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.