Chapter VIII

As I rode, I fell to looking back over what I had so far accomplished, a habit I had learned when, as public prosecutor, I had finished drawing up a summons,—a practice that is very necessary, as it helps one to remember any untruth one may have been compelled for usefulness’ sake to tell. If the public prosecutors of the Transvaal had followed my example more, and had looked over their work before going into court, instead of louping about the dorp bragging how strong was the case they had against a prisoner, in order to frighten his friends into arranging with the public prosecutor, there would not have been so many breakings down of prosecutions so soon after the case had opened.

The case for myself, as I arranged it in my mind while I rode along, stood thus:—

I. I was under suspicion with the Burghers of my commando through having left the Transvaal before the war and dwelt in Natal.

2. I had a strong enemy in Ben Viljoen and other commandants, who were jealous of me, and sorry that I had come back, and were waiting for an opportunity to discredit me.

3. I had been wrongfully charged with leading my Burghers into a trap and poisoning whisky, but had been triumphantly acquitted, and given the confidence of the greatest man of them all—General Piet Joubert.

I

4. I had been sent on a confidential mission, had fought and bled for my country in the calf, and was now going back with important letters and information that would prove I had been a very oprecht and useful Burgher, and had done what few other Burghers could have accomplished.

5. I had made a friend of Andries Brink, who sat well between both parties, so that whichever won I should be safe; and, above all, Andries had promised to show me how to become rich.

6. I was now going to do my part of the business by learning where to find Boer cattle, and, as it were, to claim the reward for which I had been working so hard, all of which was making for my advancement and triumph over my enemies.

I made a quick and good ride to the laager, seeing nothing of the British, and hearing only the boom of the guns at Ladysmith. I had gone over the story that Andries had invented to explain my absence, and there seemed no weak place in it, so that by the time I reached the laager I felt strong and bold.

The Burghers seemed surprised to see me, and I thought some of them looked as if they did not care whether I had returned or not, so soon are a man’s acts forgotten if he leaves his people for any time. Old Paul du Plooy alone came to greet me as if he meant it.

“You are not lanced or lyddited, Sarel?” he asked cheerfully.

“Yea, Paul, lanced in the calf; but the steel let in much more knowledge than it let out blood.” I said this loudly, so that others could hear, and they stopped as if they would learn more; but I hurried to the tent of General Joubert.

I found him looking very dark and unhappy, for things had been going badly of late. He was reading letters, and did not look up when I went in.

“General,” said I, “throw all those papers away till you have seen what I have brought.”

He looked up and frowned, as he always did when surprised.

“Ah, neef, so the khakis have not got you?” said he, kindly.

“Nay, General, but I have got them. Look!” And I poured out all the letters I had in the saddle-bag, telling him as I did this the story Andries had made for me.

The General said no word, but looked long at the letters, for he read English very slowly, and I sat on the ground and smoked, waiting for him to speak. At last, after he had looked at nearly every piece of paper, making as if to read it, he spoke.

“Sarel,” said he, “I have never yet made a mistake in a man. I knew that a young ox that had fallen at a bad place in the road would go very carefully next time, that is why I gave you this chance, and I can see you know how to profit by experience. Now go away while I have these letters translated, and if the Burghers want to know what you have been doing, tell them you have been doing work for Piet Joubert, and that he is satisfied. Don’t leave the laager till I have spoken with you, for I shall want you again.”

I went away light as air, and purposely put myself in the way of such Burghers as I knew were not friendly towards me; but they were not so curious as I had hoped, for I was ready to crush them with my replies.

“Been a prisoner?” asked one.

“Lost your road?”

“Changed your mind about deserting us?”

“Been to learn how to poison whisky?”

These were some of the questions asked by the younger Burghers, who were not worth triumphing over; so I held my peace—a calm and holy peace, for I felt that the hour of my glory had at last come.

I went to where old Paul was living in a long hole under a sheet of corrugated iron, where he used to lie at full length on his stomach all day reading the Bible, his feet alone showing at the end of the tunnel. So I sat down by his head and prepared to tell him my good fortune.

“Well, Sarel, and has the young ox come back to the yoke?” asked he.

“Nay, Oom; he has come back to be a led ox, as the dream said.”

“But what does the Boer baas say?”

