand them. He professes to believe in the Redeemer of mankind, but he draws his inspirations from the passages of Scripture that suit his peculiar temperament, and the ethics of Christianity do not. As a nation, he is as utterly impossible as the Turk, therefore is completely out of place in the Transvaal.The past history of the Boers in Africa has proved this beyond dispute. They have slaughtered mercilessly, and oppressed their neighbours wherever they have settled. It is only by the strong hand that they have been kept so far within bounds.Their principal grievance against us is that we freed their slaves, and they nurse this grievance with undying hatred. They have murdered our settlers ruthlessly, betrayed our statesmen, and mocked us for our weaknesses. They remember their supposed wrongs, and lose no chance of repaying them by brutality and treachery, and mock at our generosity in forgetting what they have done.Ah! the gallant sons we have lost through trusting those ruthless murderers! England may forget, but what of the mothers, wives, sisters, fathers, and brothers of those who lie buried, and yet unavenged?It is possible to pardon a brave enemy who has fought fairly. As Englishmen, we do this always—but only after we have wiped out the blot. But what true Englishman could forgive the bloody assassin who walks about boasting over his crime? What true Englishman could sit down tamely, and swallow insult and slavery, as well as murder?These were the inhuman, hating, and ferocious enemies which some Englishmen delighted to honour, sympathise with, and admire, for their treatment of those Englishmen who had saved their Republic from ruin, and poured wealth into their rapacious pockets. The tactics of their obstinate and superstitious president is world known. His shamelessness, greed, craft, and unblushing falsehood, his open enmity, his avarice, and dense stupidity, all these qualities are representative of his people, and what we are asked to admire and sympathise with. Standing as we do afar off, we are apt to forget the atrocious side of the Boer, and regard the ridiculous side with good-natured contempt.But to those in the midst of it all, it was by no means a matter to laugh at. The constant reminders of those atrocities and disgraces, the wanton insults, the brutal treatment, the persistent turning round of the screw, without a moment of relaxation, were maddening even to the meekest and most long-suffering.As we have already shown, our heroes did not come of a mute and lowly race. They had British blood in their veins—young English blood that was quickly heated. Since their coming to the Transvaal this blood had been at boiling pitch.They tried to hearken to the words of prudence as preached by Philip Martin and Mr Raybold. They tried to obey their leaders, and shut their eyes to the daily outrages of justice which they beheld, and act in away which their hearts told them was base cowardice.They saw ladies hustled rudely by rough and armed clowns from the footpath amongst the mud. They listened to coarse epithets shouted at their countrywomen if they looked indignant at this usage, and did their best to keep their hands in their pockets and their eyes on the ground.They saw the German mercenaries knock down, kick, and baton the citizens without the slightest provocation, and the citizens take their unmerited punishment without remonstrance, knowing full well there was no possible redress from the Boer authorities. They saw Boers spit on the beards of Englishmen, and they only take out and use their handkerchiefs to wipe the hateful stains away. They saw children ill-treated because their parents were English, and the parents lift up their children and soothe them, without attempting to punish the wretches who had made those innocents weep.They saw all this and grosser outrages constantly being enacted under their eyes, and while they looked they ground their teeth, and wondered how long they would be able to endure this horrible restraint upon their pent-up feelings.“It will be our turn before long to be batoned,” remarked Fred, quietly. “We cannot expect to be allowed to walk the streets much longer without being molested.”“The Boer or German who attempts to lay a finger on me had better look out. I’ll leave my mark on him,” replied Ned, grimly.“We’ll be there at the same time with our signatures,” put in Clarence, cheerfully.Fred was right in his prognostications of evil. Their independent bearing had already been remarked upon by the police, and their turn came sooner even than they expected.
The life which our heroes led for the next few weeks in Johannesburg, although excessively useful, was not momentous. They learned to be sure of hitting the centre of the bull’s-eye with every shot. Also, what would be of more service in actual Boer warfare, they mastered the science of taking a bead swiftly and hitting a rapidly moving object. Sword and bayonet exercises were not neglected, nor horse and foot drill.
They saw the miners at work on the tunnel that was slowly crawling towards the German-filled fort, and helped to carry the débris through one of the several exits. This was the most delicate part of the work, yet it was managed without much difficulty by the numerous members who composed the league.
During the daytime they walked about the city or rode over the veldt, getting gradually acquainted with most of their brothers, and learning whom to avoid amongst the inhabitants.
