Chapter VI

As soon as we had got well out on the road I opened up with Paul on the subject that was making my heart sore. He had been talking fast on other matters, as one who tries to put off a man who would come close with unpleasant truths.

“Paul,” said I, quite calmly, “what did you mean by saying that I was suspect, and that you were watching me?”

“Ach, Sarel, did I not say there is little wisdom in young men? I said only what was talk in the laager, for you make me angry when you decry the wisdom of men old enough to be your grandfather. In the old days of the Great Trek they would have tied you to the waggon-wheel for being only half as pert. I remember” and then he told a long story of a young kerel who would not listen to the words of the old men and got eaten by a lion.

“These be children’s stories,” said I, trying hard not to be angry. “Tell me truly, are you watching me for Ben Viljoen?”

“Sarel, if you were suspect, would the General trust you with his letter, and let you know beforehand what was in it? And why should he give it to you and not to me if you are suspect?”

That was the great difficulty that was making me think the story of my being watched was false, and immediately the dust fell from my eyes and the hardness went out of my heart, and in my gladness I told Paul that I believed him, and would not again think him a liar.

“And do you believe that Andries Brink is an oprecht Burgher?” he asked.;

“Ja, for the matter of those letters show it,” said I, “even more than his soft speech, for any man may say he is your friend, but not all can prove it by deeds.” And at this speech Paul was very pleased, for his belief in Andries was very great.

Just then I turned to see how our Kafir was riding, for he was not yet sober, and very sore from the rebuke I had given him with the sjambok. As I looked, my eyes saw a Strange sight, for about five miles away, going towards where Andries had shown us the English pickets, was a girl on a very fast horse.

“Is that Charlotte Brink, Paul?”

He looked hard for some time, and then looked at me without speaking. When he answered he said, as one who does not believe his own words—

“She is after the cattle.”

“What are Andries’ cattle doing five miles from his farm in war-time?” I asked.

Paul was again quiet, so I followed up what was in my mind.

“And what was sick Andries doing on the stoep when we rode up, if he was too sick to get out of bed?” and I told Paul what I had seen, but still the old man was silent.

“And what about his cousin? Did you ever hear that he had one?”

“That you should answer,” said Paul, “for were you not in Natal more than a year finding out and stirring up the oprecht Afrikanders?”

This was meant as a sneer at my absence from the Transvaal, but in his ignorance Paul did not see that he had made a great point for me.

“Certainly,” said I; “it is because I have been in Natal looking for oprecht Burghers that I know Andries has no cousin hereabouts, and that it is he against whom the General makes warning. That is why he did not think it needful to put the full name. If there had been two Brinks near one another, he would have said which was meant. Besides, is it not strange that the General did not tell us to visit Andries and learn things from him?”

“Nay, Sarel, his place is far out of our road, and we should not have seen it if the girl had not met us,” said Paul.

“And she came on purpose to trap us and find what we were doing,” answered I.

“Why did you not say all this sooner?”

“What was the use, when you had put your Bible faith in Andries, and had told him all there was to tell? Vrachter, Paul, but he turned you inside out and sucked you like an orange—and you a wise old trek-ox!”

Then up sprang Paul’s wrath, and he re-said nearly all the offensive things he had before mentioned regarding me, except that he did not say that I was suspect.

When he had made an end of his abuse, he checked his horse and followed on slowly.

“Paul,” I shouted, “you need not come on, for it will only make your heart sore to see my advancement! Go back to your friend Andries.”

Now, as I have before said, there comes in the lives of all men who take up great and serious things, certain sudden diverting of the path, which if properly followed leads to success. Such a case came upon me just then, a beautiful diversion that placed in my power the man of whom I was most in fear.

As I galloped away, half in derision, and half in hopes that Paul would take me at my word and think that I meant to leave him, I came upon the edge of the hill, and saw within an easy range below, about thirty khakis, riding so loosely that at first I took them for Colonial Volunteers, who ride much like Boers. I signalled to Paul and the Kafir to get back, while I turned below the ridge to get out of sight. But Paul being naturally pig-headed, and hating to take even a life-saving warning from a young man, came riding up to the edge of the ridge and saw what I had seen.

“Let us shoot,” said he, jumping off his horse, and leading it back out of sight.

“Nay, Paul, they are too many,” said I.

“But they cannot see us, nor can they climb the ridge because of the stones.”

I moved away without answering.

Go, schelm suspect! go join them, and I will shoot!” shouted Paul.

