Some one who was allowed to visit him regularly in his cell told me that he stood his trial bravely and steadfastly refused to betray a single name to save himself. Threats and persuasions were of no avail.
On Saturday night in his cell his death sentence was read to him.
The execution was to take place on Sunday morning at 6 o'clock, he was told.
Incidentally his jailers informed him that there was still a chance for him if he would give the authorities the names of some of the people in town who were in communication with the Boers in the field.
He was then left to his pleasant reflections.
Reader, we must not be too harsh in our judgment of him. He was only a boy, not yet twenty years of age, and we shall never know what anguish of mind he endured that night.
When day broke he was in no way fit for the harrowing scene awaiting him. His father, his sister, and his fiancée were admitted to his cell at the fateful hour that morning, to take their last leave of him.
They clung to him, sobbing, wailing, and imploring him to give the names of his fellow-conspirators. What arguments were brought to bear upon him we shall never know.
He yielded, and in that God-forsaken cell on Sunday morning he gave the names required of him, the five members of the Secret Committee and other names familiar to us all, Jannie Joubert, Franz Smit, Liebenberg, etc.
Ah, if he had been executed that day, how his memory would have been revered by his friends and respected by his foes! But what was he now?—a traitor, oh God! a traitor to his land and people!