Chapter V

Knowing the road now the better for the first journey, and our Kafir, having been born in the north of Natal, knowing the short paths, we made good travelling towards the Berg, so that we were an hour on the other side of the burnt farmhouse before we had to off-saddle for the night. Paul was for going on to the native kraal, shooting all the women, and burning the huts by way of punishment for their treatment of us; but I was afraid that by this time they might have sent word to the British, who might be on the look-out for us, so, Paul agreeing, we kept well away and left vengeance to the Lord, which, as the end showed, was wisdom,—though, when we were too far away to return, Paul, as was his custom—which I think he could not help—began to bewail that he was not acting as the Bible told him he should with the children of Ham and heathendom. His anger became even greater when we saw, about two miles off, a troop of cattle on the march, driven by four Kafirs without rifles. Paul, being a true Boer, could never see cattle not his own without wishing that they were, and planning to get them; and he was for shooting the Kafirs and hiding the cattle in a kloof till we could come for them on the return journey. It was a sore temptation even to me, and we discussed it hard for half an hour. I was about to give way to oblige Paul, when there came out from behind a kopjie an escort of twenty khakis, who were following at a foolishly great distance.

Paul,” said I, “where would we have been had I listened to your words? I will put my law-learning against your Bible, and always come out best,” which saying made Paul very angry, for, like all old Boers, he could not see that young men could be wise and know things unless they were predikants or doctors, and sometimes lawyers; but I, not having been to college, and being only what is called in the Transvaal a law-agent, Paul would never give me credit for being learned in the law, for he did not know that less than half the appeals against my cases were upheld by the High Court. But, being without education, he could not put proper value on this, and held my judgment in light esteem. Therefore was I always joyful when it happened, as it did just then, that my way of thinking and of reading signs proved more correct than his. But, for fear of making him angry, I did not rejoice much over my victory, and only kept it in mind to tell him when his opinion was contrary to mine.

While we rode, a great purpose was being brought to ripeness in my heart. I was thinking, first whether I could get away safely to Maritzburg without Paul, or, secondly, whether I could persuade the old man to come with me; for in my secret heart I liked him more than I disliked his preaching, and he being rich, with only one unmarried boy who might be killed or die with the British, and having three six thousand morgen farms in the best part of the Waterberg and nearly a thousand cattle, I hoped to keep him from danger of being killed till I had persuaded him to make a will, which he had not done for Bible reasons, which was foolishness.

Now Paul had great notions on the strength of the Boers, and was satisfied, both from the Bible and from his own conceit, that the British would be driven into the sea, as I shamefully confess I, in my deep ignorance and through the deceit of those who misled me, at first believed. But when I saw how fresh khakis rose from out of the sea to take the place of those we had killed, I began to feel uncertain. If, thought I, I can get Paul far enough into Natal, and let him see for himself that the khakis are as plentiful as mealies in a forage store, he will come to my way of thinking and save his life. But the great thing was how to get him away without his guessing my object. I dared not talk in a way to make him think I was not the oprecht Burgher I said I was, and the way he kept close by me when I went out of the laager, made me think he might be set to watch over me by my enemies, and particularly by Ben Viljoen, of whom he had great ideas, even to the extent of being a nuisance; for he carried with him printed copies of Ben’s manifesto called “God and the Mauser,” which he would read in full to those who could not get away from him. At Prinsloosdorp, before he went on commando, he did nothing but carry round and read this manifesto, holding men in corners till he had finished. Before long, his passing down the street was like to the passage of the smallpox ambulance, for when the Burghers saw him coming they turned back or went into the canteens, leaving the street quite empty. Therefore it will be seen I had a great trial in Paul, and his conversion was the greatest task I had ever begun, for I was sore afraid that he would convert me instead, as he could talk much faster and longer than I, and when outargued, always fell back on the Bible, from which it was hard to move him, as the predikants had found, when he criticised their sermons and quoted the Bible against them, as was his happiness and undoing in every kerk to which he had belonged.

Now I have seen in my passage through life that good fortune cometh most to the man who, seeing a sign of good, follows it up, like one who, searching for lost cattle, follows every spoor till he comes to the right one. My many good fortunes have all been brought about by doing this, though it is only those who have superior education and sharpness who can know which is the right spoor to follow.