I rode fast away, not being sure whether he meant to shoot me or the khakis, for he was full of pale wrathfulness. Next moment there came the sound of Paul’s mauser.

“He has killed a khaki, baas,” said the Kafir, who was looking over the ridge.

Nine times did Paul shoot, and the Kafir called out as a man was shot till four were hit—and three horses, while the rest were riding hard out of range, seeing nothing to fire at in return. They rode in a line with the foot of the ridge, and as they came past where I lay I heard words in the Taal, and looking closer, my heart gave a thump, for I saw they were Boers in khaki.

Quickly I mounted and rode up to Paul, who was seeking another point to fire from.

“You foolish old schelm, it is your own people you are killing,” said I, and just at that moment, as if to help my words, we plainly heard a Boer lying wounded below the ridge call out in the Taal, “Come and stop my bleeding, kerels, or I die.”

Paul stood as one drunk and dazed. Before he could say a word I began—

“And now, you old fool, listen to the bleatings of a calf. If these Boers find that you shot them you are a dead man. Now do as I tell you. Fire slowly, as if you are shooting at khakis running away; then, when we have shot enough, we will go to these wounded men and tell them we have driven off the British, whom we saw attacking, and you will be saved. But mind, Paul, if you talk loosely or drink whisky, or do anything I tell you not to do, I shall tell them what you have done, and our Kafir, Sixpence, will bear me out.”

“You have learned wisdom from the old ox,” said Paul, his pride even in calamity not letting me have credit for doing anything clever without his help.

So we fired several shots slowly, as Boers shoot when sure of their aim, and then went down to the wounded men below, telling the Kafir as we went what our plan was, for he had seen Paul’s great blunder, and promising to kill him if he said otherwise.

We found two Boers dead, one dying, and the fourth shot through the fleshy part of the neck, but not dangerously. All four had been hit on or near the head, and I called Paul’s attention to this.

“Man, but I am a great shot!” exclaimed the foolish old fellow, whose pride was consuming him. The wounded man, whose neck I was bandaging, heard Paul’s boast.

“What means he?” he asked; “how came he to shoot?”

“You misunderstand,” said I; “he means that he is quite as good a shot as these British, for the last khakis he shot were all hit as you are.”

Paul was going to say something, but I signed him to be quiet, and I think the wounded Boer was satisfied. At any rate Providence came to the help of the foolish old man, for at that moment the blood rushed badly from the wound, choking the man, for he died in a minute, and we were spared the trouble of carrying him away.

The other and more wounded Boer was being helped by Paul. He was also dying fast, but he could not forget his family.

“Paul,” said he, when he had asked the old man his name and district, “there are twenty-five sovereigns in the pouch of Sannie Plessis lying dead there. Take it, and send it to my poor wife if I die; if not, you and I will divide it.”

Paul answered that he would do this, for he himself often had tender thoughts for his own family, and would not go to fight Kafirs for fear of leaving his son an orphan.

I had sent the Kafir after the retreating Boers to bring them back, and very carefully they returned, making the Kafir ride well in front, with their rifles pointed at him so as to shoot if he were a false Kafir.

When they found all as he had said, they told us they were part of a Johannesburg commando, and were looking for British transports. Their commandant was one Frikkie Snyman, a big blustering town Boer, who talked all the time of the khakis he had killed and the great things he had done.

“Before you came up,” said he, ‘we had killed twenty of these khakis, and we should have finished them if you had not come and interfered by driving them away. We were going round the kopjie to cut them off, as we could not ride up it.”

“Won’t you go back and see if there is anything worth taking off the dead bodies?” I asked.

“Nay, it is not worth it: those khakis have nothing we want, and no money. At the last fight we had yesterday, we wasted an hour in going over one hundred dead bodies, and found not even a Bible.”

“I think you are right,” said I, “or the bodies look only fit for the vultures. It would be waste of time to go to them.”

Snyman looked at me sideways, as if he guessed I was secretly laughing at him for a great liar; then, without any remark from me to start him, he said very roughly if we joined his commando we could not have any share of the loot.

It was time for me to show this vain and boastful creature that I was of equal importance with himself. So I showed him the envelope of the letter I was carrying.

“Ach, man, but why did they not send a Kafir with

G it?” he answered. “They know the country, and can even get through our lines into Ladysmith.”

“General Joubert does not take Kafirs into his secrets, although some commandants may,” said I, with great bite in my words and manner.