They no longer wondered why the former rising had ended in disaster. Amongst all the crowds who were called Uitlanders not a sixth portion were, even at this time, bona fide Britishers. At the time of Dr Jim’s gallant raid they were not a twelfth part. The rest of the population was made up of Russians, French, and German Jews, with a large sprinkling of other nationalities. Germans mostly, however, predominated, and they made no secret of their deep and violent hatred of everything British. Not a single Englishman was employed in any public department either in Johannesburg or anywhere else throughout the Transvaal. The labourers even, who were employed by Government were either Germans or Hollanders when they were not Kaffirs. In the highest posts were placed Boers, Hollanders, and Germans exclusively. It was a clear case of “no English need apply” to any burgher employer.
The president, Paul Kruger, and his bigoted and ignorant Executive Council had got every concession which crafty greed and tyranny could get from cowardice and treason. They had introduced German soldiers wholesale into their country, and purchased nearly all the arms and ammunition which had entered Africa for the past two years. This, with blind and misplaced confidence, they had been allowed to do by the other colonists. Indeed, throughout Cape Colony and Natal, the Dutch Africanders had been openly spending all their spare money in arming themselves, while the colonials, as a majority, had been watching them doing this, and neglecting to take the same precautions. At the present moment, to all appearance, the Boers and their friends were the only effectively armed people throughout South Africa. We must except, of course, those who were under the influence of Cecil Rhodes—the men of Rhodesia and the Three Ace Club league. Affairs were in a fairly quiescent condition at present. The citizens of Johannesburg had given over asking for their rights, and accepted each fresh insult and oppression quietly, and without outward remonstrance. They knew such were utterly futile with that obstinate bigot, who regarded himself as an avenging instrument in the hands of the Lord.
Neither was it any secret what all these warlike preparations were aiming at. If the Home Government shut its eyes, not a man, woman, or child in Africa but knew that the old man of Pretoria intended nothing less than the subjugating of Africa to the Boers, as soon as matters were ripe enough. They would soon find excuses for their violence and treason when they were ready to begin. As for the anarchy and massacres that would follow, they were satisfied that they would find plenty of defenders amongst the reptile gangs of Little Englanders, who were at present doing their utmost to help them in their work of destruction. It was an open secret that the hated English were to be driven out of Africa, and the country torn from the empire.
This was to be the result of our clemency and weak indulgence to a race who understood only revenge and oppression. The remorseless principles and inhuman tenets of the Boer religion belonged to those dark ages which civilisation and the true knowledge of Christianity has swept from the other portions of the globe where the Bible is known and honoured. Their colonial history is a long record of steadfast atrocity and abuse of power. Wherever they have trekked they have left a broad trail of blood and disaster. Wherever they have settled, progress has ceased to exist. They are, as a race, the most ignorant, the most remorseless, and the rudest of barbarians.
The history of Africa, from the most remote ages, has been one of conquest. There are, therefore, no aboriginal owners to restrain the hand of the taker, or lay bona fide claims to compensation for land seized. It has been, in the past, ruthlessly torn from the weak by the strong, and held only by force of arms. Humanitarians, therefore, cannot urge the claims of the Kaffirs over the white conquerors. From a humanitarian point of view, the race that has proved most worthy of advancing humanity and civilisation has the best of all possible rights to this open country.
For the sake of future races, it is only one of the great existing nations that dare take up this grave responsibility.
Neither Germany, France, nor Russia, so far as their colonial policy and history is concerned, have shown that they are adapted for this great work. England only has proved that she is equal to the task, as long ago, Imperial Rome did in a lesser way. Our great empire liberates and advances every land which she protects. She frees the slave, educates the savage, and makes the black man equal with the white. She welcomes the stranger within her gates, asks no tyrannical pledges from the Uitlander before she gives him employment and all the rights of her own children. She embraces all humanity as her children, without shackling them with conditions, either individually or tribal. Whatever king or chief they owe allegiance to—whatever flag they honour—makes, no difference to their rights as colonists and citizens while they live under and claim the protection of the British flag. This is our best defence for our right to extend and hold our empire in the face of envious enemies and internal traitors. What we give up, or lose, or forego is a distinct loss to civilisation, progression, and humanity. We are the only holders and dispensers of liberty. The German makes a good colonist under British control; so do the French, the Dutch, and many of the other clans on the earth’s surface.
But when Germany seizes a land she treats it as the warlike Kaffirs did. She butchers the original owners, and insists on all outsiders relinquishing their private rights, and becoming subjects. As the Kaiser has truly said, “On whatever land the German Eagle fixes its talons, that land is German.” This means, it is no longer free, only a German is entitled to civil rights.
