The old man retreated, somewhat dismayed at this outburst, which was not at all in Bessie’s style.
“Ah, well,” he said to himself, “that is the way of women; they turn into tigers about a man!”
There may have been truth in this reflection, but a tiger is not a pleasant domestic pet, as poor old Silas discovered during the next two months. The more Bessie thought about the matter the more incensed she grew because he had sent her lover away. Indeed, in a little while she quite forgot that she had herself acquiesced in his going. In short, her temper gave way completely under the strain, so that at last her uncle scarcely dared to mention John’s name.
Meanwhile, things had been going as ill without as within. First of all—that was the day after John’s departure—two or three loyal Boers and an English store-keeper from Lake Chrissie, in New Scotland, outspanned on the place and implored Silas Croft to fly for his life into Natal while there was yet time. They said that the Boers would certainly shoot any Englishman who might be sufficiently defenceless. But the old man would not listen.
“I am an Englishman—civis Romanus sum,” he said in his sturdy fashion, “and I do not believe that they will touch me, who have lived among them for twenty years. At any rate, I am not going to run away and leave my place at the mercy of a pack of thieves. If they shoot me they will have to reckon with England for the deed, so I expect that they will leave me alone. Bessie can go if she likes, but I shall stop here and see the row through, and there’s an end of it.”
Whereon, Bessie having flatly declined to budge an inch, the loyalists departed in a hurry, metaphorically wringing their hands at such an exhibition of ill-placed confidence and insular pride. This little scene occurred at dinner-time, and after dinner old Silas proceeded to hurl defiance at his foes in another fashion. Going to a cupboard in his bedroom, he extracted an exceedingly large Union Jack, and promptly advanced with it to an open spot between two of the orange-trees in front of the house, where in such a position that it could be seen for miles around a flagstaff was planted, formed of a very tall young blue gum. Upon this flagstaff it was Silas’s habit to hoist the large Union Jack on the Queen’s birthday, Christmas Day, and other State occasions.
“Now, Jantje,” he said, when he had bent on the bunting, “run her up, and I’ll cheer!” and accordingly, as the broad flag floated out on the breeze, he took off his hat and waved it, and gave such a “hip, hip, hoorah!” in his stentorian tones that Bessie ran out from the house to see what was the matter. Nor was he satisfied with this, but, having obtained a ladder, he placed it against the post and sent Jantje up it, instructing him to fasten the rope on which the flag was bent at a height of about fifteen feet from the ground, so that nobody should get at it to haul it down.
“There,” he said, “I’ve nailed my colours to the mast. That will show these gentry that an Englishman lives here.
“Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks,
God save the Queen.”
“Amen,” said Bessie, but she had her doubts about the wisdom of that Union Jack, which, whenever the wind blew, streamed out, a visible defiance not calculated to soothe the breasts of excited patriots.