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Seven Years in South Africa.

getting into a dilemma; I was quite aware that however much they might be urged on by a few care-for-naught leaders, as arule they were the most abject of cowards. Upon this conviction I acted, and avoided any precipitate measures.

Leaving two of our party in charge of the waggon, I rode out quite alone towards the mob. They did not attack me; I did not suppose they would; but louder than ever they assailed me with the bitterest revilings. Steadily I advanced towards them, when all at once the foremost began to retreat; the rear quickly began to follow. In a moment the exultant voice of Pit behind me, shouted, “Det kerle lup! Det kerle lup!”[1]

I heard the triumphant tone, and dashed off into a gallop. Had I been a field-marshal ordering my forces to retire, I could not more effectually have cleared the field. When I pulled up I could only burst into a fit of laughter; the comical way in which man, woman, and child had struggled to keep out of reach of my horse’s heels was irresistible, none of them apparently feeling safe until helter-skelter they had reached the security of their own hedges; once within these, they turned to deliver their maledictions more vigorously than before; perhaps I was not the worse off for being unable to comprehend what was doubtless a tirade against the overbearing acts of the white man. There was no further opposition, and our famished animals were at once sent forward to enjoy a refreshing drink,

  1. “The fellows are making off!”