Snyman turned on me as if he would have killed me, for I did not then know how hard I had hit him by my sarcasm, he being one of those low Afrikanders who had once taken a Kafir wife, and was held in low esteem therefor throughout his district. I believe if he had not been made afraid by the sight of the letter I carried he would have shot me on the spot. But I could see that his commando loved him little, and were secretly glad that I had sneered at him, so I felt no fear.

“Good-bye, commandant. How many khakis shall I tell the General I saw you kill? Better go up and count them.” And Paul and I rode off, expecting every moment to find a bullet following us.

“He is a nice fellow to be commandant, when there are men like you and me, Paul, who are not even corporals.”

‘Ja, Sarel; and now I shall punish him, for I shall not send that money to the wife of the dead Burgher, but you and I shall divide it,’ and he took out the purse, which was covered with blood.

There was in it twenty-five pounds.

“Have you half-a-sovereign, Sarel?” asked Paul, when he had counted the money.

“Nay.”

“Then must I give you thirteen pounds, as I too have no half-sovereign.”

Now this was only a small thing, but it was as a feather showing the way the wind blew; for had he not been afraid of me, Paul would have kept the thirteen pounds and made me take the twelve, I being the younger. So, feeling I was master, I followed him up to make my mastery felt.

“I wonder what Snyman would have done if he knew you shot those Burghers,” said I.

Paul answered nothing.

“And what a good thing it was he was not there when you so foolishly boasted about your good shooting.”

Again Paul kept silence. After a bit he answered very quietly, looking at me sideways the while—

“Sarel, is it not more likely that he would have believed that the shooting was done by one who was not an oprecht Burgher—say one who had tried to run away?”

It was my turn to say nothing, but to think, for I saw by that answer that Paul was even yet unrepentant, and did not mean what he had said when he professed sorrow and promised not to believe that I was a suspect. And these thoughts made me again hear the secret voice bidding me come out from among them. So I planned to speak no more, as if to show my mastery, but to wait until we met the Free State commando, when I would take my fate boldly in my hands and let Paul see who was the real master, for I feared him little in the face of General Joubert’s letter.

That evening at sundown we met the pickets of the commando, and an hour later were in their camp. Their commandant was Johannes Birkenfeld, an educated Free Stater who had been in the Free State Raad, and was opposed to the war from the first. When he had read my letter, he replied angrily—

“It is the old story. You verdomde Transvaalers mean us to do all the voorlouping, while you ride on the soft mattresses in the waggon. And now Piet Joubert wants to make cattle thieves of us. Are there not men in your commando more fitted for the work?”

“Sarel is,” put in Paul; “he is an Erasmus, and they are very good judges of horses that belong to other men.”

When I afterwards rebuked Paul for saying this, the foolish old man said he only meant to put in a good word for me.

Somehow I did not like Birkenfeld. I did not like the haughty way in which he spoke, nor the way he dressed, which was more like a rich Burgher going to Nachtmaal in a town than a commandant in war-time; for he was very clean, as if he washed every day, and wore new clothes, and rode a horse that I could see had been cleaned and combed. Most of his Burghers, too, were very clean, and rode horses that were fat, and they regarded Paul curiously, never having before seen a real rough Taakhaar Boer perhaps, for the Free Staters are vain and look upon themselves as very superior to Transvaalers, because they can mostly read, and put much thought and care on good dressing for themselves and their children.

After a time, when we had had coffee, Birkenfeld grew tamer, and asked many questions quite civilly about General Joubert, and Ben Viljoen, and other commandants, most of whom it seems were strangers to him; for much as he prided himself on his superior knowledge of things, he had never yet been in Pretoria, and only once in Johannesburg, so that in truth he was most ignorant.

“So you know all these renegade Burghers, Sarel?” he asked.

“Ja,” said Paul, always ready to answer for me, as a parent answers for his child.

“Then must you guide my commando, for we start at sun-up to-morrow, and you must show us all these places.”

This was not what I wished, for it meant that I should have to conspire against the English.

When we were alone, I reproached Paul for having said what he did, when he made the stupid answer I have already recorded,—that he did it to advance me, when I well knew it was to expose my ignorance of the thing I had made my boast; for it was vain to keep Paul from seeing that I knew very little of Natal, at least of the part we were now in.

That night I had my revenge, for when Paul got out his Bible and wanted to read aloud I said, “Kerels, he should not be called Paul, but Jeremiah, for he only foretells misfortune,” at which the Burghers all laughed, and would not hear him.

But Paul never let any one else have the last word.

“Ja, kerels,” said he, “I am indeed like Jeremiah, for he was always warning the children of Israel against the false prophets who would lead them astray.”

