Chapter III

I had been ordered to join the commando of Ben Viljoen, who had just returned, having fought well at Elandslaagte and gone on to Johannesburg, where he was presented with a gold watch and made much of by the Burghers who had contrived to stay out of the fighting. Ben was a proud and haughty man, and puffed up with pride in that he had been raised from lowliness to greatness in a small space, and certain that he was better fitted to command the Boer forces than “Slim” Piet Joubert. Ben was exalted in his own esteem because General Joubert had at last taken his advice, and invaded Natal against his own wish and judgment. But at the first war-council held at Sandspruit, Ben, who had a slippery tongue, had so worked on the feelings of the younger commandants that they had passed a resolution to cross the Border. It was only by crying great tears, and asking the old Burghers if they meant to despise him for a young kerel like Ben, that they reconsidered the plan, and by a majority of two votes undid the resolution they had come to, and decided to be guided by the old man. But Ben never ceased to work until he had his way, and the Border was crossed. This success pleased him very much, for he was a young man who had had much to do with Rooineks, and did not care to read in his Bible how pride goeth before a fall. “Nay,” said he, when an old Burgher named Paul du Plooy read him this, ‘I believe that part which says the first shall be last and the last first, and the humble shall be exalted. That’s me. So now go on horse -guard and take your Bible with you, and read it closer before you throw it at my head again.”

This Paul du Plooy had been a Dopper, but did nothing but study the Bible and quarrel with the deacons. He next went over to the Dutch Reformed Church, where the predikants are more college-learned; and they confuted old Paul so often that he left them and had a Church of his own made up of his family, though he was always trying to get Burghers to join, and did not even mind having Rooineks and Germans and a Jew, who only pretended to agree because Paul sold him tobacco cheaper than any one else, whereby the old man lost money.

When I heard Ben use these jeering words, and saw how abased the old Burgher was, I felt sorry for him; but before long I learned to mitigate my grief, for old Paul proved a great depression in the laager. He would come half-a-dozen times a-day to Ben or the General, carrying his Bible and pointing out some verse which showed that the Boers were either in the right and were going to smite the Rooineks hip and thigh, or if we got a reverse it was a punishment for not holding more prayer-meetings, at which Paul did all the praying. As Paul always had a verse to prove what he said, and could talk more persuasively than an auctioneer, much time was wasted in listening to his discourses, which gave many Burghers an excuse for not fighting.

At last Ben Viljoen made an order that no more verses were to be shown him or the Burghers unless they encouraged fighting, and then they were not to be discovered until they had worked out true,—an order that puzzled Paul deeply, and for a time checked the output of prophecies.

I think it proper to say so much about Paul du Plooy, for the reason, as will be seen, that the old man did much to guide my steps both for right and wrong later on.

Ben Viljoen was not pleased to see me, for I doubt not he feared me as he did General Joubert and Louis Botha, he being highly jealous of both of them.

“So you have come, kerel, to finish the war,” said he sneeringly, when I reported myself. “But I fear there are not many towns left in Natal that we can call after you until we get to Durban. While I am finding one, you may translate and make copies of these letters and telegrams that we have found in the post-office at Newcastle, for I know you are the only man in the Transvaal who can spell properly.”

“I have come to bleed for my country,” said I with great dignity, “and not do the work of a post-office clerk.”

“I know that,” said Ben; “that is why I want you to do something useful first.”

Ben has a biting tongue and hates his enemies with great bitterness, and I knew that sooner or later he would have me put in the forefront of the battle, as Katrina would. This thought made me change my resolve, and decide to translate the papers properly, and not as I at first intended, in a way to deceive Ben and help the British, for I remembered that Ben was proud of his knowledge of English, and was certain to examine my work very carefully, on purpose to find mistakes by which he could make me look foolish before the Burghers. So I translated with truth, making the work last as long as possible, so that I might not be sent to fight the English. But, put the skid on as hard as I could, I could not make the work last out till the commando had gone. It was not till two days after I had finished that Ben began to call names for a small commando to go out towards Ladysmith.