It happened, as if it had been arranged by Providence, that we should come upon a Zulu witch-doctor hiding in the long grass in the veld as we passed. We stopped and made him strip, thinking to find letters from the British, which, if we had discovered, I quickly planned to deceive Paul upon, reading them to the advantage of the British. But we found nothing but Kafir medicines and the many childish trifles these heathen carry, and among them was the dol oss, or bones with which they read fortunes, find lost cattle, and tell the future. Herein was one of those spoors that I have spoken of, and being superior in education to Paul, I used it to my advantage.

“Oom,” said I, “as we are on a great venture, let us make this witch-doctor throw the dol oss so that he may read the end.”

I knew that when on his farm, Paul, being a Waterberg Boer, was certain to have used these Kafirs to find his lost cattle, so what I said fell on fruitful ground, particularly as the Kafir spoke the Taal.

“Good,” said he; “let us ask the Kafir if we shall get fortune and greatness out of this journey.”

I put the questions, and the Kafir threw the bones and noted how they fell upon the ground, and after great thought read the answers, which for the most part were such as Paul wanted, and pleased me, for they fitted in with my plan.

Now it happens that there are often among Kafir witch-doctors impostors, even as there are among white doctors, and I could see what Paul could not, that this Kafir was not a qualified witch-doctor, but had that cunning which enabled him to see quickly the sort of answer that was wanted to the questions, a gift he had in great abundance; so I planned to use it to my own profit, being skilful in the art of putting artful questions through my training as public prosecutor.

When it came to my turn to put questions, Paul having had the asking most of the time, I asked—

“Will the old baas stay with me all through my passage?”

“Ja,” said the Kafir.

“Will my plans come out to my good?”

“Ja.”

“Will it be good for the old baas to listen to my words?”

“Ja.”

“Always? even when his words are not as mine?”

Ja; always.”

And so I spoke in this strain, generally getting the answers I wanted. Then, having got enough, we took an English sovereign which the Kafir had sewed up in his blanket, telling him that it was wrong not to carry Kruger money, and having given him some tobacco to make snuff, we ordered him to follow behind us, lest he should see khakis on the way he was going and give information against us. He made a great outcry, but the sight of our rifles and sjamboks made him cease complaining and follow us silently, being thereby rightly punished for his pretending to be a qualified witch-doctor, I being always strongly against such when I was public prosecutor.

But although I could see that Paul was much worked upon by the prophecies of the witch-doctor, he was not altogether satisfied, and I felt it would be wisdom for me to make my case stronger if I wanted to get the mastery over Paul. So I considered carefully as we rode, and at last thought out a great plan.

It was the custom of Paul when in doubt about a thing to open his Bible at random with his eyes shut, and opening them quickly, read the verse on which they fell, a habit he had learned when on commando with Paul Kruger in the early days. It was on this I planned to work. So when we had off-saddled in the heat of the day, and Paul slept under a thorn-bush, I secretly got his Bible, and with great pains and much searching found the verse, “Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings shall come forth wisdom,” which in the High Dutch of our Bible reads very much stronger than in the English. Then I took a big ant, which is a Bible insect, being well spoken of by Solomon, and putting him on this verse, shut the book and crushed him, so that his body lay on the verse. Next I put a piece of twig between the leaves, so that when Paul took the book it would most likely open at that spot.

The plan worked with great smoothness as I had hoped, for when Paul awoke he saw the Bible lying by his side and took it up, when it fell open where I had marked it. Paul first tried to rub off the mark, then read the verse to himself.

“What is that mark, Paul?” I asked.

“It is a dead ant.”

“And what is the verse he lies on?”

Paul read it.

“Is not that strange? what does it mean?” I asked.

The old man did not answer for a little while, then he said—

“It means, Sarel, that I should keep the book in my pocket.”

But for all his short answer I could read that the seed had been sown on fruitful ground, and would bring forth a hundredfold.

There was another matter that filled my mind much on the journey, and that was to know what was in the letter I was carrying. There was always smouldering in my breast a secret fear that Paul was watching me on behalf of Ben Viljoen, who had never forgiven me for escaping the court-martial. If I could know the inside of that letter much might become clear that was now dark; and further, it would make me of more importance in the eyes of the Free State commandant to whom I had to deliver the letter if I could let him see that I was so far in the secrets of General Joubert as to know the inside of secret despatches. I had often looked close at the large envelope, but it was not easy to open, although there was no wax seal upon the flap, as would have been the case had it been written in a Pretoria office. I thought very much on this letter that night while Paul was sleeping, and a providential chance gave me the opportunity to satisfy my desire, for, quite by accident, I left it lying outside my blanket. By sunrise the dew had wetted the gum so that it opened easily.

