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that I, Allan
Quatermain, had been on a shooting and trading expedition at the back
of the Lydenburg district where there was plenty of game to be killed in
those times. Hearing that great events were toward I made up my mind,
curiosity being one of my weaknesses, to come round by Pretoria,
which after all was not very far out of my way, instead of striking
straight back to Natal. As it chanced I reached the town about eleven
o'clock on this very morning of the 12th of April and, trekking to the
Church Square, proceeded to outspan there, as was usual in the
Seventies. The place was full of people, English and Dutch together,
and I noted that the former seemed very elated and were talking

excitedly, while the latter for the most part appeared to be sullen and
depressed.
Presently I saw a man I knew, a tall, dark man, a very good fellow and
an excellent shot, named Robinson. By the way you knew him also, for
afterwards he was an officer in the Pretoria Horse at the time of the
Zulu war, the corps in which you held a commission. I called to him
and asked what was up.
"A good deal, Allan," he said as he shook my hand. "Indeed we shall be
lucky if all isn't up, or something like it, before the day is over.
Shepstone's Proclamation annexing the Transvaal is going to be read
presently."
I whistled and asked,
"How will our Boer friends take it? They don't look very pleased."
"That's just what no one knows, Allan. Burgers the President is squared,
they say. He is to have a pension; also he thinks it the only thing to be
done. Most of the Hollanders up here don't like it, but I doubt whether
they will put out their hands further than they can draw them back. The
question is--what will be the line of the Boers themselves? There are a
lot of them about, all armed, you see, and more outside the town."
"What do you think?"
"Can't tell you. Anything may happen. They may shoot Shepstone and
his staff and the twenty-five policemen, or they may just grumble and
go home. Probably they have no fixed plan."
"How about the English?"
"Oh! we are all crazy with joy, but of course there is no organization
and many have no arms. Also there are only a few of us."
"Well," I answered, "I came here to look for excitement, life having
been dull for me of late, and it seems that I have found it. Still I bet you
those Dutchmen do nothing, except protest. They are slim and know
that the shooting of an unarmed mission would bring England on their
heads."
"Can't say, I am sure. They like Shepstone who understands them, and
the move is so bold that it takes their breath away. But as the Kaffirs
say, when a strong wind blows a small spark will make the whole veld
burn. It just depends upon whether the spark is there. If an Englishman
and a Boer began to fight for instance, anything might happen.
Goodbye, I have got a message to deliver. If things go right we might

dine at the European tonight, and if they don't, goodness knows where
we shall dine."
I nodded sagely and he departed. Then I went to my wagon to tell the
boys not to send the oxen off to graze at present, for I feared lest they
should be stolen if there were trouble, but to keep them tied to the
trek-tow. After this I put on the best coat and hat I had, feeling that as
an Englishman it was my duty to look decent on such an occasion,
washed, brushed my hair--with me a ceremony without meaning, for it
always sticks up--and slipped a loaded Smith & Wesson revolver into
my inner poacher pocket. Then I started out to see the fun, and avoiding
the groups of surly-looking Boers, mingled with the crowd that I saw
was gathering in front of a long, low building with a broad stoep, which
I supposed, rightly, to be one of the Government offices.
Presently I found myself standing by a tall, rather loosely-built man
whose face attracted me. It was clean-shaven and much bronzed by the
sun, but not in any way good-looking; the features were too irregular
and the nose was a trifle too long for good looks. Still the impression it
gave was pleasant and the steady blue eyes had that twinkle in them
which suggests humour. He might have been thirty or thirty-five years
of age, and notwithstanding his rough dress that consisted mainly of a
pair of trousers held up by a belt to which hung a pistol,