The Boer, wherever he has possessed any authority, has pursued a similar policy, only, being more medieval and ignorantly conservative in his ideas, he goes many steps further in his candid tyranny than does his friend the German. His religion is a blending of gross superstition, narrowness, intolerance, and Judaism in its most relentless and savage aspect.
He honestly believes in the justice of the curse of Ham; but he believes more, for, like the Moslem with his women, he says that the dark races of the earth are like the beasts, soulless; whom to shoot down is no murder; whom to enslave is his right, as one of the masterful and heaven-favoured races.
He believes in revenge and hatred as sacred duties. “An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,” are words which he gloats upon.
According to the patriarchal laws he is a good husband and father, and will fight for his own like any red Indian. Like all savages, however, he does not care for fighting in the open. He prefers to skulk behind rocks, and take his enemy at a disadvantage.
He is a mass of gross superstition; in this he even surpasses the Kaffir. He believes fervently in ghosts and omens, and dreads the dark with trembling horror. He is utterly devoid of chivalry, truth, or common honesty. A pledge in his estimation means only an expedient to hoodwink his adversary and gain time. He will make a promise at any time, and break it without the slightest scruple. He laughs at those who trust him, as fools. Like the wild boar, he hates to see his lair disturbed. He would much rather trek than live where civilisation is. He is rude, uncouth, and pre-eminently inhospitable, and prefers his own ignorance and superstition to enlightenment. By nature he is a morose and uncompromising savage who has no place among civilised races, and not the faintest conception of democracy.
His greed is sateless; his audacity boundless; and his sense of gratitude nil. Philanthropy and mercy are qualities which he despises, because he cannot understand them. He professes to believe in the Redeemer of mankind, but he draws his inspirations from the passages of Scripture that suit his peculiar temperament, and the ethics of Christianity do not. As a nation, he is as utterly impossible as the Turk, therefore is completely out of place in the Transvaal.
The past history of the Boers in Africa has proved this beyond dispute. They have slaughtered mercilessly, and oppressed their neighbours wherever they have settled. It is only by the strong hand that they have been kept so far within bounds.
Their principal grievance against us is that we freed their slaves, and they nurse this grievance with undying hatred. They have murdered our settlers ruthlessly, betrayed our statesmen, and mocked us for our weaknesses. They remember their supposed wrongs, and lose no chance of repaying them by brutality and treachery, and mock at our generosity in forgetting what they have done.
Ah! the gallant sons we have lost through trusting those ruthless murderers! England may forget, but what of the mothers, wives, sisters, fathers, and brothers of those who lie buried, and yet unavenged?
It is possible to pardon a brave enemy who has fought fairly. As Englishmen, we do this always—but only after we have wiped out the blot. But what true Englishman could forgive the bloody assassin who walks about boasting over his crime? What true Englishman could sit down tamely, and swallow insult and slavery, as well as murder?
These were the inhuman, hating, and ferocious enemies which some Englishmen delighted to honour, sympathise with, and admire, for their treatment of those Englishmen who had saved their Republic from ruin, and poured wealth into their rapacious pockets. The tactics of their obstinate and superstitious president is world known. His shamelessness, greed, craft, and unblushing falsehood, his open enmity, his avarice, and dense stupidity, all these qualities are representative of his people, and what we are asked to admire and sympathise with. Standing as we do afar off, we are apt to forget the atrocious side of the Boer, and regard the ridiculous side with good-natured contempt.
But to those in the midst of it all, it was by no means a matter to laugh at. The constant reminders of those atrocities and disgraces, the wanton insults, the brutal treatment, the persistent turning round of the screw, without a moment of relaxation, were maddening even to the meekest and most long-suffering.
As we have already shown, our heroes did not come of a mute and lowly race. They had British blood in their veins—young English blood that was quickly heated. Since their coming to the Transvaal this blood had been at boiling pitch.
They tried to hearken to the words of prudence as preached by Philip Martin and Mr Raybold. They tried to obey their leaders, and shut their eyes to the daily outrages of justice which they beheld, and act in away which their hearts told them was base cowardice.
They saw ladies hustled rudely by rough and armed clowns from the footpath amongst the mud. They listened to coarse epithets shouted at their countrywomen if they looked indignant at this usage, and did their best to keep their hands in their pockets and their eyes on the ground.
