“Yes, yes; they all say that, Heer Botmar, and I trust that they are right, for you will need nothing less than a cloud by day and a pillar of fire in the darkness to protect you from all the dangers in your path.  Also I hope that the hosts of Pharaoh, in the shape of English soldiers, will not fetch you back before you cross the border, for then, when you have sold your birthright in Egypt, and are cut off from the Promised Land, your lot will be hard, Heer Botmar.”

“The Lord will guide and protect us,” repeated Jan, and gave the word to trek.

In my heart at the time I was inclined to agree with that cheat’s sneering words; and yet Jan was right, and not I, for of the truth the Lord did guide and protect us.  Has anything more wonderful happened in the world than this journey of a few farmers, cumbered with women and children, and armed only with old-fashioned muzzle-loading guns, into a vast, unknown land, peopled by savages and wild beasts?  Yet, look what they did.  They conquered Moselikatse; they broke the strength of Dingaan and all his Zulu impis; they peopled the Free State, the Transvaal, and Natal.  That was the work of those few farmers, and I say that of their own strength they could never have done it; the strength was given to them from above; the Sword of God was in their hand, and He guided that hand and blessed it.

Our first outspan was at the spot where Van Vooren had tried to murder Ralph and carried off Suzanne upon her wedding-day.  We did not stop there long, for the place was bad for Ralph, who sat upon the box of the waggon staring moodily at some blackened stones, which, as one of the drivers told me—­the same man who accompanied them upon their wedding journey—­had been brought from the kloof and used by Suzanne to set the kettle on when they took their meal together.  Led by this same driver I walked to the edge of the cliff—­for I had never visited the place before—­and looked at the deep sea-pool, forty feet below me, into which Swart Piet had thrown Ralph after he had shot him.  Also I went down to the edge of the pool and climbed up again by the path along which Zinti and Sihamba had staggered with his senseless body.  Afterwards I returned to the waggons with a heart full of thankfulness and wonder that he should still be alive among us to-day, although alas, there was much for which I could not feel thankful, at least not then.

Now it is of little use that I should set down the history of this trek of ours day by day, for if I did my story would have no end.  It is enough to tell that in company with other emigrants we crossed the Orange River, heading for Thaba Nchu, which had been the chief town of Maroko before Moselikatse drove him out of the Marico country.  Here several bands of emigrants were to meet, and here they did meet, but not until a year or more had passed since we left the colony and wandered out into the veldt.