‘The Boers and Jameson have met, and Jameson has defeated the Boers, killing three hundred of them.’
Steve turned pale in the dark. He could hardly speak at first. At last he managed to say,—
‘How do you know this?’
‘I have just come back from our post-office, where I had been to get some news. I there met a man who had left the battlefield at noon; it was near Krugersdorp; he had been riding post-haste to carry despatches somewhere. He says it was an awful sight to see it. Jameson’s troops were simply mowing the Boers down with Maxims and Nordenfelds. The Boers had no Maxims or field-pieces, and could simply do nothing with their rifles against the troopers.’
‘But who is this despatch rider? Can his story be believed?’
‘Oh, as to that, there can be no doubt of it, he is one of Jameson’s own officers; his name is Captain Thatcher, so it must be true. It is a glorious day for Englishmen. Amajuba has been wiped out at last, and the English flag shall now once more fly over the Transvaal.’ He thought he was speaking to an Englishman. Steve answered not a word. He walked away. He felt he could not restrain himself much longer in this man’s presence. He walked blindly away towards the open veld. It was moonlight, but he saw nothing about him. He could only see in his mind’s eye, on an open plain, a battlefield, and on this battlefield he could see hundreds of his beloved countrymen lying—dead—murdered—by the freebooters. Oh, what a fearful sight. What homes are rendered desolate to-night in this country? Can it be true? Alas, I am afraid it is only too true. Jameson’s troops are well prepared and armed. Those terrible Maxims mowed down thousands of Matabeles in the same way, and our poor Burghers were unprepared. There was no time for them to wait for cannon and Maxims to come up; they had to try and stop Jameson’s advance as best they could, before he entered Johannesburg; and, unprepared as they were, they fell into the terrible death-trap laid for them.
‘Oh, my God, why hast Thou permitted this? What hast Thy people done that Thou should desert them now in their hour of need? Oh, God of Mercy, have mercy on Thy people. Jesus, it can surely not be Thy will that these murdering, grasping, gold-worshipping, godless freebooters should slay Thy people in this way. Oh, Father in Heaven, it is surely Thy will—nay, it is Thy will, that we should become a people, a nation, Free and United. God, Thou hast shown it in the past; Thou hast led them on step by step, day by day, year by year, and Thou hast always given them glorious victory in their greatest time of peril. Thou hast ever been their salvation; wilt Thou desert them now? Nay, Thou art not a God who does anything by half; Thou wilt not leave Thy work incomplete. Oh, God of Battles, show Thine wondrous power once more, and save Thy people yet.’
With what earnestness did Steve pray. He prayed and wrestled with God as he had never prayed or wrestled before. When he left his landlord he was faint with grief; great sobs of woe welled up from his very heart; but now his faith in God once more brought comfort and hope. He believed that God would not desert his people.
He went to a stream which he heard rippling near by, pulled off his clothes and had a moonlight bath, after which he felt so much refreshed that he thought he could sleep now. Going to his room, he once more uttered a prayer for help and guidance, and fell peacefully asleep, trusting all to his God.
He was awake at earliest daybreak, and, after rousing his landlord to pay his bill, he resumed his journey.