They saw the German mercenaries knock down, kick, and baton the citizens without the slightest provocation, and the citizens take their unmerited punishment without remonstrance, knowing full well there was no possible redress from the Boer authorities. They saw Boers spit on the beards of Englishmen, and they only take out and use their handkerchiefs to wipe the hateful stains away. They saw children ill-treated because their parents were English, and the parents lift up their children and soothe them, without attempting to punish the wretches who had made those innocents weep.
They saw all this and grosser outrages constantly being enacted under their eyes, and while they looked they ground their teeth, and wondered how long they would be able to endure this horrible restraint upon their pent-up feelings.
“It will be our turn before long to be batoned,” remarked Fred, quietly. “We cannot expect to be allowed to walk the streets much longer without being molested.”
“The Boer or German who attempts to lay a finger on me had better look out. I’ll leave my mark on him,” replied Ned, grimly.
“We’ll be there at the same time with our signatures,” put in Clarence, cheerfully.
Fred was right in his prognostications of evil. Their independent bearing had already been remarked upon by the police, and their turn came sooner even than they expected.
Chapter Twelve.Our Heroes are Arrested.One morning they had come into town, to have their customary promenade, listen to the latest news, and keep their blood flowing by watching the sights. Like Paddy, they were trying how much they could stand of this music, and vainly hoping to get used to it by constant habit.The city had been more than usually in a ferment during the past week. It had been the election week, and although none of the Johannesburghers had much hope of a change, yet until the affair was decided, there had been a good deal of wordy speculation.However, as even the most credulous feared, Oom Paul Kruger had once more managed to keep his chair, thanks to his simple and direct management. While he was travelling the country canvassing for votes, the old hypocrite played with his people, as the man who wants to buy an annuity plays with the insurance company. He did the sick and feeble old man who had only a few months more to live, and appealed to the sympathy of those who were tired of him as a master. He played this rôle so perfectly as to deceive even his own intimates. As for the Uitlanders, he humbugged them so completely that they became jubilant about the nearness of their emancipation. Even for a little while the news of his return did not depress them overmuch. This they considered to be a dead certainty, with the ballot boxes in the hands of his supporters.A rumour had somehow spread, on the day after the announcement of the result, that he was dead. For one whole hour Johannesburg lost its head, and became intoxicated with joy. Shareholders bounced inside the chain, while some were even mad enough to wire the happy event to London, where for another hour on the Stock Exchange Paul Kruger gained more popularity than he had ever gained in his life.But, alas! they were not long left to this most unseemly joy. Hardly had they wiped their mouths after drinking to his safe translation to another sphere than the Grand Old Man of Pretoria showed them how dead he was.He enjoyed giving them surprises, and the one he sprang on them now was the summary dismissal of Chief Justice Kotze, the only Dutchman who was above bribery or coercion.Now, indeed, he was beginning his fresh tenure without any pretence of wearing gloves. Whoever dared to oppose his autocratic tyranny, and stand up for any other laws than those which his will dictated, was to be swept out of the way. At this act of tyranny, worse than any that the Stuarts ever perpetrated, even Philip Martin looked anxious.“It is the beginning of the end,” he said. “Cecil Rhodes’s last message was for us to hold on and lie low. How much longer will we be allowed to do this?”Kotze protested against this unlawful outrage, and refused to accept his dismissal. But he gained no more by that than the Uitlanders had done.The inhabitants of Johannesburg were struck dumb when they heard of this scandal, coupled with the tidings that the president’s late illness had been all shammed. Even the Boers themselves were staggered, as this touched their rights as much as it demolished all safety for the Uitlanders. Throughout Africa a wave of expectant horror passed. What would this hoary tyrant not do next, now that he had demolished the law? He was supreme. Anarchy and massacre would possibly be the next order of the day.Once again, as in the time of the Jameson Raid, men began to send away their wives and children, and prepare themselves for the inevitable.On the morning that our heroes took their walk, they found the streets and between the chains blocked with people.But no business was being done, neither did men venture to speak to each other. Every one suspected his fellow to be a spy. Business was at a complete stand, and they watched the Zarps hustling the pedestrians about, and inwardly speculated when the Krupp guns would begin their devastating work.Anything might be expected now from Pretoria. With that first act Kruger had pitched the gauntlet straight in the face of England. Surely he must have already completed his arrangements with Germany.Halfway down the street the young men met Philip Martin. He was no longer looking so anxious as he had been the past few days. He stopped for a moment and whispered to Ned.