Chapter VII

I do not know how long I had slept—for I had omitted to note the time when I went to the couch—but when I awoke I felt seriously unwell, and began to fear that, after all, Charlotte might be right, and that I was really poisoned; for my head was aching and I was very giddy and thirsty, which are always signs of poison. In my fright I got off the couch, and, opening the door, found that it led on to the front stoep, or, as they call it in Natal, the verandah. There was a light still in the sitting-room, and on looking beneath the edge of the blind I saw the khaki captain, Andries, and Charlotte—in fact all the company—just as I had left them, and the little clock on the mantel-shelf told only a little past eleven. Though the blinds were down, the window was open because of the warmness of the night, and I could hear what was being said quite plainly, the talk being in English.

Now there is a saying in that language that listeners hear no good of themselves, which may sometimes be true; but it is of equal truth that a discreet listener may learn much that may be of use to himself, as it proved in my case.

As I looked through the window I noticed with some surprise that Andries, who during the evening had been too sick to get out of his chair, was skipping about the room as lightsome as a two-year-old, thus giving me my first easily read spoor on which to follow up my track, for it was now plain to me that his sickness was like mine, only part of a great plan; but what that plan was I had yet to find. Another thing that caused me great wonderment was this. I have a wonderful memory for voices, though not for faces, which comes no doubt through my having to study. the manner of witnesses to find the truth when cross-examining them as public prosecutor. When first I heard the khaki captain speak a memory went over me, but I was too agitated to give it much thought. As I now watched him, I recalled the Market Square at Johannesburg, where I could see and hear this same captain making bids for horses one day three or four years before. It was his peculiar laugh, which he put in at the end of nearly every sentence, that seemed so familiar to me; and as I exercised my memory I seemed to recall his sandy moustache and steely eyes; but beyond that all was a mist except that the Market Square was plainly before me.

I have often read in books how that people listening, like myself, hear all they are wishful for, and in a very short time the speakers saying just what is wanted; but it was not so in my case, for the talk was of a kind that gave me no knowledge, but only brought up still plainer memories and sounds of the Market Square, and the sales of horses and cattle going on, for all of them were talking of the price of oxen and horses as if they were cattle-dealers,—even Charlotte now and then joining in by telling what she had seen at Maritzburg, or other down-country places, in the way of cattle-buying and selling. Then Andries would mention a neighbour, and say what had become of his cattle; how that So-and-so was riding transport for the British with so many waggons and oxen; how that he thought he would take that or the other road, and so on, till I grew more puzzled than ever. While I was trying to build an explanation in my mind I got a great start, for the captain suddenly mentioned my name, though I did not hear all that he had said, but Andries’ answer was very plain.

“You need not be anxious about Sarel,” said Andries. “Charlotte has got him fixed up. Her medicine is wonderful stuff, and holds young kerels like birdlime, doesn’t it, Charlotte?” whereat they all laughed.

“But if he is one of these talking fools he will be more dangerous than useful,” went on the captain.

“He doesn’t meet Charlottes every day,” answered Andries; and then they began to talk of cattle again, and I had time to wonder what was meant by Charlotte’s medicine, also to try and remember what I might have said to cause the captain to speak of me as a “talking fool.”

I listened long afterwards, but they did not again speak of me, and I went quietly back to my room, feeling like one who is invited to have a soupie of dop when the man finds he has none left in the flask. They had given me only the desire to drink more, but had not satisfied it.

I did not rise next morning till I had seen Charlotte and Andries, for I wished to make out that I was yet very sick. Charlotte was very kind, and anxious about me, and would not let me get up till she had again dressed my wound, which, I was very sorry to see, was healing fast, and did not look at all bad. She, however, to my surprise, said, “Sarel, I was wrong yesterday when I said your leg was poisoned. You were lucky in not getting a poisoned bayonet; you have only a bad flesh-wound.”

“But,” said I, wishful to see how far she was deceiving me, “may it not be that the poison is in the bone, for the pain is very great?”

“No, Sarel, there is no poison, and all you want is rest, which you must have, for the khaki captain has something for you to do that he may feel sure that you are as friendly to the British as you said last night you were.”

“Charlotte,” said I, “tell me truly—are you with the Boers or the British?”

“Which are you?” was her answer.

“I am afraid to speak till I know where I stand.”

“Do you then mistrust me and my father?”

“These are mistrustful times,” I answered, with great diplomacy.

“But you say you want to be with the British and leave the commando, where you are already suspect.”

“Who told you that?”

“Have you forgotten the talk you had with me in the kitchen last night, when I had dressed your leg?”