Just as I was fearing to hear my name called, a thing happened which, but for what afterwards came, might have made me feel grateful that whisky was invented. We had in our laager ten Irish Boers and some who said they were Irish, thinking it was a nation that escaped commando, like Germans and Frenchmen. The news came that the Johannesburg Irish Brigade under Colonel Lynch had laagered ten miles away and had brought much whisky, being presents made them by admirers before leaving Johannesburg. As the train which brought them had made a quick journey, they had not had time to drink more than two or three bottles a man, so there was plenty left, as the Burgher who brought the news explained. As soon as this was known, all the real Irish Boers in our commando were off at a gallop to the Irish camp, whereat Ben Viljoen swore so terribly and got so wrathful against whisky, that the predikant called a prayer-meeting at which the whole commando turned up, for they ever preferred praying to fighting. Ben stood on the outside fringe and swore quietly; but he dared not stop the praying, for it was fast becoming an open secret that Ben was an infidel, not caring whether he went to the Dopper or the Dutch Reformed Kerk, but preferring neither, and scoffing at predikants who did; and when the Burghers wanted to pray and sing psalms he generally pretended that the English were coming, and that we ought to prepare to meet them. Just as President Burgers in the old days lost his fights with the Kafirs through his want of religion, so did Ben Viljoen lose us Elandslaagte, as I heard before I joined the commando, and saw the truth of afterwards.

Had he not been so hardly encased in sin he would have seen how he was punished that very day, for the British came into our laager at night, wounded six of our Burghers, and drove us out, the predikant himself being badly hurt by falling down a krantz while running away.

Next day we formed another laager near the Irish Brigade, which was bad for our commando, as the Irishmen still had plenty of whisky and winning ways, that seduced the young Burghers of our commando into drunkenness and irreligion to such an extent, that when the predikant called a prayer-meeting that night the Irishmen held a smoking-concert a few yards off. It was sad to see the young Burghers one by one cease to sing psalms, which they knew well and could voice properly, steal furtively away to the smoking-concert, and raise their voices in profane choruses that they did not know. What made it worse was that the songs were all English, there being no good ones in the Taal. Ben Viljoen, with his usual godlessness, refused to stop the smoking-concert, and laughed loudly when the Burghers sang a psalm and were drowned by the choruses from the concert. I was not surprised that we were again driven from our laager by the shell-fire of the English next day, and I read it as the work of Providence that my horse was killed, as it made my going to fight less probable, for we were very short of horses just then. But my joy became sorrow in the morning, for Ben Viljoen came to me.

“Sarel,” said he, “you want to bleed for your country, don’t you?”

“Certainly, commandant; that is why I came.”

“You know this district, too, eh?”

He said this sneeringly, for he knew that I had come into Natal to escape the injustice of the office inspector; so I very discreetly answered, “Not much.”

“But,” said he, in a manner that forbade my saying nay, “did you not tell Hans Potgieter that while you were in Natal you were always riding round to stir up the Natal Dutch?”

I had said that much to Hans, but it was not true, and only said to make my path smooth.

“Did you ride or did you not?” asked Ben with fierceness.

I could but say “Yes,” or appear a traitor and dissembler.

“Then you are the man we want to show where our friends’ places are. You must ride with thirty Burghers and bring in all our friends who are yet on their farms, and do as much damage to the Rooineks as you can. Do you understand?”

My heart went sick, but I dared not say nay, being but one to a thousand. Just then the comforting words of the Bible came to me, “Be ye wise as serpents, but harmless as doves,” and I resolved that while I was wise with the Burghers, I would be harmless as a dove to the British and kill none.

“Commandant, if I do not great things you may say I am no oprecht Burgher,” which would be the truth, and would do me no harm if he did say it after I had got away, as was my intent.

“Perhaps I shall say it in any case,” said Ben; “but meanwhile ride, and remember that your great actions will be watched. And don’t forget that you have to kill one hundred Rooineks for Katrina.”

This speech showed me that Ben had been told of Katrina’s conduct, and my anger rose high; but I was comforted by the blessed thought that she only made come true the words of Scripture which say, “A man’s foes shall be those of his own household.”