“Hold yourselves in readiness to leave for Rhodesia tomorrow. I shall have a message for you to carry.”“Oh,” replied Ned, a little disappointed. “Must we clear out before the fun begins?”“Don’t be afraid. Nothing will take place here yet awhile. This present buster will blow over. I have just had a bit of news which will make the old gentleman draw in his horns for a bit.”“That’s all right,” answered Ned, laughing.Philip Martin had only turned his back on them when four Zarps, who had been watching them, came forward, scattering the people to right and left.Their batons were drawn, and their purpose unmistakable. Doom had come upon our heroes.“Look out, boys!” cried Ned, as he sprang to the nearest wall, and planted his back against it. As he did so, he saw amongst the onlookers Stephanus Groblaar.Fred and Clarence ranged themselves alongside of their chum with alacrity.“Now, then, come along, you white-livered Uitlanders!” cried the Zarps, closing in and raising their batons.“Go with them quietly,” shouted the onlookers, warningly, as they saw the boys were preparing to resist.Philip Martin had by this time rounded the corner, without seeing what had happened.“Yes; take your licking like true Englishmen!” cried Stephanus, mockingly.“Don’t be afraid—we shall!” answered Ned, casting prudence to the winds, as he darted to one side to avoid the falling baton.It grazed his shoulder, while his aggressor stumbled forward with an ugly oath.Next moment he was sprawling on his back, with a mouth filled with loose teeth and gore, while Ned caught the baton adroitly as it flew from his grasp.As he caught it, he swung it round and landed it with crushing force on the jaws of the second officer. A sound of breaking bones was heard, while the Boer went down like a felled ox.“Hurrah, boys! Go at it!” shouted Ned, leaping in to help his chums.Clarence had been struck, and was lying also on the ground. But Fred Weldon was giving a good account of himself, dodging the baton of the Boer—an immense fellow—and getting in some facers, which made the baton strokes uncertain.With a strong tap on the back of the Boer’s cranium, which was bare, Ned quickly sent him alongside of his two mates.Then for a moment the fray was over, for the remaining policeman had rushed to the outside of the ring, and was blowing his whistle for help.“Bolt!” cried the crowd, opening a lane for them, although otherwise they did not offer to help.“No, you don’t,” cried Stephanus, covering the two boys with his revolver. “Move a foot and I’ll riddle you.”Ned looked down at poor Clarence, who was lying senseless on the ground, and decided that the game was up. He therefore glanced towards Stephanus and cried with a scornful laugh—“I won’t run away, Stephanus Groblaar, and you may have this useless baton.” As he uttered the words he pitched the baton full at his enemy.Stephanus fired as the baton left Ned’s hand, while he ducked. Where the head of Ned had been the bullet struck the wall and knocked a piece of stone out.But Stephanus had no time to fire again or evade the baton. Full in the face it struck him, and down he also went.A faint cheer broke from some of the onlookers, while they turned and scattered, leaving the victims to their fate. The Zarps were coming in force.Ned saw them coming, and, jumping over to Stephanus, he plucked the smoking revolver from his grasp, and quickly returned to the wall.“We’re in for it now, Fred. I guess we’ll be hanged for this morning’s work.”“What’s the odds?” replied Fred. “We’ve shown them that English men are not curs.”“Stand back, you fellows, or I’ll pot some of you. We surrender, only let us go gently.”“Ugh!” grunted the Boers, as they looked round them at the carnage. “Throw aside your shooter. We won’t hurt you and spoil the gallows.”Ned flung down the revolver, while some of the police went for stretchers. The others contented themselves with closing round.Seeing that they did not offer to molest them, the boys knelt down to look after Clarence. He had been hit over the head and stunned, but was now recovering. As they lifted him up he opened his eyes and groaned. Then he struggled up and looked round him, somewhat confused, for a second or two.“Hallo! Is it all over?”“Yes, Clar,” replied Ned. “All over, for the present. The next scene will be prison. Can you walk?”“I’d rather say so,” replied Clarence, rubbing his skull gently. “By Jumbo! but that was a clinker I got. It has made a new bump as big as an ostrich egg. Ah yes, I can waltz along with you two.”To the surprise of our heroes, their captors treated them quite gently on their way to jail. They merely held them firmly by the arms, and did not attempt either to kick or jerk them about, as was generally done with prisoners.Behind them came the stretchers with the wounded men who lay inertly, and after them followed a numerous crowd. The men kept silence, but the women waved their handkerchiefs and cheered.Ned, Fred, and Clarence had won popularity. Even the Boers treated them with grim respect, and said—“These pups can bite as well as bark. Ugh, it’s a pity they are not Boers.”About a couple of hours after their incarceration they received a visit from Mr Raybold. He had come as soon as he heard about the affair, and although he looked very grave, yet he did not reproach them.