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Updated: June 23, 2025
Old Coetzee had said that there was a devil in the place, but I thought that if it were explored the first thing found would be a fine stream of water. We got to Umvelos' after midday, and outspanned for our three weeks' work. I set the Dutchmen to unload and clear the ground for foundations, while I went off to Sikitola to ask for labourers.
Old Coetzee saved me the trouble of answering, for he broke in with Skellum! Skellum! I asked him his objection to the storekeeper, but he would say nothing beyond that he was too thick with the natives. I fancy at some time Mr Japp had sold him a bad plough. We spoke of hunting, and I heard long tales of exploits away on the Limpopo, in Mashonaland, on the Sabi and in the Lebombo.
"Never mind all that, Oom Coetzee," broke in Jess. "I have heard you tell a different tale before, and perhaps you will again. How are my uncle and my sister? Are they at the farm?" "Almighty! you don't suppose that I have been there to see, do you? But, yes, I have heard they are there.
Another day came Judge Coetzee, erstwhile Kruger's confidant and right hand, but then of a very different way of thinking to his old master. His remark on the warlike situation was as follows: "Kruger is only a white Kaffir chief, and as such respects force, and force only. Send sufficient soldiers, and there will be no fighting." This was also Mr.
"Hans Coetzee," he said, "go and arrest that man." Poor Hans hesitated, as well he might. Nature had not endowed him with any great amount of natural courage, and the sight of his old neighbour's rifle-barrel made him feel positively sick. He hesitated and began to stammer excuses.
"Hans Coetzee, come here and sign," said Muller again, whereon that unfortunate advanced with as good a grace as he could muster, murmuring to himself curses, not loud but deep, upon the head of "that devil of a man, Frank Muller." However, there was no help for it, so, with a sickly smile, he put his name to the fatal document in big and shaky letters.
There will be fighting, Oom Silas, the land will run with blood, and the poor rooibaatjes will be shot down like buck." "The poor Boers, you mean," growled John, who did not like to hear her Majesty's army talked of in terms of regretful pity. Oom Coetzee shook his head with the air of one who knew all about it, and then turned an attentive ear to Silas Croft's version of Jantje's story.
It must be above this place that it descended into the earth, and in the hush of dawn the sound was naturally louder. No wonder old Coetzee had been afraid of devils. It reminded me of the lines in Marmion 'Diving as if condemned to lave Some demon's subterranean cave, Who, prisoned by enchanter's spell, Shakes the dark rock with groan and yell.
The dear Lord knew what was coming when He wrote it. He was thinking of the Boers and the poor rooibaatjes," and Coetzee departed, shaking his head sadly. "I am glad that the old gentleman has made tracks," said John, "for if he had gone on much longer about the poor English soldiers he would have fled 'at the rebuke of one, I can tell him."
He obeyed, and, on arriving at the top of the steep path, they perceived the stout figure of old Hans Coetzee, who had been John's host at the shooting-party, ambling along on his fat little pony. "Ah," said Silas, "here is the man who will tell us if there is anything in it all." "Good-day, Oom Coetzee, good-day!" he shouted out in his stentorian tones. "What news do you bring with you?"
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