A great feeling of fear and shame came over me, so that I could not speak,—fear, lest I might have said something about Katrina; shame, that I had been made to talk without remembering what I had said. And again came fear lest Charlotte might have put some poison in my whisky to make me talkative, as I have known done in Johannesburg and Pretoria by men who were seeking to learn gold secrets from those who had found mines, but would not tell where they were.

All these thoughts passed over my brain while I sat wondering what answer I should give Charlotte. Presently it came upon me how to speak with care and wisdom.

“Charlotte,” said I, “after your great kindness and care I cannot but do what you wish. If you say I am a Boer, I am one; but if you say I am a Britisher, I am that and more so.”

“That is well spoken,” said she, looking very pleased. “When you have eaten I will come and talk again, and tell you what we want you to do,” and she left me wondering greatly whether I had made another mistake.

I had not much time to consider or to make any further resolutions or plans, for a few minutes after came the khaki captain, with Andries and the other khakis. The captain seemed very kind, and asked how I was, saying he hoped I should soon be well, as he had great work for me to do. Then he came to business.

“So you want to take the oath of allegiance like Andries, and be a good Britisher?” said he.

“That is why I came here,” I answered, that being a diplomatic answer, in that I did not commit myself by saying a plain “Yea” or “Nay.”

“You quite understand what you are doing, and that if you break your oath you will be shot?”

I could not think of any answer to this straight question except, “I have myself put men on oath thousands of times,” which was the truth.

“Then,” answered the captain, “there will be less excuse for you if you break it.”

He then gave me a small English Bible, which he took from the bookcase, and I repeated after him the words of the oath, to which were added, “and I promise to obey Andries Brink,” which words I knew did not belong to the oath; but I said nothing, but resolved to meet cunning with cunning, for when he said “kiss the book,” I took care to kiss my thumb and not the Bible, so that my conscience would be at peace if it happened that I had to break the oath. For, first, he did not know that we Afrikanders do not kiss the Bible when we swear, but raise our right hands, so that I was doubly safe; and further, the Bible was an English and not a Dutch one, which was as if a Chinaman had been sworn upon it instead of a saucer,—all of which precautions on my part show how valuable knowledge and education can be to those who have the sense to use them, for I was now quite safe if I had to deny having taken the oath.

“And now,” said the captain, “Andries will tell you what we expect of you. All you have to do is to take your instructions from him, and if you acquit yourself well you will have no cause to regret what you have done.”

He then wished me good-bye and good luck, and shortly afterwards went off with his men towards Mooi River.

As soon as I got the opportunity, I opened up with Andries the matter that was on my heart.

“This is a great game you are playing, Andries,” said I; are you sure that it is safe?”

Andries lit his pipe before answering, and sat down beside me on the stoep.

“Sarel,” said he very quietly, ‘this is a great game you are playing. Are you sure it’s safe?”

“If those I play with are oprecht men, yes; if not, no,” was my ready answer.

“Quite right, Sarel; it was because I knew you were oprecht that I told the captain to trust you. He was at first against you, but Charlotte and I made it smooth for you. You will find you have done the right thing when the end comes.”

“But, Andries, how do you manage to run with both without danger?”

“By making both believe in me. I run straight with both, so that whichever side wins I shall be on it. That is what you must do.”

“Do you mean that you show the Boers the British despatches, and the Boer letters to the British?”

“Certainly, if it suits me, and if the despatches suit too. If they don’t, well, Charlotte alters them till they do; she is a slim girl is Charlotte.”

“But is there not one side that your secret heart favours most?”

“I am an Afrikander, Sarel, and I love money and cattle, and like men who have plenty of both.”

“Which means that you favour the side you get most out of?”

“You are a clever lawyer, Sarel, to see things so plainly. I see it is useless to hide anything from you.”

“But how can you tell which side will pay you best in the end?” I asked, not appearing to feel flattered by his great compliment.

“I cannot tell; I am content with the side that pays best for the time.”

“Do the British pay well?”

I pay myself, and I am fairly liberal in my payments.”

“But how?”

“With cattle. I have many hidden in safe places along the Drakensberg.”

“Whose cattle were they?”

“Some have the brand of my English neighbours, some of my Boer friends, and many more, especially the horses, had the British army mark.”

“But suppose the Boers should find their cattle in your hands?”

“Then I tell them I have been taking care of them till the war is over, and shall take part in payment for my trouble and kindness.”

“A dangerous business, Andries.”

“For a fool, yes; for a sensible man, nay.”

Andries did not speak for some time, but sat smoking and watching my face. After a bit, when I was trying to think whether I ought to trust him, he said, “Sarel, a war like this comes but once in a man’s lifetime, and he would be a fool who did not make the most of it. If you are the man I think you are, you and I can plan so that it matters nothing which side wins in the end. All we have to do is to keep in the middle till it is over. I am going to give you a grand start. You must go back to your commando.”

