Preface.

Africa is still the home of mystery, in spite of the many explorers who have revealed much of its wonders. This romance is concerned mainly with the adventures of three young men who went out to South Africa, got into trouble with the Transvaal Government, and afterwards discovered an ancient nation in Central Africa.

On their return they were able to take a little hand in this present war of Justice and Right, where so many of our best and bravest are shedding their blood.

I wish I could have shown my readers the wind up of this vile oligarchy of Pretoria tyrants. Yet I dare say no real Briton can doubt but that the end must be the triumph of our glorious Empire and the ultimate civilisation of those ignorant savages, the Boers.

It has cost us dearly—it may cost us more—yet never let a true lover of liberty be biased by the friends of the oppressors. Africa must be a free country, as Australia, New Zealand, and Canada are. Like those great countries, Africa must become a loyal and faithful daughter to her beneficent mother, our Empire, and enjoy the fruits of emancipation as those other sisters do.

These fruits are Liberty, Equality, Justice, and Fraternity to all races over which waves the glorious Red, White, and Blue Flag, the Union Jack.

The boons which we are at present fighting for will cause many a hearth to mourn for the brave sons who lie under the cold stars and the fierce suns of Africa. But as the human parts of these sons enrich the veldt, so will their heroic actions cause countless generations of Boers to bless their coming. They have fought—not out of revenge, but for duty and love of their brothers. They have died for a noble cause, and Africa will yet think of them with pride. While, therefore, we drop a tear over their sacred graves, let it be one of gratitude and pride. Who would not sooner share the grave of a soldier in Africa than grasp the hand of a pro-Boer in England? Who would not sooner lie beside a hero on the veldt than be placed near the statesman who caused all this waste of blood?

That you may forgive all the shortcomings in this book, and be interested in it and its pictures, is the most earnest wish of the writer. If it can keep an Imperialist steadfast when persuaded by crafty traitors, if it can induce a wavering pro-Boer to be once more a faithful son or daughter to Justice and our Empire, then it has more than fulfilled the desires of

ITS AUTHOR.

Yorick Club, 30, Bedford Street, London, W.C.

Chapter One.

At Shebourne Academy.

Three braver, franker, and more chivalrous hearts never beat in male breasts than those that beat under the jackets of Ned Romer, Clarence Raybold, and Fred Weldon.

Ned Romer, the long-acknowledged hero and captain of the school, was about seventeen years of age. He had won his supremacy, as all lads must do at schools, by hard fighting and expertness in outdoor games and sports, as much as by general proficiency in his studies.

The boys expected him, of course, to be dux in the schoolroom; they could never have respected a duffer, no matter how smart he may have been on the field. An ignorant booby could never win schoolboy respect, no matter how great a fighter he proved himself to be.

To become the leader of a school requires many perfections in a boy. He must have the same qualities which form a leader of men—personal force and self-control, the power of controlling and influencing those about him. He must be always prepared and ready to face unexpected difficulties, be tireless in his work, willing ever to help his followers in their task, and thus win their admiration, by proving that he knows much more than they do.

He must be prepared to act as champion for the school, if called upon; to be the best batsman and bowler, the most tireless runner and swimmer; in fact, to be constantly on the qui vive.

Schoolboys are very keen critics, and don’t give their admiration blindly. True, once their allegiance is given, it takes a good deal to destroy the prestige of their hero. Unlike grown men, they do not easily forget Ned Romer had all the natural qualities of a hero. Physically, he was tall for his age, handsome, strongly formed, and absolutely fearless.

A well-posed, firm head rested between square shoulders. His hair was crisp, curly, and light brown. His eyes were those bright and blue eyes that look frankly and bravely out upon the world, and never shift when appealed to. When boys or men possess those kind of eyes, a lie direct is an impossibility with them. They cannot prevaricate. It is not the despicable meanness of a lie that prevents them; they do not consider such ethics or reasons. Like George Washington, they simply cannot tell a lie. To do so would be a physical impossibility. The liar and the craven are natural products, and go together, as real courage, magnanimity, and truth are ever found united.

His habits of constant exercise had made Ned Romer an athlete. A natural aptitude for study and thirst for knowledge made his tasks a pleasure, and easy to acquire. He was ambitious to shine, and could not endure defeat. To him an obstacle meant an enemy to be overcome and destroyed, and until he achieved this, he had no peace of mind.

This was his last term at school; and during the years he had spent at Shebourne Academy, he had learnt that the most precious of all a brave man’s possessions is the habit of controlling his temper. He had a fiery temper. Now, a temper is as needful to boy and man as a pair of strong arms, but, like strength, this must be kept in reserve for occasions when force is required, not dissipated in senseless outbursts. As our story progresses, the reader will find out more about the characteristics and temper of Ned Romer.

Early in life he had been left an orphan, under the guardianship of his late father’s solicitor.

This guardian was a bachelor, who evidently considered it to be the beginning and end of his duty to pay the school fees and other expenses of his ward.

Thus Ned had never been invited to visit his guardian during his holidays, the master of the college, or academy, Dr Heardman, LL.D., M.A., etc., being paid to look after the boy during the holidays. In consequence of these arrangements, Shebourne Academy was the only home that Ned Romer had ever known, and his schoolfellows were his only friends.

Some lads would have felt lonely and have pined under the monotony of such a life; but Ned was not one of the brooding kind. The country all round the academy was beautiful, being in the heart of Devonshire, and within sight of Dartmoor hills. What money he required, in reason, his guardian freely sent, and as Ned had lived here ever since he could remember, his needs were not extravagant, with such Spartan tastes as he had.

Books he had in profusion, for the doctor’s library was at his disposal. He found amusement enough during the vacations in studying botany and reading books of travel and exploration.

When asked by his guardian what vocation he would like to take up in life, during