As I rode out with the Burghers on our wicked work I thought much on these things, and how strangely these happenings were making me believe more than ever how true and comforting the Bible was, for one passage kept ringing in my ears, “Come ye out from among them; Come ye out from among them.” The hoofs of my horse said it quite plainly, and the squeaking of the saddle echoed it, while the wickedness of the talk of the Burghers, and their jokes about me and Katrina, commanded plainly that a God-fearing man like me should not sit in the seats of the scornful, but come out from among them. These solemn and righteous thoughts kept me quiet for a long time, which the Burghers remarking, some of them asked if my internal complaint was coming on badly,—a question to which I did not answer, for something told me that I should leave the punishment of those who mocked me to Providence; and I did, little thinking how soon I was to be avenged upon them.

About sundown we came in sight of the farm which I thought to be that of Gert Jansen, a Transvaal Boer, but lately come to Natal. I had not seen or spoken to him, but when I was cross-questioned by Hans Potgieter as to what I had seen and done in Natal, I said I knew that Gert was a friend, guessing it only because I had heard he had been born in Rustenburg, Paul Kruger’s own place.

“That is Gert Jansen’s place, is it not?” asked the Burghers.

“Yes, and he is one of us,” I answered.

“Then shall you ride up alone to see if all is safe,” said they; and with a sore and fearful heart I rode up alone, expecting any moment that a shot might come, for we had seen signs that the British had been hereabouts. I had a large white handkerchief in my pocket, which I intended to wave if I saw any khaki men, and ride up and surrender. But no sign did I see either of khaki or of Gert Jansen. There were no cattle in sight, nor Kafirs nor kitchen smoke,—and, above all, no dogs barked, the surest sign that a Boer farm is deserted.

When at last I got up to the homestead I saw marks of a great and recent trek. All the waggons were gone, and perhaps Gert had gone to join the British, which thought made me feel sick, for it would make my story a lie, and cause them to doubt me. But again Providence helped me, for when I went into the sitting-room I saw on the table an account-book and papers, and at once a thought came how I might save myself. I took a pen and wrote in a disguised hand: “I have been carried off by the Rooineks. I will escape and join the Boer commando.—Gert Jansen.”

I went over the house, but found no sign of anybody alive, so rode slowly back to the Burghers and told them what I had seen.

As I expected, they began to say hard things, and asked if all my friends in Natal were like Gert, some of the younger Burghers saying Gert had learned to run from my example. But I said nothing till we reached the house, when I pretended to find the book and showed them the writing, which closed the mouths of the scoffers.

But their punishment was close at hand. One of them found a bottle of whisky, and soon they were all drinking, but offered me none, which in one way proved fortunate, though in another it told against me, as the sequel will show. Some were for burning the place, saying that Gert must be with the British as a friend, or why had they not looted his place when they carried him away? a thing that weighed with the corporal of the party, who was for burning. But just as they would begin, more whisky and Dop brandy were found, and they sat down to drink, doing no damage beyond cutting open the stuffing of the sofa and best chairs to look for any money that might be hidden, and throwing the empty bottles through the glass of the windows. There might have been more damage, but some of the Burghers said they were tired and sleepy; and soon half of them were lying about the house, after much quarrelling who should be on the beds, which they settled by getting as many on each as could lie straight, for they had not seen a bed for many weeks.

Seeing so many asleep, and others getting drunk, I began to think I might get away from them; so I went outside to mark how the road lay before it got too dark, and to pick a good horse, my own being but poor.

As I was looking at the horses, old Franz Liebenberg touched me on the shoulder.

“Are you in a hurry to go? or is the internal complaint bad?” he asked sneeringly.

“Yes, coos,” I answered boldly. ‘It is the internal complaint; but it is not I who have it, but the kerels inside,” meaning that those in the house were drunk. But I did not see how that speech was going to rise up against me in the aftertime.

I went inside the house, and was trying to move one Burgher who had fallen into an uncomfortable position, when he awoke, and, seeing me, exclaimed, “You schelm! you have poisoned the drink!”

My heart gave a thump as the others took up the saying, and as many as could stand crowded round me. At that moment Providence again helped me, for one of the Burghers who was not drunk came running into the house shouting, “The Rooineks are coming!”

We ran out to see, and on a kopjie about a mile away saw khaki men riding towards us.

