During the Boer War of 1880 merchants in the Free State had a bad time of it.  The Boers were, of course, very much excited, and the English merchant was looked upon scornfully and contemptuously.  One Boer had already drawn up a memorandum of what he considered should be the modus operandi in dealing with the storekeepers.  Two or three were to be hanged, and the others were to be tied up in front of their own buildings and shot down like crows.  That was in Harrismith.

The Boer has not much to boast of in the matter of brains, but what he does possess he is careful not to abuse.  A man can abuse his brains in many ways—­by taking to strong drink, for instance.  I have been among Boers for some years, and I can honestly say that I never yet saw a Boer the worse for drink.  He may indulge occasionally, but he very seldom carries the practice to excess.  When he does take it he likes it strong—­as strong as he can get it.  He scorns the idea of mixing it in water.  He reckons that he did not go to the canteen or hotel to pay for water.  He wants the full value of his money, and he takes it.

I have said that the Boer is suspicious; he is likewise jealous by nature.  If there happens to be rinderpest on the next farm to his, he is never contented until he gets his full share.  He does not mind if the visitation plays extreme havoc among his stock so long as he is not left in the lurch.  I remember some time ago hearing of a Boer who had decided to build a large dwelling-house on his farm in place of the wretched little building he and his family had hitherto occupied.  This Boer had made some money, and contact with English people in the towns had resulted in more advanced ideas.  He determined, therefore, to spare no expense on this new project—­he even included a bath-room.  The building was scarcely completed, when about a dozen Boers, who were also capitalists in a way, immediately set about making arrangements for similar structures.  This form of jealousy is, of course, good where trade is concerned.

If the Boer is nothing else, he is at least talked about.  I say nothing else advisedly, because he is nothing else.  In his own country he is nothing, and out of it he is less, if that were possible.  It may seem out of place on the part of a Scotsman to make such an assertion, because a Scotsman (and a Yorkshireman, too, by the way) is, in the eyes of the Boer, a friendly being, and far removed above a mere Englishman.  A Boer will give a Scotsman the best in the house, and put up his horse comfortably, but an Englishman in the same circumstances fares differently.  It is, of course, unnecessary to say that while a Scotsman makes no objection to exceptional hospitality, his views of the Boer do not differ materially from those of any other person of whatever nationality.  He drinks the Boer’s coffee, and shakes hands with him and all his family, but there may be, and usually is, a great deal of deception mixed up with such extreme good-feeling.  I could never understand, nor has it been explained to me, why the Boer is so partial towards Scotsmen, unless it be that a great many Scotch words resemble words in the Dutch language.  Perhaps that may in some degree account for it, although I do not think there is anything to be proud of on the Scottish side.