"Haggard, H Rider- Finished" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haggard H. Rider)

"They never exaggerated about mine," he said with a twinkle in
his eye. "Anyhow I am very glad to see you in the flesh, though
in the spirit you rather bored me because I heard too much of
you. Whenever I made a particularly, bad miss, my gun-bearer,
who at some time seems to have been yours, would say, 'Ah! if
only it had been the Inkosi Macumazahn, how different would have
been the end!' My name is Anscombe, Maurice Anscombe," he added
rather shyly. (Afterwards I discovered from a book of reference
that he was a younger son of Lord Mountford, one of the richest
peers in England.)

Then we both laughed and he said--

"Tell me, Mr. Quatermain, if you will, what those Boers are
saying behind us. I am sure it is something unpleasant, but as
the only Dutch I know is 'Guten Tag' and 'Vootsack' (Good-day and
Get out) that takes me no forwarder."

"It ought to," I answered, "for the substance of their talk is
that they object to be 'vootsacked' by the British Government as
represented by Sir Theophilus Shepstone. They are declaring that
they won the land 'with their blood' and want to keep their own
flag flying over it."

"A very natural sentiment," broke in Anscombe.

"They say that they wish to shoot all damned Englishmen,
especially Shepstone and his people, and that they would make a
beginning now were they not afraid that the damned English
Government, being angered, would send thousands of damned English
rooibatjes, that is, red-coats, and shoot _them_ out of evil
revenge."

"A very natural conclusion," laughed Anscombe again, "which I
should advise them to leave untested. Hush! Here comes the
show."

I looked and saw a body of blackcoated gentlemen with one officer
in the uniform of a Colonel of Engineers, advancing slowly. I
remember that it reminded me of a funeral procession following
the corpse of the Republic that had gone on ahead out of sight.
The procession arrived upon the stoep opposite to us and began to
sort itself out, whereon the English present raised a cheer and
the Boers behind us cursed audibly. In the middle appeared an
elderly gentleman with whiskers and a stoop, in whom I recognized
Mr. Osborn, known by the Kaffirs as Malimati, the Chief of the
Staff. By his side was a tall young fellow, yourself, my friend,
scarcely more than a lad then, carrying papers. The rest stood
to right and left in a formal line. _You_ gave a printed