“He says the same. But wait a bit, Paul, and you will see my dream come altogether true,” and I told him all that I had done—that is, I told him the story according to Andries; but I was careful to tell him the exact words spoken by General Joubert, for I did not know how far Paul might be in the confidence of the General.

“Go slow, Sarel, go slow,” was all the old man said at the end of my talk, and he shook his head as if he had doubts.

I felt my anger rising that the old man should doubt me, but I kept it under and went away, putting myself in front of certain Burghers; but they did not ask any questions, because I was ready with cutting answers. Had I not been so prepared I should have had many things asked of me, as I have frequently noticed through life, and particularly when I have prepared answers to any objections a defending attorney might make, for he never made them if I was ready.

An hour later I was sent for by the general. “Sarel,” said he, “I am making you a commandant. You must pick three hundred good men, and when you have got them, come again to me.”

I could not speak for joy, which Slim Piet saw, for he said, “Say nothing now, Sarel; but have your men ready by sun-up to-morrow, and be ready to ride at noon. Take this and go.”

He gave me a letter written by the adjutant appointing me commandant, and signed by himself.

I went straight to old Paul in his hole. “Oom,” said I, “the young ox is the best in the span. Look at this,” and I showed him the General’s letter.

Paul read it slowly, then, crawling on all-fours out of his hole, said, “Sarel, I must be with you. You will never do any good without me.”

“Ja, certainly,” I answered angrily, but with bitter sarcasm; “you helped me get the despatches, did you not, and you kept me from shooting Burghers, eh?”

“Sarel,” said he quietly, “we will say no more about that; it is buried with the poisoned whisky. What I mean is that you will want me to show you what the Bible would have you do in the day of victory.”

“But I can read, Oom.”

“Ja; but there is reading and reading. Nay, Sarel, I will come with you and be chief of commissariat. I am getting too old to be of use in the laager, for I soon weary. Besides, old men must have time to read their Bibles.”

“As you put it in that way, Oom, I shall be glad to have you,” said I, with the air of one having authority. “Now go and tell the Burghers that a new commando is in making.”

It was a delightfulness that paid me well for all the sneers I had had to put up with to see the faces of the Burghers when I read the authority of General Joubert, and in a voice of masterfulness told them I was going to pick my own Burghers. It was the custom to ask for volunteers for a new commando; but I feared that if I did that, few only would offer, which would make me look foolish. Therefore I said plainly that the work I had been given by the General required only the very best men, for I have found in my passage through life that it is useless to make a thing appear cheap and free. Make it seem only a gift for the few, and all will want it. This was the idea I kept uppermost in my talk to the Burghers.

Now I cannot miss again pointing out how all things work together for the good of those who know how to take advantage of them, by which I mean those who have the sense to see when a spoor leads to the game. As I was repeating the announcement that I wanted only the best men, a young kerel who had often sneered at me, being ready with the tongue through having been a clerk in the post-office, where they are always practising smart sayings on the customers, asked, “Will there be plenty of whisky?”

This made the Burghers laugh, which I was afterwards glad of, for that laugh raised my wrath; so remembering that this young kerel had only recently been well thrashed by a young Burgher not nearly so big as he, I went straight and boldly up to him, and with my closed fist hit him, English fashion, on the point of the chin, knocking him down. He was stunned and surprised, for Burghers are not used to this sort of fighting. Before he could get up, “Do you want any more of my whisky?” I asked, “for I have plenty left;” and to prove it I punched him while he sat on the ground, saying with each punch, “Have a soupie of whisky, have a soupie of whisky,” which made the Burghers laugh. This made my victory complete, for the kerel called out, “No more whisky;” so I kicked him hard, and, turning to the Burghers, asked, “Does anybody else want whisky?”

They were silent, and though some of them were angry at my having struck a Burgher, most were secretly pleased, especially the older men; for this young kerel had often used his slippery tongue to make them seem ridiculous in the eyes of the young Burghers,—which is an abomination to old men who have fought and bled for their country before those who laugh at them were born.

“Now,” said I, “those who wish to join me may speak to Paul du Plooy. You will have a good commandant and” here I made an impressive pause —“and whisky.” And I walked away.

Before I had gone ten paces, Van der Murphy and all the Irish Boers in the laager were after me.

“Sarel,” said he, “you are the commandant we want, for you have pluck, so we will join you.”