I read it over several times before I could fully take in the joy it gave me. After giving the Free State commandant instructions to make a diversion into Natal and destroy the farmhouses of certain Natal Boers who had not joined the Transvaalers, as they ought, being Burghers of the Republic, the letter went on to say that I, the bearer, being a great friend of the General, he wished the commandant if possible to give me something to do with his commando, and to see that I had a chance of doing good work.

These kind words from Piet Joubert made me feel sorry that I had planned to leave his commando, and I rode lightly and brightly the rest of that morning till Paul asked me what made me so happy.

“It is a good dream I had, Oom. I dreamt that, like Joseph in Egypt, I was set in high places, and”— this I said to please Paul and keep his friendship—“it all came through your riding the same path as I.”

“And what like was the dream? because, you know, Sarel, dreams are strange things, and it is not given to all young men to interpret them properly, for there are more wise old men than wise Josephs.”

Now I had not prepared this dream, and not being ready at lies like most Afrikanders, I could not plan a good one quickly.

“It was not a Bible dream,” said I.

“But how do you know? Any dream may be made a Bible dream if you know how to interpret it, as I do.”

“It was cloudy and misty, as one sees the Drakensberg at sunset.”

“But with a good glass one can see the snow and the krantzes, and even the baboons; and I have such glasses here,”—and he touched the Bible which he

F carried in his coat side-pocket. “Tell me your dream, Sarel. You say I am in it; let me see for myself.”

I could not get away from this, therefore I began to invent a dream, telling it slowly, as if I was loth to make myself appear as great as the dream made me, but really to gain time to build it up nicely.

“I dreamt that I was a young ox that had lost my herd, and after much wandering in strange veld, I found it. But when I wanted to graze with them the other cattle horned me, and drove me out of the herd, saying that I made the grass bad for them and had brought the rinderpest and red-water from the strange veld in which I had been grazing; so I had to hide in the kloofs and dongas, and eat the sour grass all alone.”

“That is a Bible dream so far,” said Paul; “for was not Nebuchadnezzar driven out to eat grass for his sins?”

“But the Bible says nothing about sour grass, nor had I done any wrong to the rest of the herd,” said I.

“Go on telling, and let me be the judge,” said Paul.

“While I was in misery, there came up an old trek-ox which had pulled in the same span for many years.”

“That’s me,” said Paul.

“And this ox took pity on me, and made me feed near him; and when the other oxen would drive me away, he fought them, and made them so afraid that they left me alone. And I grew fat on the good grass, till the Boer who owned the herd made me after-ox with the old one who had stood my friend, and we pulled together in the same yoke.”

“That’s all right so far, go on.”

“One day we were pulling the waggon over a very bad place, and even the old ox grew tired; but I pulled so hard and well that the waggon was lifted out of the rut. The Boer was very pleased, and said to the voorlouper, ‘This is a good after-ox. I shall put him in the span only when the waggon comes to a bad place; till then he shall always be a led ox and do no hard work, for he is too good to spoil.’ And the Boer did this, and I grew fatter and stronger.”

“And what became of the old trek-ox?” asked Paul.

“I looked after him, and when I had to pull in the same yoke with him, I pulled doubly hard; and when the nights were cold and the wind high, I lay on the wind side of him and kept him warm.”

Paul rode along some time without speaking, only smoking hard. When he broke silence he said—

“Sarel, that was a very good dream; but you see the old ox was the better ox, otherwise the farmer would not have kept him always in the yoke both for the good roads and the bad. The young ox was not put on the trek-chain except when the road was bad; so some day, when he knew that a bad piece of road was coming he would take advantage of being loose and run away into the veld to escape hard pulling, and when he was caught, as he would be, he would be kept always in the yoke and have no more light work.”

I did not like this interpretation, but Paul ever read dreams to suit himself; so I would not talk against him, but I could not but be unhappy over the ending that Paul put to it, and I rode on in silence.

