Colvin was not disposed to deny this in the faces of those present, intending to use that very argument in favour of being allowed to proceed on his way. But he was deeply concerned on behalf of Frank. The fool was simply committing suicide. Yet—how prevent him? He had seen Frank very uproarious more than once, in his cups, but here that motive power was lacking. The silly chap seemed to have gone half off his head with racial antagonism. But his own endeavours to persuade the Boer authorities to that effect drew forth a renewed outburst from the man he was striving to befriend. The Dutch Commandant lost patience.
“Be still, Englishman,” he said, very sharply and sternly. “I am going to speak, and if you open your mouth again until I have finished, you will have that thrust into it which will quiet you. Well, then, you were treated no worse than others in your position until you brought rough treatment upon yourself. You have been as violent; as a drunken Bastard Hottentot, without his excuse. You have assaulted and struck our burghers, and you have only opened your mouth to shout out insults to His Honour the President and horrid blasphemies to Almighty God. There can be no place for such a man as you among our God-fearing burghers, and we are not going to release you while so many of our brave comrades are rotting on your English prison ships. It may be that you have not many hours left in this world, and I advise you to think over and ask pardon of Heaven for all your blasphemous words.” Then to the guards, “Take him back whence he came while we deliberate.”
“That for your cant, you cursed, whining old snuffle-nose,” yelled Frank, spitting in the direction of the Commandant. “You can shoot me if you like, but you’ll all hang—every man jack of you—infernal rebels and traitors. Hurrah! God save the Queen!” And thus vociferating, he was hustled away.
“Do not hold him responsible for what he says or does, Mynheer Commandant,” said Colvin earnestly. “I think his misfortunes have turned his brain. He was always excitable. We cannot hold a man responsible when he is off his head, can we?”
To this plea Commandant Schoeman made no reply. He turned a cold, fishy eye upon the pleader, then remarked to the others:
“Toen, Heeren. We had better discuss, under the guidance of Heaven, what our best course will be with regard to this violent and blasphemous prisoner. For yourself, Mynheer”—to Colvin—“you would doubtless prefer the rest and quiet of your tent—or to see if some of your friends are in our camp.”
Colvin promptly acted upon this more than hint. But with all his anxiety to reach Ratels Hoek, a kind of instinct on Frank Wenlock’s account reconciled him to a further sojourn in Schoeman’s camp. He suspected that Frank stood in grave peril of his life; and if so he must exert all and whatever influence he himself possessed on behalf of his friend and former comrade.
His instinct proved an accurate one, and his worst fears were justified. Not until near evening, however, did he learn that Frank Wenlock had been sentenced to be shot, and would meet his death at daybreak.
[a/]