“I expected something like this from you young blades; but it is a serious scrape for all that.”“Any of them killed?” asked Ned, coolly.“No, not quite so bad. You have broken one man’s jaw, and spoilt the nose of young Groblaar. The other two are not much the worse, only they’ll make the most of their bruises.”“I suppose so; when they make such an outcry over the couple of men they lost at Krugersdorp. What do you think will be done to us?”“You’ll be sent on to Pretoria first place. But what will happen next, no one can foretell. They may sentence you to death, or hard labour for life. I hope I may be able to get you off with a heavy fine, as the Boers love cash almost as much as they do revenge. What were you doing when they set upon you?”“Absolutely nothing,” replied Ned. “We had just parted with Mr Martin, and were about to move on, when four big scoundrels pounced upon us.”“That will not matter,” replied Mr Raybold, dolefully. “Oom Paul has denied any hearing or trial for Chief Justice Kotze. He charged him with maladministration of justice, and swore in the Volksraad that he was a liar. When they can treat their own judges in this fashion, they are capable of hatching up any charge against you. However, we shall not have long to wait before we know.”“I hope you won’t pay any fines for us, sir,” said Ned. “I am sure we would all rather go to hard labour, or whatever else they like to sentence us to.”“We shall see,” returned Mr Raybold, shaking his head sadly. “I wish this day had passed in peace, for tomorrow you would have been out of this tyrant’s clutches.”“We are sorry also in one way, but our resistance has not made much difference. I fancy Stephanus Groblaar has got up some story about us. I had a quarrel with him out on the veldt, and for some reason he seems to bear me ill-will.”“Ah! tell me about that?” said Mr Raybold, quickly.Ned told him about the fight, and the words he had used on that occasion.“This is bad—very bad. They sentenced a man the other day to two years’ hard labour for merely shouting on the Rand, ‘Nobody gets justice in this country.’ What that fine speech of yours may cost us, with the additions which this young Groblaar may put to it, it is hard to say. Never mind. Keep up your courage, lads. Your friends will not leave you undefended; and we are all mighty proud of you for your pluck.”Clarence took leave of his father very tenderly, while the others received warm hand-grasps. Then the Rand capitalist left them a good deal comforted by the interview.They did not know, but to be able to see them at all had cost Mr Raybold a tidy sum in the way of palm-oiling. Like the Eastern prisons, as in every other department of this Republican Government, corruption ran very high, from the President to the meanest official.On the following morning they were examined, and charged with a whole list of offences; then, after this preliminary farce was over, they were handcuffed and taken, closely guarded, to Pretoria to be tried.
One morning they had come into town, to have their customary promenade, listen to the latest news, and keep their blood flowing by watching the sights. Like Paddy, they were trying how much they could stand of this music, and vainly hoping to get used to it by constant habit.
The city had been more than usually in a ferment during the past week. It had been the election week, and although none of the Johannesburghers had much hope of a change, yet until the affair was decided, there had been a good deal of wordy speculation.
However, as even the most credulous feared, Oom Paul Kruger had once more managed to keep his chair, thanks to his simple and direct management. While he was travelling the country canvassing for votes, the old hypocrite played with his people, as the man who wants to buy an annuity plays with the insurance company. He did the sick and feeble old man who had only a few months more to live, and appealed to the sympathy of those who were tired of him as a master. He played this rôle so perfectly as to deceive even his own intimates. As for the Uitlanders, he humbugged them so completely that they became jubilant about the nearness of their emancipation. Even for a little while the news of his return did not depress them overmuch. This they considered to be a dead certainty, with the ballot boxes in the hands of his supporters.
A rumour had somehow spread, on the day after the announcement of the result, that he was dead. For one whole hour Johannesburg lost its head, and became intoxicated with joy. Shareholders bounced inside the chain, while some were even mad enough to wire the happy event to London, where for another hour on the Stock Exchange Paul Kruger gained more popularity than he had ever gained in his life.
But, alas! they were not long left to this most unseemly joy. Hardly had they wiped their mouths after drinking to his safe translation to another sphere than the Grand Old Man of Pretoria showed them how dead he was.
He enjoyed giving them surprises, and the one he sprang on them now was the summary dismissal of Chief Justice Kotze, the only Dutchman who was above bribery or coercion.
Now, indeed, he was beginning his fresh tenure without any pretence of wearing gloves. Whoever dared to oppose his autocratic tyranny, and stand up for any other laws than those which his will dictated, was to be swept out of the way. At this act of tyranny, worse than any that the Stuarts ever perpetrated, even Philip Martin looked anxious.