Never did men get sober more quickly. Some who a minute before were groaning that they were dying rushed to their horses, and before the khakis were come two hundred yards nearer we were off. They fired, and some of us fired, but no one was hit; and when after an hour’s hard riding we stopped in a donga and counted, there were six Burghers missing, and them we never saw again.

“It was a trap, kerels,’ I said. “The verdomde Rooineks poisoned the whisky and left it for us.”

But I could see that some did not believe me because I had run away from the Transvaal, which again showed the truthfulness of the Bible, which says, “having once put your hand to the plough do not go back,” for going back had caused all my pain of mind and the mistrust of my fellow Burghers.

After this bad fright the Burghers were in no mood for going to look for other places, but were all for returning; so by a long and troublesome path we got back to laager.

Ben Viljoen was away when we arrived; and, fortunately for me, Piet Joubert was there, and, thank Providence, in a good humour, for news had just come in of a defeat of the British and the capture of many horses and oxen and several Kafir runners with important letters on them. But I knew, for I could feel it, that trouble was coming to me for the mishap. I sat on a stone and smoked, and tried hard to think of what I should say to defend myself; but my years of experience as a public prosecutor made me see only what I should say if I were prosecuting myself, and a bad case mine was.

Most of the drunken Burghers having been made sober by the schrick given them by the khakis, had now time and inclination to get sick again; and those that had been most drunk were now telling the whole laager about the fight, and lying wickedly of the number they had killed. Presently I heard old Carl Vollmer, who had been the first to run, boasting loudly of his great deeds.

“I dropped two with one shot at 800 yards,” said he.

“Nay, Carl,” I broke in, “there were three; did you not see the third—a little man—crawling behind an ant-heap?”

Carl looked at me sideways a minute before he answered—

“Nay, coos, you are wrong. I got that fellow with my trial shot, and only hit his leg.”

“But he was an officer,” said I, knowing that this would please Carl, for it was ever the delight of a Boer to shoot an officer.

He looked very pleased; so, knowing he was a Burgher of influence, with a son a commandant, I made haste to follow up my wise policy—

“It was you, Carl, who stopped the rush and saved us, for so many of the other kerels were too full of whisky to shoot.”

This was a bold saying, but I remembered that Carl was a teetotal Boer and always against whisky, and being on the Licensing Board at Prinsloosdorp, where he ever said Nay to granting a licence, unless very well paid to say Yea.

The Burghers began to come up to listen, so I made haste to agree with my adversary while he was yet in the way. In a loud voice, and pretending not to know that those of whom I spoke were listening, I went on—

“There was some good shooting by Phanie van den Berg. I saw him drop three khakis.” And thus I went on, skilfully but dishonestly praising those Burghers who I thought were likely to be most against me if trouble came, yet all the time secretly knowing they were great cowards, who thought more of riding than shooting. At the same time, I knew they dare not deny my stories about them.

‘But,’ asked one who had not been at the fight, and a Hollander, a race that is always hard to convince of the truth, ‘if you shot so many, why did you not stay and finish them?”

Man, but they were like the locusts for numbers, and had lances and lyddite, and were round us on every side,’ I answered.

“But if you were surrounded, how did you get away?” the troublesome Hollander went on.

“It was the Lord’s doing,” said old Paul du Plooy. “He opened a path, as he did for the children of Israel through the Red Sea. Was it not so, Sarel?”

“It is quite right, Oom,” said I, pleased to find the old man my friend. “It all came to pass as you said it would. Man, but you are wonderful with that Bible of yours; you can read all that is coming like an almanack, but these young kerels will not believe, and so are punished.” And then I told them how the six Burghers whom we had left drunk had been scoffing at Paul, and saying how glad they were that he was not with them to preach tribulation. They had not said anything like this, but I was making friends with the old man by being wise as a serpent but harmless as a dove.

Just then a Natal Burgher who had been listening gave me a great shock.

“I know Gert Jansen well,” said he, “and I know that he is as much against whisky as Carl Vollmer. How, then, did the whisky get into a house like that?”

“It was a trap of the Rooineks,” I said.

