Indeed, two days after that, a patrol of three Boers, spying the ensign whilst yet a long way off, galloped up in hot haste to see what it meant. Silas saw them coming, and, taking his rifle in his hand, went and stood beneath the flag, for which he had an almost superstitious veneration, feeling sure that they would not dare to meddle either with him or it.
“What is the meaning of this, Oom Silas?” asked the leader of the three men, with all of whom he was perfectly acquainted.
“It means that an Englishman lives here, Jan,” was the answer.
“Haul the dirty rag down!” said the man.
“I will see you damned first!” replied old Silas.
Thereon the Boer dismounted and made for the flagstaff, only to find “Uncle Croft’s” rifle in a direct line with his chest.
“You will have to shoot me first, Jan,” he said, and thereon, after some consultation, they left him and went away.
In truth, his British nationality notwithstanding, Silas Croft was very popular with the Boers, most of whom had known him since they were children, and to whose Volksraad he had twice been elected. It was to this personal popularity he owed the fact that he was not turned out of his house, and forced to choose between serving against his countrymen or being imprisoned and otherwise maltreated at the very commencement of the rebellion.
For a fortnight or more after this flag episode nothing of any importance happened, and then came the tidings of the crushing defeat at Laing’s Nek. At first, Silas Croft would not believe it. “No general could have been so mad,” he said; but soon the report was amply confirmed from native sources.
Another week passed, and with it came the news of the British defeat at Ingogo. The first they heard of it was on the morning of February 8, when Jantje brought a Kafir up to the verandah at breakfast-time. This Kafir said that he had been watching the fight from a mountain; that the English were completely hemmed in and fighting well, but that “their arms were tired,” and they would all be killed at night-time. The Boers, he said, were not suffering at all—the English could not “shoot straight.” After hearing this they passed a sufficiently miserable day and evening. About twelve o’clock that night, however, a native spy despatched by Mr. Croft returned with the report that the English general had won safely back to camp, having suffered heavily and abandoned his wounded, many of whom had died in the rain, for the night after the battle was wet.