“Saddle up and get over the spruit there and talk to Paul,” I answered, with great dignity, for I had resolved to be firm, like an English officer, and not too familiar with my Burghers, like General Joubert, of whom all were rightly afraid. I also planned not to answer when spoken to, like him, for not only does it give you time to frame a proper answer, but it makes the person who speaks feel foolish and nervous to be kept waiting for a reply. I went to the adjutant to arrange about provisions and other things, and took care to keep away from the Burghers as long as I could, to give them time to make up their minds. When I went back an hour later I met Paul, who looked very serious.

“How many have saddled up?” I asked.

“Nearly all you want—in number.”

“And what are they like?”

“You may well ask, Sarel. Man, but it’s well I resolved to come with you. You have got all the wickedest young kerels, and all the laziest old fellows in the laager. And, God help us, Sarel! all the Irish Boers have joined, and they are fighting over who is to be their corporal. We have got the husks after the winnowing; but, Sarel, I shall be as a holy scourging wind, and supply the leaven of righteousness.”

I saddled up and rode over to the spruit where they had assembled. Paul was right. I had got the husks of the laager, and most of the swine that ought to have fed on them. They received me with laughter, and cries of “Good old Sarel!” “Where’s the whisky?” “Sing us a psalm, Paul.” Then they crowded round me, all clamouring at once. One wanted a new saddle, another a horse, another a water-bottle, clothes, or bandolier, till I was dazed, and forgot my resolve not to answer at first when spoken to, but expressed myself in the language of a compound manager on a Rand mine when the Kafirs are troublesome.

“Tell Paul all you want,” said I and I rode off, leaving the old man like a sheep among jackals.

I was very sore at heart, and tossed about as to what I should do: for if I were severe and did all I had the right to do as commandant, I should lose all my Burghers; and if I were kind they would do as they liked, as they did in the only Kafir campaign I went on,—the Magato war,—when they refused to fight, but held prayer-meetings and sang psalms and drank German beer instead; and when the commandant tried to break up the psalm-singing they tied him up to a waggon-wheel till he sang with them.

While I was walking full of these sad thoughts, another of those wondrous small chances came my way. One of my Burghers, a big heavy man, carrying double his proper number of blankets, with a mackintosh and several bundles, all on a very small horse, passed me.

“Neck,” said I, “if you are going to catch cattle and bring in loot, you won’t have much for your share, for you cannot carry it.”

“Cattle and loot, is it?” answered he.

“Hush! not a word,” said I, as if in great fear lest he should mention it to the other Burghers, while I went away to prevent further questioning.

In ten minutes the word went round that my commando was going after cattle, and in half an hour I could have had every Burgher in the laager.

“I have said nothing about cattle and loot,’ was my answer to those who would know more; but I was careful to say it in such a way that, as they say in English, a man could read between the lines, and that is the way they mostly took it.

“Don’t shout too loud or you will scare the game,” was my parting words to them as I rode off to the General to take my last instructions.

“You have all the Burghers you need?” he asked, when I had reported my commando as quite ready.

“Ja, General, and more.”

“I am glad, Sarel,” said he, “for I feared they might not want to go with you. It shows me that you have the goodwill of the Burghers, but”—and here the old man smiled his dreadful smile—“don’t forget, Sarel, that there are many wild things in the veld.”

I did not quite understand him then, but I soon did.

Then the General gave me my orders, as an English soldier would say. But we Boers on commando do not take orders; we call it advice. I was to go as far south of Ladysmith as I could, and cut off transports with supplies for the British troops, who were trying to relieve the town. I was to work with any Free State commando I met, and generally to keep in check any attempt of the British to get round between Ladysmith and the Drakensberg, which was then the most exposed part of Natal, and the only direction from which the British could advance without being seen plainly.

If I lived to be President of United South Africa for my reward, I would say “let me die” rather than pass another day such as that on which the commando left the laager. Up would come Burghers to complain that Paul had not given them this or that, or that he had favourites, and gave the best saddles and boots to them, even when they did not need them. As I did not wish to rebuke Paul before the Burghers, I put them off with a promise that I would see them righted, and waited till I could get word in private with the old man.

“Sarel,” said he, when he had heard what I had to say, “you know the greed and wickedness of good Burghers, but you do not know what this span of wild oxen is like. I am a scourging wind to them, so leave me to blow on them if you have any faith in me. If not, do the blowing yourself.”