While we rode, we suddenly sighted a farmhouse on the low ground a mile away, with Kafirs scattered about, by which we knew that the farmer had not run away. We off-saddled and lay in the grass while we sent the Kafir ahead on foot to find out all he could, and if it would be safe for us to go on. He had been gone fully an hour, and Paul and I were nearly asleep in the hot sun, when the sound of horses’ hoofs cantering towards us made us reach for our rifles, and look out through the grass without showing ourselves. There came over the ridge a young girl on a Basuto pony, riding on a man’s saddle with one stirrup crossed over, as women ride when they have no sidesaddle. She was about eighteen, and a Natal girl, for she had nothing of the Boer maiden about her except the clear complexion our missies have till they get married. Besides, she was dressed in clothes that had been made for her and not bought out of the store window, and wore gloves, which no Boer girl does; and when she spoke, it was the Taal as is spoken by girls who live in Natal or have been to school at Bloemfontein or Johannesburg.

“I see you are oprecht Boeren,” said she; ‘I am Charlotte Brink, and my pa is Andries Brink of Sterkfontein. He is sick in bed and cannot go on commando, though his heart is there. Won’t you come to the house? There are no rooibaatjies nearer than Mooi River and Ladysmith.”

“How did you know we were here?” I asked.

“An old Kafir witch-doctor came to our place this morning. He threw the dol oss for you on the road.”

“Shall we go?” I asked Paul.

“Ja; Brink is a good name. All the Brinks are good, as the Coetzees are bad. There was never a bad Brink nor a good Coetzee.”

Suddenly my heart gave a thump, for I remembered that Brink was one of the names of the renegade Natal Boers mentioned in the letter I carried; and I felt sorry that I had not told Paul that I had read it, for I did not know whether we could trust Andries Brink after this.

If your pa is an oprecht Burgher, why have the English not driven him away?” I asked.

‘Ach, man, pa is too slim. He tells them he is a loyal Natalian, and they are such fools they believe

him.”

Just then our Kafir returned with a message from Andries, saying all was safe, and we were to come and drink coffee, so we rode with the girl to the place.

As we came in sight of the front of the house, I saw a big man go quickly off the stoep into the house.

“You have other men there,” said I to the girl.

“Nay,” answered she, “only pa.”

I did not say what I had seen, though I thought it strange, and I could not get close enough to tell Paul what I had seen. When we reached the house we found Andries in bed, but looking not a bit sick, and having his clothes on, which I did not put much weight on, knowing that old Boers do not always undress when they sleep.

He made much of us, telling us all the war news, but I noticed that he did not ask us whence we had come or where we were going, as a Boer always does before he begins to talk of other things. Later on he spoke in a way that showed that he knew much about us and the commando we had left, all of which was a great bewilderment to me at the time.

“You know much for a sick man who cannot ride out,” said I.

“Ja,” answered he; “four of my trusted Kafirs are running despatches for the English out of Ladysmith, and they mostly come off the road to this place, so that I can read all the letters. I copy them and send them to Kemp’s and Schoeman’s commandos.”

This surprised me, but it explained why he stayed here instead of going on commando.

“Are you very sick?” I asked after a bit.

“Ja. I have an internal complaint that keeps me from riding; but good cometh out of evil, as the Bible says, for I am more useful to our people here than I should be on commando. My eyes are also bad, so that I cannot shoot.”

As Andries quoted the Bible, I saw Paul’s face light up. He had been very quiet through all the talk, saying but little, but all the time watching Andries as if to read him. But so soon as he heard that bit of Scripture I could see his heart open to Andries, ° and he began to talk, and it became my turn to listen and watch. Before six cups of coffee had been drunk and his pipe filled twice, Paul had told all that he knew of the doings of our commandos, till I was surprised that he knew so much, for although I had been in the laager with him, I had not heard a quarter of what he told, which showed me that the old man must be deeper in the secrets of the commandants than I. The thought made me angry, and in my wrath I did as men who are angry often do, I said a foolish thing, for I asked, “Are you sure of all this?”

