As a matter of fact I don’t know which of them thought of it because I never inquired.  But I did remember afterwards how Anscombe had tossed with a lucky penny when it was a question whether we should or should not run for the wagon during our difficulty by the Oliphant’s River; also when I asked him the reason for this strange proceeding he answered that Providence might inhabit a penny as well as anything else, and that he wished to give it—­I mean Providence—­a chance.  How much more then, he may have argued, could it inhabit a flash of lightning which has always been considered a divine manifestation from the time of the Roman Jove, and no doubt far before him.

Forty or fifty generations ago, which is not long, our ancestors set great store by the behaviour of lightning and thunder, and doubtless the instinct is still in our blood, in the same way that all our existing superstitions about the moon come down to us from the time when our forefathers worshipped her.  They did this for tens of hundreds or thousands of years, and can we expect a few coatings of the veneer that we politely call civilization, which after all is only one of our conventions that vanish in any human stress such as war, to kill out the human impulse it seems to hide?  I do not know, though I have my own opinion, and probably these young people never reasoned the matter out.  They just acted on an intuition as ancient as that which had attracted them to each other, namely a desire to consult the ruling fates by omens or symbols.  Or perhaps Anscombe thought that as his experience with the penny had proved so successful, he would give Providence another “chance.”  If so it took it and no mistake.  Confound it!  I don’t know what he thought; I only dwell on the matter because of the great results which followed this consultation of the Sybilline books of heaven.

As it happened my speculations, if I really indulged in any at that time, were suddenly extinguished by the bursting of the storm.  It was of the usual character, short but very violent.  Of a sudden the sky became alive with lightnings and the atmosphere with the roar of winds.  One flash struck a tree quite near the kraal, and I saw that tree seem to melt in its fiery embrace, while about where it had been, rose a column of dust from the ground beneath.  The horses were so frightened that luckily they stood quite quiet, as I have often known animals to do in such circumstances.  Then came the rain, a torrential rain as I, who was out in it holding the horses, became painfully aware.  It thinned after a while, however, as the storm rolled away.

Suddenly in a silence between the tremendous echoes of the passing thunder I thought that I heard voices somewhere on the brow of the slope, and as the horses were now quite calm, I crept through the trees to that part of the enclosure which I judged to be nearest to them.

Voices they were sure enough, and of the Basutos who were pursuing us.  What was more, they were coming down the slope.  The top of the old wall reached almost to my chin.  Taking off my hat I thrust my head forward between two loose stones, that I might hear the better.