Half an hour later Paul was lying under the shade of a thorn-bush reading the Bible, while great business was doing at the waggon that had the stores.

“How came you away, Paul?’ I asked.

“I have appointed the man who said he could give out stores better than I,” answered he.

A few minutes later there came to me a Burgher full of wrath against Paul.

“I gave him two pounds to make me corporal of the commissariat,” said he, “and I find another Burgher in my place.”

I sent him away with the promise of putting him right, and went to Paul.

How could you do this foolishness?’ I asked him.

“Sarel,” said he, “you are like all the Burghers; you think you can do a thing better than the man who is doing it. If you want to find out how clever you are, go to the waggon and try to give every Burgher all he thinks he ought to have. You will soon do as I have done—appoint another.”

“But you have appointed two.”

“Most likely. They drove me so mad that I did not know what I was doing; perhaps I have appointed a dozen.”

“But you were not too mad to forget to make them pay you two pounds.”

“Of course not. They were all so anxious to help that they did not mind paying me to be allowed to do so.”

“But there will be trouble.”

“There is always trouble in a commando.”.

“But suppose these Burghers demand their money back?”

“They have done so, and have not got it.”

“Then will they go to General Joubert?” said I.

“Nay, Sarel. It is plain you do not know your Burghers. A man who will pay two pounds to be allowed to make money by giving out stores will not lose his chance of making loot by quarrelling with his commandant and getting left behind. Sarel, you were very slim in talking about loot. These Burghers would rob a predikant of his cattle.”

“But, Paul, these Burghers want their two pounds back. If they come to me again what must I do?”

“Take them aside and talk about loot. Tell them I shall be the man who keeps account of all cattle brought in.”

Thus did this old man try to corrupt me to injustice for the sake of a few pounds, though, as he afterwards explained, by taking the money he rightly punished them for their greed in wanting to make profit out of the State.

Next morning at sun-up I had the commando ready to trek, and I went to say good-bye to General Joubert. He was very kind and in good spirits, for things had been going well again.

“Be an oprecht Burgher, Sarel, and keep out of danger,” said he.

“I will do that, General,” said I.

“Then can I send a good report of you to some one.”

I thought he meant Oom Paul Kruger and the Executive at Pretoria.

“Then I stand well there now, General?” I asked, remembering how angry the Government had been at my leaving the Transvaal.

“Ja, Sarel; and I hope to see you living together as man and wife should. Good-bye,” and he went away before I could ask what his strange words meant.

When I got word with Paul I told him what the General had said, asking him how he interpreted such language.

“Katrina has written to him asking him to keep an eye on you,” was his reply.

“How do you know that, Paul?”

“You are not the only one in the secrets of General Joubert,” said he.

The thought that this might be true made me very sad and full of shame that I should be written about as if I were a young kerel whose mother was not near to watch him. I was also sore that Paul should know more than I did of my own affairs, for it gave colour to my fear that he was, after all, only a spy set to watch over me, and perhaps help me to get a fall; and I began to regret that I had brought him with me, for I could see great trouble in front of me from this cause. Yet I dare not quarrel with him, for I knew not how strong he really was; and even if I told about the shooting of the khaki Boers, he would perhaps be slim enough to outwit me. So I was as a man who knows there is a snake in the bedroom, but dare not get out of bed to kill it lest he tread on it in the dark.

Then it was there came to me great sorrow that I was not quick in thinking clever and proper answers to speeches at the moment they were most wanted. It is true that I could always make good and sharp replies, but I was too careful about making them good, which took time to think over, and was like fixing the sight of your rifle while a buck was running away. But so many things had happened unexpectedly to my good that I was in hopes an accident would happen that would rid me of Paul. Therefore I made as if I knew quite well that Katrina had written to Piet Joubert.

“Ja,” said I, “Katrina and Slim Piet have ever been good friends, and it has been well for me.”

“Then why did you run away from the Transvaal when your figures would not add up properly, if Piet were your friend?” asked Paul.

“I said he was Katrina’s friend.”

“But are not a wife’s friends her husband’s also?”

“Sometimes he is glad they are not,” I answered, making at last a good and sharp answer at the right time, for it was well known that the family of Paul’s third wife had been a great trouble and expense to him.