This speech did give me a start, though not the kind that Andries was thinking of; for if there was one thing that I had no wish to do, it was to rejoin my commando. Andries must have seen that I was not pleased, for he said, “Yes, you must go back; but it is to say good-bye. You will take with you things that will establish you so strongly in the favour of Piet Joubert, that you will have no cause to fear or envy any one. You shall take back British letters and despatches and information—some good and true, some not—which you shall say you captured on a despatch-rider; and then you are made, for all will trust you.”

“But, Andries, this may be all very well for the things that are true, but what about those that are not, for they must soon find they are false?”

“Do you not know, Sarel, that men are ever ready to believe what they wish to believe, and if only you hit sometimes they will take no regard of the misses, but will say ‘He is wrong here, but he was right there,’ and they soon forget the wrong in the right.”

“You are a slim kerel, Andries, and I am glad I came to you; but what must I do in the laager?”

“Learn all you can of what is moving, particularly cattle and horses, and get them as near the Berg as you can, when I will do the rest.”

“But, Andries, the Boers will not move cattle without strong guards. How can I bring them alone?”

“That is what you have to learn. If any fool could do it I should not be here to-day, nor should I want the help of a slim kerel like yourself. Do you not see, Sarel, that you must be clever, or I would not take all this trouble with you. It is not that I want to make you rich, but myself, and I can do it quicker and better with your help than with any one else’s, and that help I shall pay well for.’

Now if Andries had talked for a year he could not have won my heart better than by that speech, for it showed me that he was a true and oprecht man; if he were not, he would have tried to make me believe it was out of love for me that he wished to have me work with him. He was looking hard at me as if to see how I took this; so I kept my feelings close, and did not put into words what I felt. His next speech was one that called for all my astuteness and guard over my face.

“Where did you leave your vrouw?” he asked.

“In the cemetery at Prinsloosdorp,” I answered, making my voice sad.

“But you wear no crape, so you are taking another, eh?”

“Men cannot buy crape on commando.”

“Nay, but they can bring it with them. But have you no next vrouw, Sarel?”

“Mine has been dead only two years.”

“Two years is long enough to be a second time a widower.” Then, without waiting for me to speak, he went on: “Charlotte likes you, Sarel. I shall tell her you have no vrouw, and are a free man.”

“Why?” I asked, pretending I did not understand.

“But, man, you must know that girls always take more interest in a free man than a married one, unless they want to spite his wife. Yes, Charlotte likes you, and all that is good in this business will be of her doing.”

I was of course very pleased to hear this, but not surprised, for I am ever successful at being a favourite with women, knowing, as I have said before, how they should be treated both before and after marriage, and particularly after.

“Is it her wish that I should return to the laager?” I asked.

“Sarel, did I not tell you two things—first, that Charlotte is very slim; secondly, that she likes you? Would a slim girl want a man she likes to do a thing that would not benefit him?”

“Ja, she is slim,” I answered, not knowing exactly what to say. “Education is a good thing sometimes even for women, and Charlotte has it.”

“Ja; I spent much money on her at Bloemfontein and Pretoria, and now I am gathering the harvest.”

I see you have plenty of books,” I said, taking one from the bookcase, for we had come in from the stoep to drink coffee. As I opened it to read the title—which, being a man of education, I naturally did first, not opening it in the middle like ignorant Boers—I noticed an English name written in it. I took up another book, and the same name was there.

“Who is this John Wilson?” I asked.

“I bought those books on the market at Maritzburg,” answered Andries, and with that answer I was content, until, walking round the house later, I saw certain old packing-cases marked “John Wilson, via Mooi River,” and an old Scotch cart marked “John Wilson, Ross Castle,” on the name-board. I was greatly perplexed, for I did not then know that I had discovered one very good reason why Andries had no fear of losing his farm if things went wrong, for it was not his, but one deserted by the owner.

This and other things made me feel uneasy about Andries, for it was certain that he had not told me all. When, therefore, we were again alone, I made another effort to get more truth out of him. So I spoke out boldly.

“Are you not foolish,” said I, “to tell me all that you have, not knowing whether I may not go to the commando and tell them that you are playing double?”

“Nay,” answered Andries very quietly, “you would be the last man to do that, for you dare not. First, they would not believe you, you being already suspect; and secondly, as the predikants say, I have something I have only to show General Joubert to make him sorry he trusted you.”

“What is that, Andries?” I asked, feeling very uncomfortable.

“Nothing particular; only a copy in your own handwriting of the despatch you carried to the Free State commandant.”