Then it was his turn to be wrathful and foolish, for he turned on me, and with the manner of a man who has been doubted and is anxious to convince one that he knows much, he told me many things of the secret doings of the commando, and of his friendship with Ben Viljoen, finishing every story with the words, “Would they tell that to a young ox?” by which I saw that my dream had greatly angered him. Sorely was I tempted to answer something about old oxen being often too foolish to know enough not to eat the poison tulp-weed in the veld; but I feared to make an enemy of him, for I could see that he was already jealous of me, and should it happen that Andries was the important man he made himself out to be, Paul might damage me in his eyes, and I had not forgotten the affair of the poisoned whisky and the court-martial. So I kept my tongue in the yoke, and went outside, that my anger at his looseness of speech might not provoke me to further indiscretion.

Now while I walked about at the back of the house, I looked about me to see if our horses were being cared for, but I could see neither them nor our Kafir. I thought nothing of that at the time, knowing how Kafirs, as soon as they get to a farmhouse, go to the kitchen or the quarters of the kitchen boy. So, instead of seeking farther, I went back to the room, thinking after all I had better stay to keep a check on Paul’s slippery tongue.

When I reached the front of the house, Paul was standing in the bit of garden. “Sarel,” said he, “we have done well in coming here. Andries is an oprecht Afrikander, and can help us to greatness, for he is giving us copies of the Ladysmith letters to take back, and a lot of good secrets that will make Piet Joubert rejoice.”

“Paul,” said I, “you may be old and wise, but you have also the foolishness of old men. How know you that Andries is oprecht?”

“Because I have looked through him, and he knows the Bible.”

“But many schelm Burghers know the Bible well.”

“Ja, Sarel; but I know when a man reads his Bible for wisdom, and not for the ears of the predikant. Andries is meek also, and knows when he finds a man who reads the Bible better than he does himself, like me. He has but just now told me I ought to be predikant.”

“Paul,” said I in anger, “you are easily verneuked. You do not know as I do that Andries Brink is no oprecht Afrikander but a renegade Transvaal Boer, and he has deceived you with his Bible language.”

“Sarel, you are still only a young calf, or you would know that Ben Viljoen and Commandant Kemp do not trust men without reason, and Ben trusts me, while Kemp trusts Andries.”

“And a greater than they trusts me,’ I answered in triumph.

“You speak foolishness,” said Paul, and he laughed a scornful laugh. “I suppose it is Piet Joubert and Paul Kruger.”

“It is Piet Joubert.”

Again Paul laughed saying, “Sarel, your dream has filled your head like whisky.”

“What would you say if I could show it you in his own handwriting?” said I, my anger roused at the unbelief of the old man. Paul only laughed again and turned to walk away. I went after him and shook him by the arm.

“You must know it,” said I, “for you know all the secrets of Piet Joubert.’ This I said with bitter sarcasm.

“I know that you are a suspect, and that I have to watch you that you do not run away,” said he, still more sneeringly.

Then my heart thumped, and the red blood came before my eyes.

“You schelm! you traitor! I will make you a liar by the General’s own words,” and I put my hand to my hip-pocket to get the letter. It was not there, and after a moment of fright and heart-thumping, I remembered that I had put it carefully in my saddle-bag.

“But you have not seen the inside of the letter, said Paul.

“I have; the General showed it to me.”

“You lie; show it to me,” answered Paul.

“It is in my saddle-bag; come and see,” and together we went to search for the horses and our Kafir.

As before, there was no sign of Kafir or horses, so I found the Kafir house. There on the floor lay our boy, Sixpence, stupid, sleepy, and drunk. I kicked and sjamboked him till he sat up.

“Where are the horses and the saddles?” I shouted, but he could only mutter and fall back with eyes closed. I sjamboked him till I cut the shirt off his back, and then only partly awakened him, so deeply had he drunk of the Kafir rum out of the bottle that lay empty on the floor.

The screams of the boy brought out other Kafirs, and presently Charlotte came riding up, her horse wet and distressed with hard riding.

“We want our horses and saddles, for we must go,” said I firmly.

“But the horses are in the kraal,” answered she.

“Nay, we have looked there; but where are our saddles?”

The girl spoke to one of the Kafirs in Zulu, who answered her.

“The horses have gone to graze in the vlei; I will send for them,” said she, and she sent a Kafir off.

“But where are the saddles?” I asked.

Charlotte said she would find them, and, dismounting, went to the stable, Paul and I following. When I reached the door, the girl was uncovering my saddle from a heap of forage. I rushed at it, and took out the letter from the saddle-bag, joyful to find it safe. After abusing the Kafir for causing so much trouble by covering the saddles with forage, the girl went into the house.