Paul was silent, and I went off before he had time to shoot back an answer; and the trouble and rush of getting the commando away drove all thought of this matter out of my mind, for Burghers have not yet learned, as the English have, to ride off at a word, but must make a very long business of starting, leaving their places to go back for a pipe or a pair of boots, or coming up to tell me not to start for a quarter of an hour. Then some of them would not saddle up till they knew who was to be their corporal, and if they had chosen one they would want to choose over again. So to stop trouble I made appointments which, being made in a hurry, were not always good; and some of those I appointed would not take the work, and I had to persuade some one else. All this took much time, and it was nearly noon before we got away, the General sending a messenger to say that if I could not start my span he would send another driver, at which the Burghers laughed, for the messenger, being one of those who had a spite against me, shouted his words.

Paul rode with me, and talked as boldly and masterfully as if he was commandant, and not I. ‘We shall off-saddle there, and water there, and sleep at So-and-so,” he went on, till I had great work to keep my tongue from slipping, and telling him that I was commandant and had the ordering of these things. But I restrained my words, knowing that the time must soon come when I could put my heel on his neck,

I was distracted from further unhappy thoughts by the Irish Boers coming up and wanting to be made corporals, and generally offering to take all the offices that had no fighting attached to them. Paul was for putting them off; but for that reason, and to show my authority, I made Van der Murphy a corporal. This brought up old Hendrik Keiser, a German Boer who spoke the Taal so badly that few could understand him, but for all that he was a great stickler for the use of that tongue.

“I object to having a corporal who not only does not speak the Taal, but who talks Irish, which no one can understand,” said he; “and what is more, if I hear any more of this bastard English -Irish, I shall leave the commando. It is neither the language of monkeys nor Hottentots.”

“What’s that you say?” asked Van der Murphy. And then came great tribulation, for becoming a Burgher does not make an Irishman love fighting less.

Now it happened that Van der Murphy was very strong in his feelings against Germans ever since a German manager was put over the mine where he had a contract for riding transport from the railway-station. This manager had reported Van der Murphy to the directors for staying on the road and drinking whisky, and talking of England falling, while the mine was waiting for the dynamite he was carrying, whereby Van der Murphy lost his contract and had great difficulty in getting another, because he talked so much politics to the miners. The result of his losing the contract was a fight with the manager, and I, as public prosecutor, had to prosecute Van der Murphy, and get him bound over to keep the peace against all the Germans in the dorp, because he had said he would kill them all to be revenged on Germany. Although I made it as light and easy for Van der Murphy as I could by keeping back the most damaging evidence, the landdrost fined him ten pounds for the assault, for the Germans were the best customers of a beer -hall that belonged to the landdrost, and, as he said, he could not have his trade spoiled by a wild Irishman because he had taken a Boer woman’s name. Then, again, Van der Murphy only drank whisky at the English canteen, which, as the landdrost said, showed that he was no patriotic Burgher, or he would have drunk dop or German beer,—all of which small things always weighed with our landdrost in giving judgment against wrongdoers who were not thoroughbred Boers.

All this was well known to Van der Murphy, and it rankled in his heart; and as Irish hearts are ever sore, this kept his raw and sensitive, and he was always bitter against anybody with a German name. As many good Boer names are also German, it led to many mistakes on his part, and numerous fights, both in the dorp where he lived and in the commando. Whenever he met a German, or one whom in his ignorance he took for a German, Van der Murphy would talk at him to make him fight, which generally took a very long time, for both Irish and Germans are ready with their tongues, and can say bitter and cutting things. When old Hendrik got angry he would talk fast in English, German, and the Taal, being a good swearer in all three tongues; and as Van der Murphy knew only two of them he always got the worst of it, for Hendrik got in three blows to Pat’s one. Then Hendrik had the best through being, like all Germans, better learned than Van der Murphy. He had read a book about Ireland which was full of abuse of Irishmen, and Hendrik would get it out and read long passages to Pat, just as old Paul read his Bible to confute the Burghers. What with his funny way of talking the Taal, and his serious anger against Irishmen,—who, he said, should all be in tronk, as the book showed,—Hendrik made the Burghers laugh exceedingly; and they would all pretend to agree with him, so that he might go on abusing Irishmen. After a time the Burghers would look to these quarrels for their amusement, as they did the psalm-singing; and when they were dull, one would go to Hendrik and tell him something bad that Van der Murphy had said about Germans, and then they would stand round and smoke and laugh while the two quarrelled. And often, when I wanted them to go look for khakis, they would start the two quarrelling, and say they could not leave until they had seen the end of the fight. It was fortunate that Paul had told me of this, for as soon as the quarrel began I rode the Burghers hard, and steadfastly refused their requests that we should halt to see the end. The two, finding they had no audience, soon ceased to stand and abuse one another, but did it as they rode.

