Uniformed gunners in blue, frogged with gold, sitting stiffly to
attention on the carriages, the horses leaning forward against the
immense weight of the guns. Tall wheels shod with steel, bronze
glittering on the breeches in contrast to the sombre grey of the
barrels.
'My God!' breathed Sean. Then turning back to the girl he grasped her
shoulder and shook it in his agitation. 'Where are they going? 'Tell
me quickly-where? ' 'Menheer!' She bridled at his touch and wriggled
away from it.
'Please. I'm sorry-you must tell me.' Sean called after her as she
disappeared into the crowd.
A minute longer Sean sat stupefied, then Ins brain began to work
again.
It was war, then. But where and against whom?
Surely no tribal rising would call out this array of strength.
Those guns were the most modern weapons Sean could conceive.
No, this was a white man's war.
Against the Orange Republic? Impossible, they were brothers.
Against the British, then? The idea appalled him. And yet and yet
five years ago there had been rumours. It had happened before. He
remembered 1895, and the Jameson Raid. Anything could have happened
during the years he had been cut off from civilization-and now he had
stumbled innocently into the midst Of it.
Quickly he considered his own position. He was British. born in Natal
under the Union Jack. He looked like a burgher, spoke like one, rode
like one, he was born in Africa and had never left it-but technically
he was just as much an Englishman as if he had been born within sound
of Bow bells.
Just supposing it was war between the Republic and Britain, and just
supposing the Boers caught him-what would they do with him?
Confiscate his wagons and his ivory certainly, throw him into prison
perhaps, shoot him as a spy possibly!
'I've got to get to hell out of here, he mumbled, and then to
Mbejane,
'Come on. Back to the wagons, quickly.' Before they reached the
bridge he changed his mind. He had to learn with certainty what was
happening. There was one person he could go to, and he must take the
risk.
'Mbejane, go back to the camp. Find Nkosizana Dirk and keep him
there-even if you have to tie him. Speak to no man and, as you value
your life, let Dirk speak with no man. It is understood? ' 'It is
understood, Nkosi.
And Sean, to all appearances another burgher among thousands of
burghers, worked his way slowly through the crowds and the press of
wagons towards a general dealer's store at the top end of the town near
the railway station.
Since Sean had last seen it the sign above the entrance had been
freshly painted in red and gold. 'I. Goldberg. Importer & Exporter,
Dealing in Mining Machinery, Merchant & Whole Purchasing Agent: gold,