“It is the beginning of the end,” he said. “Cecil Rhodes’s last message was for us to hold on and lie low. How much longer will we be allowed to do this?”
Kotze protested against this unlawful outrage, and refused to accept his dismissal. But he gained no more by that than the Uitlanders had done.
The inhabitants of Johannesburg were struck dumb when they heard of this scandal, coupled with the tidings that the president’s late illness had been all shammed. Even the Boers themselves were staggered, as this touched their rights as much as it demolished all safety for the Uitlanders. Throughout Africa a wave of expectant horror passed. What would this hoary tyrant not do next, now that he had demolished the law? He was supreme. Anarchy and massacre would possibly be the next order of the day.
Once again, as in the time of the Jameson Raid, men began to send away their wives and children, and prepare themselves for the inevitable.
On the morning that our heroes took their walk, they found the streets and between the chains blocked with people.
But no business was being done, neither did men venture to speak to each other. Every one suspected his fellow to be a spy. Business was at a complete stand, and they watched the Zarps hustling the pedestrians about, and inwardly speculated when the Krupp guns would begin their devastating work.
Anything might be expected now from Pretoria. With that first act Kruger had pitched the gauntlet straight in the face of England. Surely he must have already completed his arrangements with Germany.
Halfway down the street the young men met Philip Martin. He was no longer looking so anxious as he had been the past few days. He stopped for a moment and whispered to Ned.
“Hold yourselves in readiness to leave for Rhodesia tomorrow. I shall have a message for you to carry.”
“Oh,” replied Ned, a little disappointed. “Must we clear out before the fun begins?”
“Don’t be afraid. Nothing will take place here yet awhile. This present buster will blow over. I have just had a bit of news which will make the old gentleman draw in his horns for a bit.”
“That’s all right,” answered Ned, laughing.
Philip Martin had only turned his back on them when four Zarps, who had been watching them, came forward, scattering the people to right and left.
Their batons were drawn, and their purpose unmistakable. Doom had come upon our heroes.
“Look out, boys!” cried Ned, as he sprang to the nearest wall, and planted his back against it. As he did so, he saw amongst the onlookers Stephanus Groblaar.
Fred and Clarence ranged themselves alongside of their chum with alacrity.
“Now, then, come along, you white-livered Uitlanders!” cried the Zarps, closing in and raising their batons.
“Go with them quietly,” shouted the onlookers, warningly, as they saw the boys were preparing to resist.
Philip Martin had by this time rounded the corner, without seeing what had happened.
“Yes; take your licking like true Englishmen!” cried Stephanus, mockingly.
“Don’t be afraid—we shall!” answered Ned, casting prudence to the winds, as he darted to one side to avoid the falling baton.
It grazed his shoulder, while his aggressor stumbled forward with an ugly oath.
Next moment he was sprawling on his back, with a mouth filled with loose teeth and gore, while Ned caught the baton adroitly as it flew from his grasp.
As he caught it, he swung it round and landed it with crushing force on the jaws of the second officer. A sound of breaking bones was heard, while the Boer went down like a felled ox.
“Hurrah, boys! Go at it!” shouted Ned, leaping in to help his chums.
Clarence had been struck, and was lying also on the ground. But Fred Weldon was giving a good account of himself, dodging the baton of the Boer—an immense fellow—and getting in some facers, which made the baton strokes uncertain.
With a strong tap on the back of the Boer’s cranium, which was bare, Ned quickly sent him alongside of his two mates.
Then for a moment the fray was over, for the remaining policeman had rushed to the outside of the ring, and was blowing his whistle for help.
“Bolt!” cried the crowd, opening a lane for them, although otherwise they did not offer to help.
“No, you don’t,” cried Stephanus, covering the two boys with his revolver. “Move a foot and I’ll riddle you.”
Ned looked down at poor Clarence, who was lying senseless on the ground, and decided that the game was up. He therefore glanced towards Stephanus and cried with a scornful laugh—
“I won’t run away, Stephanus Groblaar, and you may have this useless baton.” As he uttered the words he pitched the baton full at his enemy.
Stephanus fired as the baton left Ned’s hand, while he ducked. Where the head of Ned had been the bullet struck the wall and knocked a piece of stone out.
But Stephanus had no time to fire again or evade the baton. Full in the face it struck him, and down he also went.
A faint cheer broke from some of the onlookers, while they turned and scattered, leaving the victims to their fate. The Zarps were coming in force.
