This morning a solemn and awed tone seems to pervade the camp, a demeanour perhaps to be explained by the approach of a great and terrible battle; yet not altogether, for most of these men have been through such and it has not so affected them. There is, however, another explanation, for among the first of the orders of the day is that decreeing the taking of the life of Colvin Kershaw.
The life of one man! But they have counted their own dead by dozens already in battle, those of the enemy too. Yet the anticipation of the extinction of this one man is sufficient to move the whole camp to awe. Ah! but there it is. The excitement of the strife is wanting: the combative instinct dashed by the loftier motive of patriotism. This man is to be done to death in cold blood.
Beyond Gideon Roux’ homestead, on the side furthest from the tents, is an open space, backed by the steep slope of the hillside. Here the whole camp is collected. The burghers, all armed, are standing in two great lines, not in any order except that the ground between these lines is kept rigidly clear for about twenty yards of width, and the reason thereof is now apparent. The doomed man, escorted by half a dozen guards with loaded rifles, is drawing near.
Colvin’s demeanour is calm and self-possessed, but entirely free from bravado or swagger. His clear searching eyes wander quickly over the assemblage, and a faint, momentary surprise lights them as he notices the presence of a few women among this crowd of armed men. They are placed, too, at the further end, quite close to where he himself shall stand.
As he enters the avenue thus left open for him, every head is bared. He lifts his own hat in acknowledgment of this salutation, and proceeds to the place pointed out, which is marked by a reim placed on the ground. It is the line which he is to toe. The predikant is not beside him, in compliance with his own wish.
As he stands facing his slayers, a dead hush of silence is upon the crowd. Through it rises the voice of Commandant Schoeman, hard, emotionless, yet crisp and clear.
“Even now, Colvin Kershaw, even now, as you stand upon the brink of your grave and are about to pass into the presence of Almighty God, even now we have decided to offer you one more chance. Will you sign and abide by the declaration which was tendered you last night?”
“I refused to purchase my life at such a price last night, Mynheer Commandant, and I refuse again. Here, as you say, upon the brink of my grave, I will die rather than draw trigger on my own countrymen. My sympathies with the Republics and their cause are great, as many here know. But I will not fight against my own countrymen.”
The tone was firm, the answer clear and audible to every soul there present, and the effect thereof did not differ greatly. Some were inclined to resent what they called the obstinacy of the prisoner, but to the minds of most the words carried increased respect.