“And who is the false prophet?” I asked, rather foolishly.

“Have you not read of wolves in sheep’s clothing?” answered Paul; and I was silent, for I had a forewarning that his words might come true sooner than he expected, as, after the unfriendly words of Commandant Birkenfeld, I had secretly planned to do all I could to put a skid on the looting of farms, whether of renegade Burghers or Natalians.

Next morning at sun-up the commando was on the way, nearly 400 strong. We took a roundabout route to avoid the khakis, who were not anywhere near, for Paul and I had to tell the story of the affair of Snyman, lest the commandant should hear of it from other lips. Paul and I got great credit for having driven off the British, but stupid old Paul could not keep to the right number. We had arranged between us that there were ninety-six khakis, but Paul could remember only the nine, so that sometimes it was ninety-six, then sixty-nine, and once nine hundred and six, which made him look very foolish, and most of the Burghers began to have doubts.

It was nearly noon next day when we came in sight of Andries Brink’s place, I having led the commando that way quite against my intention. When I saw where we were I began to feel anxious, for I wondered what Andries would do and say in the presence of a big commando and a man like Birkenfeld, who was not easily deceived.

While I was thinking over this, Paul called to me, “Here comes Charlotte,” and right into the commando rode the girl on a big black horse. She came close up to where I rode, but took no more notice than if I had been a stranger as she asked of the next man, “Who is your commandant?”

Paul, with his usual officiousness, was going to answer, when I signed him to quietness, and the commandant coming up, there was no need for a guide.

“I am commandant,” said he; and Charlotte put into his hand a letter, and without a word or sign to me or Paul, galloped off.

“Sarel,’” said Birkenfeld, when Charlotte was well away, ‘here is a letter from a man named Andries Brink, who tells me that there is a British patrol at his cousin’s place, and that you, Sarel, can lead me. Who is this Brink?”

“An oprecht Burgher who stands well with General Joubert,” answered Paul, always ready to talk, though I could not understand why he should speak up for Andries after all that had occurred. I was also puzzled at the letter, and wondered how Andries knew I was here. I was also greatly troubled by the words of Birkenfeld, for I did not know where this place of Jan Brink’s was; indeed, I was not sure that there was such a place. But I dared not show my ignorance, not even to Paul, so I led on in the direction I supposed it might be. Good fortune was my friend, for, to my great surprise, after three hours’ riding we came upon a farmhouse which, without asking me, the commandant made sure was the place we wanted. So, after the manner of Boers out fighting, the commando took cover some two miles from the place, and, much to my regret, the commandant sent me with two Burghers to reconnoitre.

We soon saw signs of life on the farm, and a dozen saddles lying opposite the door showed that Andries’ information was correct. But there were other signs which I did not like. There was a great quietness over the homestead, and for a great distance around, while the way the wild birds would suddenly rise and cry showed that they had been disturbed by something we could not see. A Hottentot Kafir who was with us said he could smell many horses. These Hottentots are very clever at reading signs in the veld, much better than Basutos or Zulus or Griquas, who can find only what they can see plainly, and would tell you a waggon was near only by falling over the trek-chain. But a Hottentot is different, being as clever as he is small and dirty. If Paul had been with me, he would no doubt have been prophesying disaster in a loud voice, but for once I was free to work without him. So we lay down and watched for an hour, when I sent the Hottentot back with a message that there were twelve khakis in the farmhouse, and perhaps more camped elsewhere, for I thought it safer to be cautious, and my superior intelligence proved again triumphant.

The commando scattered widely, so as to surround the homestead, which, like all Boer and most old colonial farmhouses, was low down, to be near the water. I chose for myself a nice bit of cover in a bushy kloof, where I intended to wait until the danger was past, or at least until the commandant should find me and make me do something. It wanted only a few minutes to sundown, so that anything we might do must be done quickly, for Boers do not fight in the dark. I had the Hottentot back with me, and a young Free Stater who had not yet seen fighting, and was sobbing quietly, as most boys do when danger is drawing near.

Presently there was the sound of distant horse-riding, and the Hottentot pointed through the sugar bush.

“Look there, baas!” said he, very excited.

I looked, and saw coming fast over the rising ground opposite, and riding hard for the homestead, a crowd of our men. In a flash I guessed the truth. While we had been surrounding the homestead, we had ourselves been surrounded by the khakis, and I knew what the stillness and the shrieking of the wild birds had meant,—the veld was full of khakis!

