... You see,
in those days one used to believe in the British Government. My father
did. _Then_ the Transvaal wiped thee earth with the English. They beat
them six times running. You know _thatt_--eh?"
"Isn't what we've come 'ere for."
"_But_ my father (he knows better now) kept on believing in the English. I
suppose it was the pretty talk about rivers and suns that cheated him--eh?
Anyhow, he believed in his own country. Inn his own country. _So_--you
see--he was a little startled when he found himself handed over to the
Transvaal as a prisoner of war. That's what it came to, Tommy--a prisoner
of war. You know what that is--eh? England was too honourable and too
gentlemanly to take trouble. There were no terms made for my father."
"So 'e made 'em 'imself. Useful old bird." Private Copper sliced up
another pipeful and looked out across the wrinkled sea of kopjes, through
which came the roar of the rushing Orange River, so unlike quiet Cuckmere.
The young man's face darkened. "I think I shall sjambok you myself when
I've quite done with you. _No_, my father (he was a fool) made no terms
for eight years--ninety-six months--and for every day of them the
Transvaal made his life hell for my father and--his people."
"I'm glad to hear that," said the impenitent Copper.
"Are you? You can think of it when I'm taking the skin off your back--
eh?... My father, he lost everything--everything down to his self-respect.
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