“You’ll ride the horses down,” said Van der Murphy as he came up; “but I suppose you know where we can get plenty more.”

“Commandant,” said Hendrik, “you must make an order that all Burghers speak the Taal; I cannot understand what these Irish Burghers say.”

“Then how do you know I was abusing Germans?” asked Pat.

“By your looking so ugly.”

And then the two went at it again, only Hendrik spoke German and his shocking Taal, and Pat quarrelled in Irish-English, which is a language so strange that even I, who wield the English with admirable fluency, found it difficult to understand him.

At last Van der Murphy said some very severe things of Germans in the Taal, when Hendrik, coming up nearer to me, said—

“Commandant, will you interpret for me the Hottentot language of this wild whisky man?”

“You can’t understand any language,” answered Pat.

“Yours is no language,” said Hendrik.

“My proper language requires educated men to understand. It is a learned language, and was spoken by the kings of Ireland.”

“And your kings were all murderers. No wonder your English Government won’t allow it to be spoken.”

“But it is spoken all over the country,” said Pat.

“Ja, by the pigs.”

This made the Burghers laugh, and Van der Murphy, although very angry, was fond of a joke and laughed too, for he saw that old Hendrik had put a cartridge in his mauser, as he generally did when he had said such stinging things that Pat talked of murder.

This talk of what was the proper language to use on commando kept up for long, for a talkative Dane, who was learned in languages, made rude remarks about the Taal because there were so few words in it.

“You see,” said he, “that even Hendrik, although he is all for the Taal, has to use German to get angry in. There is no tongue like English for good swearwords. It is a fighting language.”

This brought up all the foreigners in the commando, and there was babel broke loose, for my Burghers were English, Scotch, Irish, German, Hollander, Danish, Russian, French, Peruvians, and many other nations not found in any postal directory. And all had something to say in favour of their language, till Paul du Plooy put on the skid beautifully.

“Kerels,” said he, “you may fight and quarrel in any tongue you like, but you will have to get your rations in the Taal, for a commissariat corporal who is an oprecht Burgher knows no other tongue.”

“Then,” said Van der Murphy, “I can talk my native language when I want my rations, for there is no name in the Taal for whisky except the proper one.”

This language business was not the only trouble I had. When the Burghers were at head laager they were kept in fairly good order through fear of General Joubert, for they knew that the troublesome ones were always sent where there was danger of fighting, and this had a wondrous result on their conduct. But now that they were free, they behaved like children home from school. They gave their rifles to the Kafirs to carry when on the trek, went off in threes and fours to shoot buck whenever they pleased, and quarrelled with me if I would not wait for them; and when I reproached them for leaving the commando when khakis might be about, they said they had gone to look for cattle and horses, as I was no good at finding where they were. When I asked Paul what I should do, he only said—

“Sarel, you are like Moses with the children of Israel in the wilderness. They are discontented and rebellious, and the false gods they worship are cattle. But I am Joshua, and you know that he was oprecht, and made the paths smooth for Moses.”

We had been riding three days and had seen no cattle, when the Burghers came to me and said—

“We have been in this wilderness now many days, and see no cattle. Let us make a laager and go out in small parties, for a great commando is seen a long way off by the Kafirs, who give warning to the khakis, and get away with their own goats and cows. We will draw lots to see who shall go out, and the rest shall stay in the laager to fight khakis when they come.”

I could see that the real reason was that they might stay idle in the sun all day to smoke and drink coffee, and do other things the existence I knew not of at that time. But as the plan would suit me, I told them I agreed with them. I was very anxious to see

K Andries Brink, to learn how I was to make the profit he had spoken of, for so far, although I had been made commandant, I could not see that it profited me much, unless trouble and tribulation were profit. I was like a man with a new gun of a pattern to which he had not been used, and knew not how to load and shoot it. Therefore was I glad at this plan to go out in small parties, for I would offer to make one, and, leaving Paul in charge of the laager, I could ride to see Andries and get wisdom.