“Now, Paul, read that, and say whether you still think me a calf and a liar,” and I handed him the letter.

Never did I see a man’s face change so quickly.

“Sarel,” said he, “this is a great stumble we have made. Let us get out of this sluit before we get further stuck. Do you think the girl has read this?”

That was my great fear, and I knew not what to say. Before I could make up an answer, Charlotte came to the stable and told us her father wanted to see both of us, and we all went to the sleeping-room of Andries.

A Kafir was there, taking out from his blanket pieces of paper curled round very small, others from the hollow quills of the feathers in his head-dress, and out of the curled wool of his head—in short, from all sorts of strange hiding-places about his person. The last he brought out was from the handle of the little wooden snuff-spoon that Kafirs carry through the hole in the lobe of their ears, the handle being purposely made hollow to receive it.

Andries took up some of these little letters and, unrolling them with great care, gave them to me to read. They were written very small on thin paper, and were hard to read; but I made them out to be letters from English people in Ladysmith to their friends in Durban, Maritzburg, and other places in Natal.

“Now you see how I get my news,” said Andries, and my suspicion of him faded away, for if he were a real friend to the English, and not an oprecht Boer, why should he open their letters?

“Charlotte will copy all of these that are of use, and you can take them to General Joubert,” Andries went on; “she is very clever, and can read the secret writings such as this one,” and he showed us one letter that was all figures and strange words and signs, like the shorthand writers make, only not so elegant. I knew it for what is called cipher, having seen such in the office at Pretoria.

Having read all the letters and put on one side those that he thought good enough to copy, Andries began to tell us the many good services he had done the Boers; and he talked so long and made himself such a good oprecht Burgher that Paul began to be quite friendly again: but all the time I was impatient to get the old man away, that I might talk to him and have this matter settled, for his words about my being a suspect that he was watching had come as a great blow, and I felt like one who being innocent is accused of crime, and knows not what to answer.

Often I said we must be going; but Andries was ever ready with some delay, such as, the boy had not yet found our horses, or Charlotte had not begun to copy the letters for us to carry back, talking so much in the intervals that the time passed quickly. Then he got out some brandy, which at first I would not touch, until Andries said if I did not drink with him he would begin to think I was no oprecht Burgher, or I would not insult another by refusing to drink with him in his house, especially as he was sick.

After such words so plainly put I could not refuse, but I was careful to drink very little, and to put in plenty of water when I found that the room began to turn round, which was not for nearly three hours. As for Paul, he had no such discreetness, but drank all that Andries poured into his glass, and his tongue ran loosely and so fast that I had no time to stop him. Suddenly a bright thought struck me, which I put into words—

“Are you the only Brink hereabouts?”

“Nay,” answered Andries; “there is my cousin Jan Brink at Braakpan; he is a great schelm, for he is with the English, and people who do not know me mix us up.”

“I told you you were mistaken,” blurted out Paul, and the foolish old man told Andries what the letter had said about him being a renegade whose farm was to be burnt.

Andries said bluntly that we were making fun of him, and that he did not believe there was any such letter, and he made so much of this that much against my will I showed him the letter of General Joubert. As he read it, it somehow seemed to me that his manner was that of a man who read a thing knowing what was coming.

“It is my cousin Jan the General means,” said Andries quietly, when he had read the letter very carefully. “I am glad that his place is to be burned, for it serves him right.”

“Where is his place?” I asked.

Andries told us it was about twenty miles off our road towards the British lines.

It was well on into afternoon before the Kafir had found our horses. Andries tried hard to get us to stay the night, and Paul was quite willing, for I saw he had fallen under the spell of Andries and supported him in all he said, till the brandy having reached my old complaint, and I feeling very giddy when I tried to sit in the saddle, I at last gave way and consented to rest on the sofa till I was better, which I did, waking up to have some supper, and find Andries, Paul, and Charlotte talking and laughing gaily. Feeling better I got up, and had some more brandy, and I remembered no more till morning, when Paul came to tell me it was time to go. So with a farewell drink of brandy, and taking the copied letters in my saddle-bag, we rode off towards the Berg, which we reckoned to reach well before sundown.