Petrus loved him. No one could tell quite such fascinating tales as he; thrilling tales of early adventure and conquests; of hair-breadth escapes from wild animals and savage natives in the final conquering of the African Veldt; tales of the terrible "Border Wars," and of long wars against the British.
To Great-grandfather Joubert his country's history was sacred history. It had all taken place before his very eyes. In fact, he had helped to make it. Even in his eighty-fifth year he had scaled the Transvaal hills and done scouting duty with all but the agility of his sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons fighting bravely at his side.
He often sat thinking it over. Few of the old "Voor-trekker" Boers were still living—those who had "trekked" in their great ox-wagons across the deadly "Karroo," finally to settle in the Transvaal. But that great "Exodus"—known in Boer history as the "Great Trek of 1836"—was one of Great-grandfather Joubert's most vivid memories. He was but a boy then.
The mid-summer heat was so oppressive that Great-grandfather Joubert had asked to have his comfortable armchair moved over close by the open window, just above the syringa bush. He liked the scent.
But two weeks now remained until Christmas time—about the hottest season of the year in South Africa. In another week would come the yearly festival commemorating that tragic episode of December 16, 1836, "Dangaan's Daag," when the immortal Piet Retief, with a number of the Voor-trekkers, left the main party and made their way down into Natal, only to be massacred by the Zulus.
All day long Great-grandfather Joubert sat there beside the open window smoking his ornate pipe filled with fragrant tobacco and reading from the large, silver-bound Bible on his knees, whose open pages were swept by his long, grizzly beard. He was a typical "Takhaar" Boer.
Aunt Johanna had brought him the Sacred Book, with some hot coffee and rolls. From the window he could see Uncle Abraham riding about the farm to see that his beasts were all right, counting his flocks, and superintending his Kafirs.
The Hottentot maids fetched him his dinner. Then Petrus brought him the latest Johannesburg and London daily newspapers. He often sat and read to him carefully everything of interest—especially the latest "war-news"—which filled all the leading pages, nowadays, with accounts of the terrible "world-war" raging throughout Europe between Germany and the Allies. Thus Great Britain—their mother-country—had been plunged into the fearful conflict. Great-grandfather Joubert wished he was younger that he might go himself to fight for his king. "Race-hatred" had no place in his feelings. The Jouberts belonged to the more intelligent, unprejudiced class of Boers who had long ceased to regard the British as intruders. He had always believed with Paul Kruger—the great Boer leader of his day—that "Where love dwells prosperity follows."
As he re-read the old story of the wanderings of the Israelites in the Wilderness—they scarcely knew whither—the trials and hardships they had encountered—it seemed to him that the Sacred Book was telling the story of the "Great Trek" of his own people. The Boers, too, had wandered forth—had suffered hardship and injustice no less than had the patriarchs of old—he told himself. Closing the book, he folded his hands, and, leaning comfortably back in his armchair, he gazed far across the grassy sweep of high veldt, with its red-brown scattered kopjes, towards the western horizon. Soon he was lost in the memories of a century.