Now, while Pereira was mocking and bragging of his prowess, Pieter Retief looked at me, and our eyes met.

“Allemachte!” he exclaimed, “is that the young man who, with half a dozen miserable Hottentots and slaves, held this stead for five hours against all the Quabie tribe and kept them out?”

Somebody said that it was, remarking that I had been about to shoot Marie Marais and myself when help came.

“Then, Heer Allan Quatermain,” said Retief, “give me your hand,” and he took my poor wasted fingers in his big palm, adding, “Your father must be proud of you to-day, as I should be if I had such a son.  God in Heaven! where will you stop if you can go so far while you are yet a boy?  Friends, since I came here yesterday I have got the whole story for myself from the Kaffirs and from this ‘mooi meisje’” (pretty young lady), and he nodded towards Marie.  “Also I have gone over the ground and the house, and have seen where each man fell—­it is easy by the blood marks—­most of them shot by yonder Englishman, except one of the last three, whom he killed with a spear.  Well, I tell you that never in all my experience have I known a better arranged or a more finely carried out defence against huge odds.  Perhaps the best part of it, too, was the way in which this young lion acted on the information he received and the splendid ride he made from the Mission Station.  Again I say that his father should be proud of him.”

“Well, if it comes to that, I am, mynheer,” said my father, who just then joined us after his morning walk, “although I beg you to say no more lest the lad should grow vain.”

“Bah!” replied Retief, “fellows of his stamp are not vain; it is your big talkers who are vain,” and he glanced out of the corner of his shrewd eye at Pereira, “your turkey cocks with all their tails spread.  I think this little chap must be such another as that great sailor of yours—­what do you call him, Nelson?—­who beat the French into frothed eggs and died to live for ever.  He was small, too, they say, and weak in the stomach.”

I must confess I do not think that praise ever sounded sweeter in my ears than did these words of the Commandant Retief, uttered as they were just when I felt crushed to the dirt.  Moreover, as I saw by Marie’s and, I may add, by my father’s face, there were other ears to which they were not ungrateful.  The Boers also, brave and honest men enough, evidently appreciated them, for they said: 

“Ja! ja! das ist recht” (That is right).

Only Pereira turned his broad back and busied himself with relighting his pipe, which had gone out.

Then Retief began again.

“What is it you were calling us to listen to, Mynheer Pereira?  That this Heer Allan Quatermain had offered to shoot you a match?  Well, why not?  If he can hit Kaffirs running at him with spears, as he has done, he may be able to hit other things also.  You say that you won’t rob him of his money—­no, it was his beautiful horse—­because you have taken so many prizes shooting at targets.  But did you ever hit a Kaffir running at you with an assegai, mynheer, you who live down there where everything is safe?  If so, I never heard of it.”