he had laid with such infinite care. From above he could see the
trenches, each of them, masked and cunningly overlapped so that an
unbearable fire could sweep the grassy bowl into which he had hoped to
lure the British centre. The trap that would never be sprung, for he
knew they would not come again.
Herime climbed back to him, leading his pony, and Jan Paulus mounted
quickly.
'Come, let us go down.
At forty-two years of age, Jan Paulus Leroux was very young for the
command he held. There had been opposition in Pretoria to his
appointment when old Joubert refired, but President Kruger had ridden
rough-shod over it and formed the Volkraad to accept. Ten minutes
before, Jan Paulus had sent him a telegraphed message, which had
justified this confidence.
With long stirrup leathers, his massive body loose and relaxed in the
saddle, his sjambok willing from his wrist and the wide brimmed hat
shading his face, Jan Paulus went down to gather the harvest of war.
As he reached the kopJes and rode in among them, his burghers rose from
their trenches on the slopes and cheered him.
Their voices blended in a savage roar that echoed from the heights like
the jubilation of lions on a new kill. Impassively Jan Paulus examined
their faces as he passed. They were coated with red dust and burned
powder, and sweat had run in dark lines through the grime. One man
used his rifle as a crutch to balance himself against his wound, and
there were harsh lines of pain around his mouth as he cheered. Jan
Paulus checked his pony. 'Lie down, don't be a fool, man!' The man
grinned painfully and shook his head.
'Nee, Oorn Paul. I'm going with you to fetch the guns.'
Brusquely Jan Paulus motioned to the men who stood beside the wounded
burgher. 'Take him away. Take him to the doctors. And he trotted on
to where Commandant Van Wyk waited for him.
'I told you to hold your men until they crossed,' he greeted him, and
Van Wyk's grin faded.
'Ja, Oom Paul. I know. But I could not hold them. The young ones
started it. When they saw the guns right there under their noses-I
could not hold them. ' Van Wyk turned and pointed across the river.
'Look how near they were. ' Jan Paulus looked across the river. The
guns were standing in the open, so close and so lightly screened by the
intervening thorn scrub that he could count the spokes of the wheels
and see the sparkle of the brass breech fittings.
'It was too much temptation,' Van Wyk ended lamely.
'So! It is done, and we cannot undo it with words.' Grimly Jan Paulus
determined that this man would never command again. 'Come, we will
fetch them.
At the road bridge Jan Paulus halted the long column of horsemen behind
him. Although none of it showed on his face, yet his stomach heaved
with horror at what he saw.
'Move them,' he ordered, and as the thirty burghers dismounted and went
forward to clear the bridge he called out after them. 'Handle them
gently, lift them-do not drag them away like mealie sacks. These were
