She Sat Up In Her Bed
With Her Hair In Curl Papers And A Revolver Beside Her, And Through
Her Open Door Shouted Advice To Her Lodgers.
But they were
unsympathetic, and reassured her only by banging their doors and
retiring with profane grumbling, and in a few moments the silence was
broken only by the voice of the justice as he fled down the main
street of Ventersburg offering his kingdom for a horse.
The next morning we rode out to the Sand River to see the Boer
positions near the drift, and met President Steyn in his Cape cart
coming from them on his way to the bridge. Ever since the occupation
of Bloemfontein, the London papers had been speaking of him as "the
Late President," as though he were dead. He impressed me, on the
contrary, as being very much alive and very much the President,
although his executive chamber was the dancing-hall of a hotel and
his roof-tree the hood of a Cape cart. He stood in the middle of the
road, and talked hopefully of the morrow. He had been waiting, he
said, to see the development of the enemy's attack, but the British
had not appeared, and, as he believed they would not advance that
day, he was going on to the bridge to talk to his burghers and to
consult with General Botha. He was much more a man of the world and
more the professional politician than President Kruger. I use the
words "professional politician" in no unpleasant sense, but meaning
rather that he was ready, tactful, and diplomatic.
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