On the following day Jack took the train for Pretoria, and had the good fortune to catch a glimpse of Paul Kruger, President of the Transvaal Republic, as he drove by in his carriage.
“Father says he’s the deepest and cleverest schemer that ever was!” exclaimed Wilfred, nodding after the carriage, “and from all one hears there can be little doubt about it. They say, too, that he is a religious man, and is something like the Puritans of old. Whatever he is, however, he is certainly one of our bitterest enemies. He simply loathes the sight of an Englishman, and won’t speak our language. He forgets all we have done for him, for I can tell you, there would have been no Kruger and no Boers in the Transvaal if it hadn’t been for our country.”
“He’s a funny-looking fellow at any rate,” answered Jack; “and why in the name of all that’s rummy he should want to wear a topper in this outlandish place is more than I can guess. If I met him at home I should take him for some dissenting minister, a trifle hard-up and out-at-elbow.”
“Hard-up!” exclaimed Wilfred in disgust. “Don’t make that mistake, Jack. Paul Kruger is no pauper. He is certainly one of the wealthiest of the Boers.”
And this was exactly the case. President Kruger was a man who had for many years not only managed the affairs of this particular country, but had also contrived to look well after his own. It was only a glimpse that Jack caught of him, but it was quite sufficient to impress the features on his mind.
Paul Kruger was a heavily-built man, arrayed in black from head to foot, which shone as all threadbare and worn-out clothing does. On his head was a fairly presentable top hat, and in his fat, ungainly hands he held a pair of black kid gloves.
But his face was the part which riveted one’s attention.
In anyone else’s case but the president’s it would have passed without comment, especially amongst a gathering of typical Boers. But, holding the position he did, one looked a second time, and noticed the wrinkled, jowly cheeks, fringed with a belt of straggly hair; the heavy, sleepy-looking eyes, overhung by bushy brows, and the general appearance of obtuseness.
And yet it was this man who, for the sake of a boundless ambition, was destined to defy the might of England, ay, and stagger it with his blows; and he it was, this sheepish-looking Boer, who for years and years had been secretly dreaming and planning—planning to oust the Britishers from their fair colonies, and claim for himself the proud position and title of President—perhaps King—of the United States of Africa.
Shortly after his return from Pretoria, Jack settled down to life in Johannesburg, and soon found himself quite one of the Uitlanders. His leg was now practically strong again, though he had not yet got rid of the limp. Still, for all that, he was able to get about, and even enjoy a game of cricket.