“But khakis don’t carry whisky in big bottles. They carry it in small flasks, and leave the big bottles in camp. Have we not found them ourselves at Dundee and Newcastle? The only man likely to keep whisky is Andries Brink. Are you sure it was not his place you were at?”

My heart gave a great thump, for since I had had time to think it over I had begun to have doubts whether it was Gert Jansen’s place we had been to.

The Natal Burgher went on. “Andries has willows all round the kraal, and plenty of wire-fencing, but Gert Jansen has neither trees nor fence.”

“Then it was not Gert Jansen’s, and Sarel is a liar,” broke in a young Burgher, who was angry because I had not included him among those who shot well.

“But what about this?” and I showed them the leaf I had written and torn out of the account-book.

“Let me see it,” said the Natal Burgher. When he had read it he laughed. “These Rooineks are wonderful,” said he, “for they have taught Gert to write. When I knew him two months ago, he made a mark for his signature.”

Then all the Burghers were very quiet, and looked very serious. The writing was passed from hand to hand and closely examined, especially by those who could not read.

Old Paul du Plooy came to my help again,—

“Man, but you don’t know what a kerel will do when he is sorely scared. May it not be that the khakis stood over him with their lances and long knives and made him write? A lame man would jump at such a time.”

And then Paul told them a long story of how, when he was a boy, in the Ventersdorp district an angel appeared to a man named Coetzee while he was herding sheep, and taught him to read and write. Paul had a lot of these stories, which often came in very usefully, as this one would, had not the Hollanders and younger Burghers begun to ask questions, that showed how greatly the infidel religion had been imported into the country by the Hollanders, and, I fear, also by Johannesburgers. It is true that I myself do not believe that angel story, but it has been told so often since I was a boy that there may be some truth in it. When old Burghers set to discussing a puzzling subject, time is going to be cheap; so when they started on trying to settle whether the farm we had been to was Gert Jansen’s or Andries Brink’s, I went away, for my legal knowledge had taught me that the less an accused person says the better. So I went away, and tried hard to think out a plan for my defence against the trouble that I knew was coming, though I felt that by my superior cunning I had made my path much smoother than it seemed at first.

My greatest enemy in the laager after Ben Viljoen was Harry Otto of Prinsloosdorp, who had learned much wickedness in Johannesburg, where he had been a detective, and was so full with it that there was no room for more, though he was in that matter like a sponge which, being full, has yet room for more. He was bitter against me because I was the only official in the dorp who would not shut my eyes to his wickedness when he took money from illicit liquor-sellers not to report what his eyes saw. Several times, when I was prosecuting these men, had he spoiled my case by his lying evidence; but in the end I made him look foolish by proving that he had taken bribes. It was true I obtained a conviction; but I was sent for to Pretoria, and severely rebuked by the Government for my over -zeal in making an official appear bad. I knew, therefore, that if Otto could injure me with Ben Viljoen he would, and for that I was now preparing.

Ben did not return till next day, and his coming brought more trouble than I had expected, for with him came this same Otto whom we had left in the farmhouse. He had been sleeping off his drunkenness in the stable, where he was not found by the khakis, nor had we missed him. He told a story to Ben that was not in my favour, and I was not a bit surprised when a little later I was told to prepare to be tried for leading the Burghers into a trap.

It was Paul du Plooy who brought the news.

“I think they are going to shoot you, Sarel,” said he. “But you have got to die of something, perhaps that internal complaint, which will be very painful, or perhaps shot or lanced by khakis. Much better be shot by people who know you than by khakis who don’t. The predikant says he won’t read any service over your grave; but never mind, Sarel, I will do it, and make a nice prayer that I have invented. And I’ll make the speech that I made over the grave of my second wife. I’ve only got to alter the names.”

And then the old man read great chapters out of the Book of Job, because he said I was like him, having an internal complaint. The parts he read were very gloomy, and made me out to be a very wicked man. When he had read six or seven chapters very slowly, because he could not spell all the words,—

“Oom,” said I, “you read and talk as if you thought me guilty. Do you?”

“Sarel,” said he, “I am an old man, and have seen many strange things both among Kafirs and white men and wild creatures, and I know that when any of these are in a corner they do the best thing that can be thought out to destroy their enemies and get away safely. Why should you not poison those who would destroy you? I would do the same to the vultures that would destroy my sheep; and are not your enemies seeking to destroy a ewe lamb?”

