Steve let go the rein, and the stallion, nothing loth, shot forward like an arrow. But Steve was a good horseman, he knew he had far to go, and a horse, however good, is yet not a machine, therefore the strength of the horse must be economised. He soon got the stallion to settle down to a good, easy, comfortable pace at the rate of six miles an hour.
As Steve sat on his pleasant, comfortable seat, with his horse going as easy as a spring carriage, he had much time for thought. It was a beautiful but weird moonlight night. Thin, long streaks of mare’s-tail clouds stretched across the sky, and Steve fancied he saw all sorts of fantastical shapes in those clouds. He remembered the old superstition that, when such clouds filled the sky, somebody was dying? Who was dying? Was it, perhaps, his countrymen, who, surprised by the sneaking enemy, had been overcome and murdered? Who knows? Perhaps a few score Burghers only had met the enemy, and had been overcome. The postmaster of H—— had told them that Jameson had Maxims and field-pieces; and what could a hundred or two hundred Burghers do, armed only with rifles, if they were to meet Jameson and his eight hundred freebooters?
When such thoughts came to Steve, he would unconsciously urge on his horse. ‘On—forward—who knows, every man may mean the straw which might break the camel’s back. Even I may do something which might turn the tide of battle.’
With such and other thoughts Steve rode on. He saddled off three different times for an hour before day broke, to give his horse a rest and to allow him to crop the grass along the road. Even this he grudged; he wanted to go on, always on, but prudence taught him to go slowly if he wanted to keep on going. Steve saw that he really rode an exceptional horse. When day broke, with the little rest he had had, the horse seemed almost quite fresh.
When day came, Steve began to come up with straggling parties of Burghers, who were moving forward as rapidly as their different modes of travelling permitted. He questioned some of them.
‘Your horse does not seem to be going very good, uncle.’
‘No, he is not of the best; he can keep on, but he can’t go very fast. If he could go as fast as the rest, I should not be so far behind. All the best horses are in front. The order of our field cornet is for every man to go as fast as he can; never mind those who stay behind. You see there is no time to wait. Those who can ride fast must go ahead and keep the enemy busy until we come up.’
He next came to a party of six young men, dressed in holiday attire, but on foot.
‘Hillo, neefs (cousins), are you off to the war too?’
‘You bet we are; you won’t catch us staying behind.’