‘Yes, I understand. You refer to the Jameson Raid and those concerned in it. But I hardly condemn the raiders as much as I do those who approved it, who should know better. I can tell you I feel ashamed of being a Britisher when I read, for instance, Alfred Austin’s poem. It is a shame that a man who implies such want of principle should hold the position of Poet Laureate to the British Crown.’
Steve smiled and said,—
‘That reminds me that I have another extract which I would like to show you. It is a parody on Austin’s poem, published by the Orange Free State Express.’
‘I should like to see it?’
‘It ought to be read together, so if you will allow me, I will read you Austin’s poem first, and then the parody. Listen:—
‘JAMESON’S RIDE’
Alfred Austin
‘Wrong! Is it wrong? Well, may be:
But I’m going, boys, all the same.
Do they think me a Burgher’s baby,
To be scared by a scolding name?
They may argue, and prate, and order;
Go, tell them to save their breath:
Then, over the Transvaal border,
And gallop for life or death!
‘Let lawyers and statesmen addle
Their pates over points of law:
If sound be our sword, and saddle,
And gun-gear, who cares one straw?
When men of our own blood pray us
To ride to their kinsfolk’s aid,
Not Heaven itself shall stay us
From the rescue they call a raid.
‘“There are girls in the Gold Reef City,
There are mothers and children too!
And they cry, ‘Hurry up! for pity!’
So what can a brave man do?
If even we win, they’ll blame us;
If we fail, they will howl and hiss.
But there’s many a man lives famous
For daring a wrong like this!”
‘So we forded and galloped forward,
As hard as our beasts could pelt,
First eastward, then trending nor’ward,
Right over the rolling veld;
Till we came on the Burghers lying
In a hollow with hills behind,
And their bullets came hissing, flying
Like hail on an Arctic wind!