“But I have an answer to all their charges; and being clever in law, I will defeat them and make them ashamed.”

“Nay, Sarel, this is war-time, when we have no law, only justice,” said he.

I was afraid it would be so, but I had hoped my long practice at drawing summonses might show me how to upset this one against me, and I told Paul so.

“You are very ignorant, Sarel, for you do not know that they only hold a court-martial on people they know to be guilty. Your only chance ‘is to trust to the Lord and me, or else do as Lieutenant Tossel did—get the case sent to Pretoria to be tried, where there will be no witnesses against you, and no trial will come. Besides, there will be no chance for you to play lawyer tricks, for there will be no summons, and I heard them say they would not let you defend yourself, for, being a lawyer, you might trick them into believing you innocent.”

Then for the first time I saw how the wicked had encompassed me about to work my ruin, and I saw that Paul was right in reading all the dreadful parts of Job that fitted only the guilty and the dead.

“Paul,” said I, ‘it seems that you might well read my burial sermon now.”

“I will do it with pleasure,” answered he; and he would have begun if I had not gone away.

That afternoon two Burghers came and told me I was a prisoner, and would go before the Court at sun-up next morning. They made it so early because I was to be shot, they said, before the commando broke up laager, which was to be at seven o’clock.

They made me sleep in a waggon that night with two Burghers, and at sun-up next morning the Court sat in the open, General Piet Joubert being President. The others who had the judging of me were Ben Viljoen, Commandant Schoemann, and four other commandants whom I well knew as unrighteous. Old Paul came and sat on the ground behind me to give me courage, as he said, though the remarks he kept making for my ear alone were not comforting, being such as: “That is very bad, Sarel. He is lying, but they believe him.” ‘That is worse and worse, Sarel.” “Never mind if you are shot, Sarel, the Lord will punish these wicked false witnesses,” and so on, all of which was kindly meant, but did not help to give me courage, as Paul intended.

A Burgher who acted as Clerk of the Court read out the charges, which were:—

(1) That I had led certain Burghers into a trap by taking them to a certain farmhouse, well know-

(2) That I poisoned or drugged certain whisky, with the object of making the Burghers sleep while

(3) That I tried to desert from my fellows while

(4) That I had confessed to Franz Liebenberg that

(5) That I had told Paul du Plooy that I was guilty and ought to be shot, and had asked him to

As this last was read out Paul cried, “You lie! you put falseness on my words,” and got up to snatch the paper.

The President begged him to be quiet, but he said he would not, and they had to let him make a long speech, which was not much good to me, for he explained that what he had said was that he thought me guilty, and wished to read the funeral service, and not that I had said so.

When Paul had made an end of speaking, which was not for some time, for the old man would say many times the same thing, the President asked me if I were guilty.

“Certainly not, Piet,” said I with great boldness. “But let me hear and see the witnesses who say I poisoned the whisky and did the other things.”

So they called up one after another the Burghers who had got drunk at the farm, and they all told in exactly the same words how I showed them the bottles of whisky, but refused myself to drink.

“How do you know it was poisoned?” I asked the first witness.

“Because it tasted like poison, and made me sick.”

“What poison did it taste like?”

“Cyanide.”

“When did you ever drink cyanide?”

“Never.”

“Then how do you know it was cyanide?”

“Because that is the only poison I know except sheep dip. When I lived near one of the Rand mines I had a cow die through drinking cyanide water.”

Ben Viljoen looked wrathful and swore, and the General laughed right out.

“Who carried the corkscrew to open the bottle?” I next asked.

“We had no corkscrew, but broke the necks of the bottles.”

“Would not the corks come out easy without a corkscrew?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because they were covered with silver.”

Like a clever lawyer, I did not make any remark on this last point, but asked all the other witnesses about the corkscrew, as if I wanted to make out that they were lying when they said they broke the necks. They all told the same story in the same words, but they did not reckon on my great skill at cross-examination, and could not see that if there was still the lead capsule over the cork I could not have drawn it to put in the poison.