My heart gave a great thump, for I had not remembered making a copy of that despatch, and, least of all, had I any memory of having given or shown it to Andries, though I had a slight recollection of intending to do it for my own use, so that I might quieten any one who, like Paul, doubted that I was in the confidence of the General.

“What do you think would happen if I sent that to Piet Joubert, saying I had captured it on a khaki, who said he had bought it of a man very like you?”

When I got over my first fright I saw that Andries was so strong that he could make me do what he willed, so, making as though I cared nothing, I said—

“You are right, Andries; but do you not think I trusted you before I gave you that copy?”

“Certainly, Sarel, for you are a good judge of men,as a lawyer must be.”

And though this speech pleased me, showing as it did that Andries had a good opinion of me, yet I was unhappy, for I was not satisfied that I had given Andries a copy of the despatch, though I was discreet in not letting him see that I had forgotten it. As we sat in silence, smoking and drinking coffee, there came into my heart a great distrust of old Paul, who might have given the despatch, though, as he could not write, the matter still puzzled me. It was also true that I had drunk freely on that day; but my brain was clear when we left, for I well remembered that I nearly fell over in getting into the saddle, and I also recall that the Kafir laughed and said something in English, which surprised me at the time, for it is not usual for a Kafir on a farm to speak that language in the presence of Boers, however well he may know it. My remembering all these things proves that my brain was clear, and that the brandy I had drunk had not made me forget so great a thing as copying an important secret despatch, and giving it to Andries.

Andries must have read my thoughts, for he came up, and putting his hand on my shoulder said—

“Sarel, you must not funk things. You have a great chance now of getting even with your enemies. You trust in me, and do what Charlotte and I tell you, and you will come out on top. The letters you are carrying will put you in high favour with Joubert and even Ben Viljoen, and you will be trusted, so that you can do as you wish and soon be rich, so that you need not care which side loses. Now, get up your heart by eating, and make ready to leave to-morrow by sun-up.”

“But my wound, Andries.” I felt sorry after I had said it, but the hatred of the thought of the laager and commando was strong on me.

“Your wound is like mine, Sarel, just as we are both alike in our slimness, eh?”

And I saw that I had not been able to deceive him in the matter of my sickness, and that there was nothing for it but to do as he wished, for he was strong, and, like all wicked people, clever, while I, though equally clever, was not prepared for such wickedness, and thus fell easily into the snare of the fowler. So far I had prospered exceedingly, but I was yet only on the edge of the road that was to lead me on to success, and I liked not the idea of going back to the commando,—even Andries’ advice to me not to funk having little effect, for it is easy for a man to advise another to be brave. Indeed, I have found that people generally give two kinds of advice,—one like that given me, to be brave, which is, as I say, easy; and the other that is unnecessary, and only given because the person offering it has not read and studied the true character of the one advised. Of such was the remark made by Andries as I helped myself to a soupie of whisky.

“Sarel,” said he, ‘you are a slim and clever kerel, and there is no end to the good you may do both of us if you will talk and drink less.”.

This, being so baseless, made my anger rise, so I answered with great dignity—

“Why do you say these hard things? Am I not ever careful what I drink?”

“Ja, you only drink the best, I know; but being a man with a great and sensitive brain, you are speedily knocked out. Take my advice; there is no liquor in the laagers good enough for you, so don’t drink inferior stuff. Great and clever men only drink the very best, or none. Now let us talk of the trek, and count the cattle we are going to get.”

This last speech watered down my wrath, for it showed me that Andries could see the real reason why liquor, when bad, affected my brain, which confirmed my belief in his great far-seeingness.

We then sat down while Andries read the letters I was to carry to the laager. They did not tell much, being mostly from people shut up in Ladysmith, who were writing to their friends through the Kafir runners. Those that did seem of value to a commandant were plainly written for the purpose of deceit, perhaps by the khaki captain, perhaps by Charlotte. But, as Andries said, it mattered nothing to me whence they came. I was to tell Piet Joubert that I had shot a British despatch-rider and found them on him; and to help out this story the letters were put into a British saddle-bag. Andries then gave me further advice as to keeping my eyes and ears open to find what had become of the cattle taken from Natal farmers, and to learn all I could of the movements of transport, both British and Boer. He added to it much information which will be given out in its proper place in this story of the doings of a great rascal. Then Charlotte bound up my leg to make it look as if it had been very bad, saying meanwhile several kind things that made me feel sure she wanted much that I should come back with success; and when I tried to kiss her she was not angry, but only said, “Wait till you come back, Sarel.”

We had a pleasant evening, for I felt very happy, though the thought of the laager did now and then come like a sudden pain in the heart, and before sun-up next morning I was away.