Next moment came the crack of Lee-Metfords, but not a Mauser replied, the Free Staters riding hard for the cover of the farmhouse. They were within three hundred yards of it, when a great volley came crashing out, and the Burghers crowded together like frightened sheep; they could neither advance nor retreat, for they were doubly surrounded—khakis outside, and khakis inside the ring. I led my horse farther back into the kloof, and the Free State lad and the Hottentot followed with their horses. I could not well send them out, though I much wished they were not with me, as I had a plan I did not want them to know; but if they had gone out the khakis would see them, and, thinking more were here, might fire into the kloof.

All the time the firing became greater and quicker, the English, as is their custom, firing faster than the Boers, not staying to take aim, thereby wasting hundreds of bullets in what they call volley-firing.

I sent the Hottentot up the kloof to see if there was a path by which we might get away, and asked the Free Stater to go with him, secretly hoping they might find one and get off, leaving me to carry out my plan. But the lad was too frightened to leave me, and the Hottentot came back, saying that the place was no kloof, but a valley that narrowed like a kloof, and that even if it did not lead right beyond the khaki circle, it was so thick and rocky that we might be hidden there for days. At this the Free Stater said he would go, which he did, he and the Hottentot leaving me at the mouth of the kloof, while they went up, and I never saw either of them again.

It was not till some days afterwards that I found how true my reading of the position was, for, like most people who take part in a great fight, I saw very little of what was passing, and knew less.

After half an hour the firing grew fainter, and I knew that the Boers had managed to find some way out of the ring, as they generally do, and had got away. It was nearly dark by this time, and I was just making up my mind to carry my plan out, which was to ride up to the farmhouse and surrender to the khakis, when I heard a party of mounted men passing the mouth of the kloof. By their talk I knew them to be Natal Volunteers. I did not wish to be taken by them, as it might happen that there were among them those who knew me, and the story I had prepared to tell might not be believed by them. Besides, they were carrying two or three wounded comrades, and by their talk were very bitter against the Boers; therefore I thought it an improper time to surrender. So I lay quiet and heard them pass on to the farmhouse, when lanterns and fires began to show, proving there were many khakis there. I got a great fright once, for I saw a lantern coming towards the kloof, and heard men marching. They came up to within twenty yards of the kloof entrance, and I heard what I rightly guessed was the placing of sentries. Two men were left; and so quiet was the night that I could hear most of their words, from which I gathered there had been a great fight, both sides having lost several men. Any thought of surrender I may have had was driven away by the talk of these two sentries. They were what are called Tommies, only just out from England, and full of thoughts of fighting. They were very angry at the Boers for not standing up to shoot, calling them cowards for lying behind stones.

“That big man on the white horse must be Kroojer,” said one; “I knew him by his whiskers.”

“Nay,” said the other, “Kroojer don’t fight. He is a downy old cove, and keeps in his palace in Johannesburg, drinking champagne, you bet.”

There followed a long dispute on this, one holding that he had seen Paul Kruger on a white horse; the other, who was better educated, ridiculing the idea. Then they fell to discussing what they would do if they caught Kruger, proposing some most unchristian schemes of revenge. Suppose they caught me, I thought, they would give me no chance of surrender, for I had grown a big beard since I had been on commando, partly because it was not always easy to shave, but mainly that I might not be reproached for being a Hollander, which was a favourite taunt against such of us as, having been Government officials, were supposed to have made money by learning from Hollanders how to steal.

I began to fear greatly as these men talked, for it was clear that if they should by a mischance find me, they would do to me what they had prepared for Paul Kruger; so I sat and thought out plans, the chief and best of many being to get back to the place of Andries Brink, for I worked it out by logic thus: If he should prove to be a true and loyal Afrikander I should be safe, as he believed me to be one also; and, if the commando should find me there, it would not look as if I were trying to escape. If, on the other hand, he turned out to be a renegade and with the British, I would attain my heart’s desire, for he would assuredly help me to join those with whom I had greatest sympathy, because their cause was Just.

So, full of these thoughts, I carefully led my horse up the kloof; but the night being very still, the sentries must have heard his hoofs, for, being a town horse, he was shod.

“What is that?” I plainly heard one Tommy say in a frightened voice. I also heard what made my heart thump—the cocking of a rifle. But my presence of mind and coolness did not desert me, for almost without thinking, I used an old Boer trick, and made a noise like a baboon, which I can imitate to perfection. But I had forgotten that I had heard there were no baboons in England, not even in the open country, so that these Tommies might be more frightened still by the noise I made; and such proved true, for as I grunted and chattered and shook the boughs of the thorn-bushes, a pair of large white owls flew out with a noisy whirr. Bang went a rifle, and as I tried to hurry away,—which was difficult because of the dark and the thick bush and rough ground,—I could hear the Tommies running towards the farmhouse, and the khakis coming out of it, talking loudly and shouting orders and advice, and altogether there was great tumult for a time, more like a Boer laager when a shell falls into it than British soldiers.