I could soon see that neither General Joubert nor even Ben Viljoen believed the poisoning story, so feared no more from that, though one of the witnesses made a great point against me; for when I asked him, as I had asked all of them, how he knew he was poisoned, he turned up his trousers and showed a big red mark on his calf, where he had once been bitten by a puff-adder.

“Whenever I am poisoned, that mark gets red and full of pain, as it is now,” said he; and as all Boers believe in such things, this testimony did me great damage.

Franz Liebenberg next told how he had caught me trying to run away from the farmhouse while the Burghers were suffering from the poison, and that when he reproached me I told him I had poisoned the whisky and was going to run away.

I made Franz look very foolish by insisting that he should repeat my very words frequently, which he did, always in a different way. But the Court called six other Burghers to whom Franz had told the story.

Of course I objected that hearsay evidence was not

D proper, but Ben Viljoen angrily interrupted—“We want the truth, not lawyer monkey tricks,”—and each man told his story word for word, which I could not make them tell differently; and the case looked black against me, old Paul meanwhile whispering verses from the Psalms about my enemies having triumphed over me, and suchlike, till I grew angry and kicked him hard in the ribs with my heel, at which he shouted out as he picked himself up after rolling backwards down the slope of the bank on which he was sitting, ‘And now I’ll unsay all I told the Court.”

“General,” said I, “do you hear that?. Here is the most godly Burgher in the laager now going to belittle himself and eat his words because he is kicked. Let me kick the other witnesses, and perhaps they will do the same.”

I saw a smile begin to grow round Piet Joubert’s mouth, and I was comforted, for I knew that when Slim Piet smiled there was no bite in him.

“Is that the sort of evidence you would convict a public prosecutor on?” I asked. Then I demanded to see the corpus delicti of the poisoned whisky, and “Where are the corpses?” I asked.

“Five Burghers lie dead in the farmhouse poisoned by you. I saw them myself,” said Harry Otto.

That lie did me much good, for Harry had forgotten having told Ben Viljoen and other Burghers that he was not in the farmhouse, but had escaped through being in the stable, where he was looking for incriminating documents, as all detectives do.

I made the most of this in my speech, which lasted over an hour, and was very eloquent and convincing, and the best of all the good ones I ever made, though I had great work to explain why I did not partake of the whisky, I being wrongly supposed never to miss the opportunity to drink.

When I had finished, the General said the Court would go to breakfast and consider. I also went to breakfast, but could not eat, for Paul du Plooy kept on saying, “Eat, man; you will be braver when you are dying if you are not hungered. Men who are going to be hanged always make good breakfasts.”

When the Court came out of the tent I saw that General Joubert was trying hard not to smile, and my heart thumped as I watched his mouth to see if the smile grew large and ugly, for then I knew I was safe.

“Sarel,” said he, ‘the Court find you innocent; but there is a grave doubt, so we will think over the proper punishment. Meantime, you will be made chief commissariat corporal of the commando you rode out with, and have the serving out of the rations and the whisky, so that if anybody dies of poison all doubt will be removed, and we can shoot you with a clear conscience.”

It was worth all the soreness of mind and heart I had gone through to see the faces of the Burghers when they heard the sentence. Paul du Plooy came up to me looking very sad, for he was one of those who would have to get his rations from me.

“Sarel,” said he, “don’t forget that I was your friend in the hour of trial, even though you did kick me.”

It was not till long after that I learned it was Piet Joubert who had been my friend, and that he was against believing the false charges against me; but knowing the wickedness of the hearts of the Burghers, and being wise as a serpent and well called ‘Slim Piet,” he made a plan that I should be tried, so that the Burghers could not say that he shielded me, while in his heart he meant that I should be proved not guilty. By putting me to give out the food he punished my enemies after the manner that would have been done by King Solomon, whose photograph is very like Slim Piet; for they would all the time be in great fear lest I should poison them, as was the case, for they made great outcry, and went hungry for some days. But the General would not listen to their complaints, saying, “You want the man to be shot; then what better cause shall we have than if one of you die from his poison?”

