“And do you mean to tell us that the Boers have guns like that?”
“I do,” said Ingleborough.
“Then where did they get them?”
“From the great French and German makers, From Creusot and Krupp.”
“And how did they get them up to Pretoria?”
“From the Cape and Delagoa Bay.”
“What nonsense!” cried another voice. “Their arms and ammunition would have been stopped at once. What do you say to that?”
“The Boers are slim,” said Ingleborough. “Hundreds of tons of war material have been going up-country for years as ironmongery goods and machinery. They have a tremendous arsenal there, and they mean to fight, as you’ll see before long.”
The hissing and threatening sounds ceased, for there was so much conviction in the tone adopted by the speaker that his hearers began to feel uneasy and as if there might be something in the declarations, while, upon Ingleborough turning to West with: “Come Oliver, let’s get home!” the little crowd of volunteers hedged the pair in, and the man who had been the most ready to laugh laid a hand upon his arm.
“Hold hard a minute,” he cried frankly. “I felt ready to laugh at you and chaff all your words; but I’m not going to be a dunder-headed fool and shut my eyes to danger if there really is any. Look here, Ingleborough: are you an alarmist, or is there really any truth in what you have said?”