I remained quite still, lest the sound of my horse’s hoofs should betray me and the khakis follow me into the kloof, though I knew that the darkness would keep them out; for it is one of the most blessed inventions of Providence for war-time and similar dangers.

Things happened as I hoped and thought, for when the Natal Volunteers heard the story of the sentries they knew at once what had happened, and I could hear their loud laughter, the Natal Volunteers being ever glad of a chance to make fun of a Tommy; and they seemed to get much enjoyment out of these sentries mistaking the grunting of a baboon for Boers.

Gradually all grew quiet again, and then I cautiously groped my way up the kloof till I came out on the rising ground, where I had a good look round for more khaki sentries, but saw none; so I set out towards Andries Brink’s place, knowing the way fairly well now, although it was dark. I struck a Kafir path, which I followed, and about midnight it brought me to the boundaries of Andries’ place, which, like most Natal farms, was well fenced with barbed wire, and covered some ten square miles.

I pulled up at the drift, whereby I knew my position, intending to give my horse a drink and myself time to think out my plans as to what story I was to tell Andries to account for my coming.

As I dismounted, there happened one of those Providence -sent little things that, as I have philosophically remarked before, do so much to direct a man’s way when he has sense enough to use them. I stepped on to a loose round stone, and came near spraining my ankle. As it was, the wrench caused me great pain, and made me feel sick; but it did more, it put a great light into my soul. Why not tell Andries I was wounded in the fight? It would give me a double excuse,—first, for coming to the house; secondly, for not going away again.

I was secretly sorry that my sprain was not worse, except for the pain, for Boers go much on things they can see, like swellings and cuts and blood, but I had none of these things. If I could but show a wound it would help me much. I took out my knife, and, turning up my trouser leg, tried to find a place that, if cut, would bleed much, but be neither serious nor painful.

I tried several places, but the knife being blunt, the pain of cutting was so great that I had nearly changed my mind, and made shift to be content with the sprain, when, sticking the knife hard for the last time and drawing it quickly across my calf, I was pleased to feel the warm blood coming plentifully, and more pleased that the pain was not so great as I had feared, as is ever the case if men will only face danger and difficulty with bravery.

I waited till the blood had soaked and smeared well over my leg and trousers, so far as I could judge in the dark, and then I tied it up with the white handkerchief I had carried as a precaution in case I had to surrender, and set out towards the farmhouse, thinking all the time what Katrina would say if she could see me, for vrouws are not quick at understanding diplomacy, and she would have been certain to put a different and false meaning on my cleverness. Thus often do thoughts of a woman who has no sympathy with her man hold him back from doing great and profitable deeds!

There was another matter that troubled me much. I remembered that I ought to look pale, as wounded men always do, the more so as I have a good ruddy English complexion, very superior to that of a Boer; and this was always against me when I was ill with my internal complaint at Prinsloosdorp, some of the vrouws saying I could not be ill if I looked so red and rosy. The only way I knew to make my face white was to hit myself hard in the stomach, as an Englishman once did to me in the dorp because I would not reduce his bail-money; but the memory of that blow was so painful that I dared not try it, but rode on, relying on my good fortune and my bleeding calf.

As I neared the house the dogs came barking at me, and I saw the light in the sitting-room suddenly go out, putting the place in darkness. While I tried to quieten the dogs, I heard the voice of Charlotte on the stoep, asking in Dutch and English, “Who comes there?”

“It is I, Sarel Erasmus,” I answered. “I have escaped being killed by the Rooineks, and am badly wounded.”

“Stay there, Sarel, or the dogs will bite you,” answered Charlotte, and there came a long silence.

At last the girl spoke again.

“Are you alone?” she asked.

“Ja, quite, except for my pain.”

“Sure? Before God, Sarel, you have no khakis with you?”

“Charlotte, why do you think I would do so wicked a thing?” I answered, yet secretly sorry that she should not want to see khakis.

“Then off-saddle, turn your horse loose, and come in,” said she, and I did so.

When I got into the sitting-room, where the lamp had been again lighted, I saw a sight that I think made me turn pale.

Four khaki men were in the room with Andries Brink, Charlotte, and a Boer whom I afterwards knew as Carl Uckermann, a Natal Burgher.