Thus was I, like Joseph in Egypt, made great in the land, and triumphed over my enemies. Like him, I had it in my power to prepare for a time of famine, for I sold privately the food that the frightened Burghers would not take at my hands.

But my greatest triumph came when large stores of whisky and brandy were captured from the English convoys and brought in to laager. The General gave an order that I alone was to have the giving of it out, for, being slim, he saw in this a great plan for keeping the Burghers from getting drunk, as they always did when such drinks came in.

“Who wants cyanide?” I would cry in derision; but few would take the bottles, so I kept them to give to those who had befriended me in the hour of my trial. But they being few, there was much left on my hand, which, when the fright of being poisoned had died away, I sold for large money.

At last the young Burghers who had learned to drink whisky in Johannesburg and at Krugersdorp, and were thus poison-proof, being, so to speak, salted, came to me, not being able to hold out any longer in the sight of so much good whisky lying in the cases unopened.

Sarel,” said they, “we will drink the whisky; but you must first drink, as the Kafir chiefs do before they pass the beer, to show there is no poison.”

At first I refused; but as that made them think the charges were true, I had to drink a large tot from each bottle I gave out, and even the tinned beef and biscuits I had to eat of, which in time made me very sick, for the Burghers were not content that I should open a tin of biscuits or jam and taste a little in proof that all was good, but they made me eat of every man’s portion, so that I did nothing all the morning but eat and drink till I was drunk, and could take no more. Then the Burghers would lay me on a piece of corrugated sheet -iron in the sun, and watch to see if I died, for some one had said that hot iron always brought out poison quickly, which was why doctors put hot pokers on snake-bite wounds, though they did not want to cure me as hot pokers did, but to bring the poison out, so that they would have proof that it was inside me, and then be able to shoot me.

I had been baked every day for nearly a week, and was almost beginning to hope they would find poison in me, when there came to me Pat van der Murphy, an Irish Boer who had married a Van der Zyl, and had taken part of her name to show how much he hated England.

“Sarel,” said he, “it makes my heart as sore as your body must be to see you drinking so much and being baked all for doing your duty. I know how whisky should taste when it is not poisoned, so as I like you much and we both have calves from the same bull, I will take the risk of dying to show these Burghers that you are a true man and no poisoner. I will taste the whisky when it is given out; but as I never could eat biscuits, they being too dry and making a great thirst, you must go on eating them.”

“Van der Murphy,” I answered, “you are a kind-hearted man, like all your race, though you do make trouble in your own land and sing profane songs instead of going to prayer- meeting. But you know that Ben Viljoen will not let you have more than six soupies of whisky a-day, lest you talk politics.”

“That is from jealousy, for he knows that we Irishmen fight like devils when we are full; and he wants to finish this war by himself, so that he may have all the glory.”

I knew this was mostly true, so, “When will you begin to taste?” I asked. “I’ll take a bottle now of each brand that you have got, and if I am alive in the morning I will come and taste some more in the presence of all these disbelieving kerels.”

That was a generous offer, so I gave him four bottles, being persuaded by his smooth words to give him two of each brand instead of one.

Next morning Van der Murphy could not get up, being very sick. And the word went round the laager that I had poisoned the Irish Burghers, and there was great trouble; for, said they, if whisky will make an Irishman sick it must be poisoned. And they went to Piet Joubert to make complaint against me.

Then came Piet to the laager, looking dark and wrathful, and ordered all the Burghers to stand up before him.

“How many of you have drunk whisky?” he asked.

None of them would speak, and there was a long silence till up spoke old Paul du Plooy.

“Piet,” said he, “you know that I am an oprecht and sober Burgher of the land, but last night I drank a whole bottle, as did many of these kerels who are afraid to speak. I am well and strong, and I will drink another to show that it is good whisky, and not poisoned.”

Then, one by one, about twenty Burghers, mostly young ones, confessed that they had been over-persuaded by Van der Murphy to drink the whisky and give what was left to him if they felt ill, as all of them now said they did.

Then said the General to me, “Sarel, make out a list of all these kerels who say they drank and feel ill, and so long as they are in the laager they are to have no strong drink.”

And these Burghers went away with sore hearts and ashamed.

Thus did Slim Piet Joubert show that he was verily a Solomon in Israel.