Ned saw them coming, and, jumping over to Stephanus, he plucked the smoking revolver from his grasp, and quickly returned to the wall.
“We’re in for it now, Fred. I guess we’ll be hanged for this morning’s work.”
“What’s the odds?” replied Fred. “We’ve shown them that English men are not curs.”
“Stand back, you fellows, or I’ll pot some of you. We surrender, only let us go gently.”
“Ugh!” grunted the Boers, as they looked round them at the carnage. “Throw aside your shooter. We won’t hurt you and spoil the gallows.”
Ned flung down the revolver, while some of the police went for stretchers. The others contented themselves with closing round.
Seeing that they did not offer to molest them, the boys knelt down to look after Clarence. He had been hit over the head and stunned, but was now recovering. As they lifted him up he opened his eyes and groaned. Then he struggled up and looked round him, somewhat confused, for a second or two.
“Hallo! Is it all over?”
“Yes, Clar,” replied Ned. “All over, for the present. The next scene will be prison. Can you walk?”
“I’d rather say so,” replied Clarence, rubbing his skull gently. “By Jumbo! but that was a clinker I got. It has made a new bump as big as an ostrich egg. Ah yes, I can waltz along with you two.”
To the surprise of our heroes, their captors treated them quite gently on their way to jail. They merely held them firmly by the arms, and did not attempt either to kick or jerk them about, as was generally done with prisoners.
Behind them came the stretchers with the wounded men who lay inertly, and after them followed a numerous crowd. The men kept silence, but the women waved their handkerchiefs and cheered.
Ned, Fred, and Clarence had won popularity. Even the Boers treated them with grim respect, and said—
“These pups can bite as well as bark. Ugh, it’s a pity they are not Boers.”
About a couple of hours after their incarceration they received a visit from Mr Raybold. He had come as soon as he heard about the affair, and although he looked very grave, yet he did not reproach them.
“I expected something like this from you young blades; but it is a serious scrape for all that.”
“Any of them killed?” asked Ned, coolly.
“No, not quite so bad. You have broken one man’s jaw, and spoilt the nose of young Groblaar. The other two are not much the worse, only they’ll make the most of their bruises.”
“I suppose so; when they make such an outcry over the couple of men they lost at Krugersdorp. What do you think will be done to us?”
“You’ll be sent on to Pretoria first place. But what will happen next, no one can foretell. They may sentence you to death, or hard labour for life. I hope I may be able to get you off with a heavy fine, as the Boers love cash almost as much as they do revenge. What were you doing when they set upon you?”
“Absolutely nothing,” replied Ned. “We had just parted with Mr Martin, and were about to move on, when four big scoundrels pounced upon us.”
“That will not matter,” replied Mr Raybold, dolefully. “Oom Paul has denied any hearing or trial for Chief Justice Kotze. He charged him with maladministration of justice, and swore in the Volksraad that he was a liar. When they can treat their own judges in this fashion, they are capable of hatching up any charge against you. However, we shall not have long to wait before we know.”
“I hope you won’t pay any fines for us, sir,” said Ned. “I am sure we would all rather go to hard labour, or whatever else they like to sentence us to.”
“We shall see,” returned Mr Raybold, shaking his head sadly. “I wish this day had passed in peace, for tomorrow you would have been out of this tyrant’s clutches.”
“We are sorry also in one way, but our resistance has not made much difference. I fancy Stephanus Groblaar has got up some story about us. I had a quarrel with him out on the veldt, and for some reason he seems to bear me ill-will.”
“Ah! tell me about that?” said Mr Raybold, quickly.
Ned told him about the fight, and the words he had used on that occasion.
“This is bad—very bad. They sentenced a man the other day to two years’ hard labour for merely shouting on the Rand, ‘Nobody gets justice in this country.’ What that fine speech of yours may cost us, with the additions which this young Groblaar may put to it, it is hard to say. Never mind. Keep up your courage, lads. Your friends will not leave you undefended; and we are all mighty proud of you for your pluck.”
Clarence took leave of his father very tenderly, while the others received warm hand-grasps. Then the Rand capitalist left them a good deal comforted by the interview.
They did not know, but to be able to see them at all had cost Mr Raybold a tidy sum in the way of palm-oiling. Like the Eastern prisons, as in every other department of this Republican Government, corruption ran very high, from the President to the meanest official.
On the following morning they were examined, and charged with a whole list of offences; then, after this preliminary farce was over, they were handcuffed and taken, closely guarded, to Pretoria to be tried.