“Just look this way, Mr Erasmus,” said a voice at the dark end of the room, and, looking that way, I nearly fainted, for a revolver was pointed at me by a fifth khaki.

“You must consider yourself our prisoner, so please lay your revolver on the table, with the muzzle pointing towards yourself,” said a voice behind the pointed revolver.

“I have no revolver,” I answered, which was true, and my mauser I had put against the wall on the stoep.

“Feel him, Jack,” said the man with the revolver, still pointing, and I felt hands going all over my body.

“He’s all right, captain,” said the voice of Andries Brink. “Now you can sit down, Sarel, for Englishmen don’t hurt their prisoners, so don’t look so frightened. They have caught me in the act of passing despatches, and have kindly promised not to shoot me or burn the place if I give up all I have, and I have done so,” and he pointed to a heap of papers on the table. “If you have anything, I advise you to give it up.”

“I have nothing, and can tell little,” I answered. If I had, I would give it up willingly.”

“That’s spoken sensibly, Sarel,” said Andries. “There’s no good in a man saying he is innocent when the blood is on his hands. I am caught, and I don’t try to deny it, and I would rather be caught by the English than by your people under the circumstances. Wouldn’t you, Sarel?”

There was something in the manner of Andries’ speech as if he wanted me to say hard things of the Boers. I did not answer for a time, which, Andries noticing, he put more grass on the fire by saying, “They treated you badly enough at the laager, eh, Sarel? Nearly shot you, simply because you did not stir up rebels in Natal, eh?”

It was now clear to me that either Andries was a great dissembler, or he was trying to deceive the khakis. What was the right thing for me to do? In a moment I decided to throw in my lot boldly with the British.

“Ja, Andries,” said I; “I am glad I am captured, for I am sick of it all.”

“I knew you would be, so you must do as I have— take the oath of allegiance. It’s a better oath than the Transvaal one, and those who take it now will have the first pick when the farms are given away. You might have Hans Potgieter’s farm at Potchefstroom for your share, eh?”

This was the first time I had heard that Burghers who took the oath had farms given them; but, thought I, this has been told Andries by these khakis.

“I would take twenty oaths to get that farm,” said I.

“One is enough,” said the captain of the khakis. “And now, Andries, let’s get on with the letters, while Sarel looks to his hurt.”

Charlotte signed to me to follow her, and went into the kitchen, where, without saying much or asking any questions, she put a chair for me, and set before me food and coffee. Then she asked me about my wound, which, until the khaki captain spoke of it, I had wellnigh forgotten, being so filled with surprise at all that had happened.

“I was run through by a lancer,” I said, in answer to Charlotte’s question as to how I got my hurt.

The khaki captain burst out laughing, for the kitchen door being open, he could hear all that was said.

“But I thought you killed all the lancers at Elandslaagte?” he asked.

“Nay, captain, they killed us. The way they ran through us was like fire in the grass on a windy day.”

“How many were killed?”

“I saw about a hundred.”

“Boers or English?”

“Boers; I did not see a khaki killed,” said I, which was true, as I was not there; but I felt it would be diplomacy to say these things to please him. He laughed again, and said something about Falstaff and his man Buckram, which I at first thought referred to some English officers who were fighting at Elandslaagte; but later on, when I had thought a bit, I remembered that it was something from Shakespeare, for Charlotte, who was highly educated at Bloemfontein, laughed much, making me ask the reason, to which she answered, “You have not read Shakespeare, Sarel,” and laughed again so heartily that I was angry, and the anger made me remember I had read of Falstaff, and I saw that the khaki captain was making ridicule of me, though I foolishly did not put proper weight on it at the moment, or I would have shown him I was no man to laugh at. But the pain of my wound kept other things out of my mind, and I began to make the most of it, nursing my leg and groaning much.

“Does it hurt much?” asked Charlotte, “for I noticed that you walked quite well.”

“Ja, Charlotte; but men do not show when they suffer. I only want you to do something to prevent it getting so bad that I cannot fight for the British,” I answered boldly, and loud enough for them to hear in the sitting-room.

“But if you can walk well you can also run,” said Charlotte, who was laughing much, as if she could not forget the captain’s jokes from Shakespeare.

“I shall not run,” I answered with real anger.

Then said Andries, “You will be of little use to us, for the captain here wants you to run despatches, as I told him you were good at that.”

“Certainly I am,” said I, secretly thankful to Andries for helping me over a bad place, and more thankful that Paul was not present, for he would have quoted the Bible to my discomfiture.

Just as Charlotte began to wash and bandage my wounded calf, one of the khakis came into the kitchen and sat down.

“Excuse me,’ said he, very politely, “I am only doing my duty in watching that you do not run away before you have taken the oath. You are too good a man to lose.”

“That is what General Joubert said,’ I answered, “and I am wondering what he will say when he knows that I have left him for good.”

“Good riddance—I mean, that he will no longer have any fear that you will be captured with important despatches on you.”

This answer of the khaki made me the more angry because Charlotte laughed much at it. I could see, also, that she admired the khaki very much, he being young and nice-looking, and having what all women love to see—new uniform.

While she bandaged my leg a great thought came to me. Why not be revenged on this khaki by making love to Charlotte? It would punish him, and at the same time her friendship would be very useful to me. She could know nothing about Katrina, unless old Paul had told her at our first visit; and even if she did, she would be pleased to take me from her, for next to getting a man who is free, Afrikander girls love most to take a man from the girl he has promised to marry, which is why when men lose their wives they generally marry their first sweetheart, in order to fulfil their broken promise before it be too late. As I watched Charlotte and the young khaki, the resolution to take her affection from him grew stronger in me; for loyal though I was to the British, it did not seem right that while war was going on between the two races, a Boer girl should show preference for a man of the enemy, and this as much as anything else determined me in my plan. I had always been a great favourite with the vrouws and young girls, for, owing to my superior education and my acquaintance with Hollanders, I knew how they should be treated, which is with respect, though not as with the English, as if they were so very superior, which makes them conceited before marriage and expensive in their habits afterwards. Having resolved on my plan, I began very carefully.

“I am sorry to give you all this trouble,” said I; “but when a man has no wife or woman to care for him he is always the more thankful for kindness like yours.”

This, thought I, would soon show whether Charlotte knew anything of Katrina; but she only answered, “Ja, men are very feeble and foolish things when they are sick.”

“Foolish, Charlotte! how foolish?” I asked.

“You were foolish in mistaking a bayonet-prick for a lance-thrust, and yet more foolish for being on the Boer side after they had treated you so badly.”

“Quite right,” said the khaki, as if he knew all

H about my story, though I afterwards saw that he only said it to agree with Charlotte. This made me determined to agree even more with her than he did, so I answered, “Ja, Charlotte, you are quite right; I was foolish, but after your kindness I shall fight only for the British.”

“Perhaps,’ said she, in a meaning sort of way, “it may be long after the war is finished that you will be fit to fight, for this wound is poisoned. I know, for I have been in the hospital at Maritzburg.”

This gave me a great surprise and fright, for I feared that my knife, being dirty, might have caused the poison, as I had known such things.

“How do you know it is real poison?” I asked.

“Are you sure it was done with a lance?”

“No; it may have been a bayonet.”

“That settles it,” said Charlotte, “for you do not know that Coos Brink and his men caught the first khakis that went to his place, took their rifles, and poisoned the bayonets, and when the khakis got master again they used the bayonets, not knowing they were poisoned. It is one of these that has made your wound.”

“You are quite sure, Charlotte, that the wound could only have been made by a poisoned bayonet?”

“Quite,” answered she; and then I secretly rejoiced, first, that there was no cause for my fear; secondly, because my skill in laying traps in cross-examining witnesses had proved so great and useful. Besides, I saw in it a great opportunity to make a good effect upon the khaki captain and his men; so I said in a voice loud enough to be heard by them in the sitting-room, “Charlotte, I am glad that I am poisoned, and I hope that I shall die; for if I do, then will the righteousness of the British appear in making war upon and expunging from the earth a people who will use poisoned weapons as if they were Bushmen.”

“You are a brave fellow!” called out the captain from the other room, and he and the others came into the kitchen and shook hands with me, and gave me whisky to drink, filling up my glass again and again; while Charlotte sat by me and kept asking very tenderly if I felt the poison throbbing, and whether it hurt me much, and sometimes filling my glass with whisky till I felt no more pain in my leg, but got so well and strong that I sang English songs, including “God save the Queen,” although I only knew part of one verse; and altogether the evening was most cheerful and happy, and I regretted very much when Charlotte and the captain insisted that I should go to bed lest the poison worked too quickly. They laid me on a sofa in a spare room, and kindly and thoughtfully put chairs against it so that I might not fall off, Charlotte saying that poison made people jerk and writhe through its great torment.

So I went to sleep, rejoicing greatly that I had become a loyal Britisher.