When I told Paul what I had resolved he was glad; for although he was always telling me not to give way to the Burghers, when he found he was to be left in authority he said I had done right in listening to what they said. For Paul loved authority, which had caused him to be thrown out of all the churches he had joined.

I stopped the commando and told them my plan. They were to make a laager, and throw lots to see who should go out and bring in cattle; but, said I, “remember that all cattle must be brought into laager, and, when sold, the price equally divided among all.”

This was the beginning of trouble, for those on whom the lots fell to go out said they would not have all the danger and trouble of finding cattle if they were to share equally with those who stayed safe behind in laager,—and this after they had agreed to the plan. But each man thought the lot would be in favour of his staying.

While they quarrelled, a great and clever plan came to me, giving me my much-wanted excuse for getting away as nearly alone as possible.

“Kerels,” said I, “you are afraid of the danger. Of course there is very great danger,—that is why I chose you. Now, to show that I would not ask any Burgher to do what I feared to do myself, I am going to a place where I know the khakis are waiting and watching, and I shall bring away good cattle. Who will go with me?”

As I hoped and expected, there was no answer. I waited a minute or two, fearing some Burgher whom I did not want might offer,—for the wickedest are often the bravest,—but no one spoke. So I told them I would take only Kafirs, and leave them to settle among themselves who should go out looking for loot. I chose two who spoke very little Dutch, so that they might not hear too much, and giving my last instructions to Paul for the sake of keeping up my authority, although I knew he would pay no heed to them, I rode off to Andries Brink’s place, distant about six hours, or by English way of reckoning, about thirty-six miles.

“Well,” said Andries, before I could tell him anything, ‘you have got your commando, and a fine lot of winnowings it is. Never mind; we don’t want Burghers too oprecht for our work.”

“But how do you know about my commando?” I asked, much surprised.

“Do you think my commando sits drinking coffee and playing cards all day?” he answered.

“Do my Burghers play cards?”

“How many Jews and Johannesburg Burghers have you, Sarel?”

“About twelve,” said I, after thinking.

“Then you have twelve card-parties going on night and day.”

“But my Burghers are mostly kerels who can’t play cards Rooinek fashion.”

“Of course not, that’s why the good kind Johannesburg Burghers are teaching them.”

Andries then, after his quick abrupt fashion, changed the subject. “You must be up and doing, Sarel. There are transport waggons coming up from Mooi River, by way of the roads between Estcourt and the Berg. As they do not expect to meet any Boers there, they will have a very small escort. You must take care of those waggons, Sarel.”

And then he told me his plans,—where and how I was to hold them up, and where to take the cattle and horses. He was to send a Kafir with me who knew the country, and who would show me a place where he could hide half the horses in the British army, and no one be able to find them without a balloon.

“But,” said I, “my Burghers are lazy, and will not fight even for cattle,’ and I told him about their forming laager and sending out only those chosen by lot.

Andries thought and smoked some time before he answered.

“Sarel,” said he, “I must ride with you to the laager and stir these rascals up. I will make them pull together the way I want them, like a span of old trek-oxen; but I must wait till Charlotte comes.”

“Where is she?” I asked, for I had wondered I had not seen her.

“Charlotte is about her father’s business. She is a good and loyal Colonial girl to-day, and is at Estcourt. How do you think I should know all about the convoys but from her? The only thing I fear is that she will get engaged to too many British officers. She already has one at Maritzburg, one at Mooi River, one at Estcourt, and two at Durban; and she tells me the hardest part of her work is to remember which engagement-ring to wear.”

“I wonder she did not engage herself to me,” said I, half in fun, half in earnest.

“She might have accepted a ring, but she would not take a man who already has a sweetheart who can use her tongue, pen, and sjambok equally well,” said Andries.

“How do you know this?”

“Man, but you must think me a calf! Does a man start as a waggon-maker or blacksmith without tools?”

I saw what he meant, but I did not quite understand the remark about Katrina using her pen.

“Katrina writes well, does she not?” said I, by way of finding what Andries knew.

“Ja; a nice plain hand that an old General who is nearly blind can read easily. But, Sarel, never mind about Katrina; she is looking well after you. Make money; that is what vrouws like.”

“Then Charlotte knows about Katrina?” I asked.

I must have put much feeling into my question, for Andries looked hard at me.

“Charlotte does not know everything,” said he, and again changed the subject; neither dare I ask more, for I did not wish that Andries should see that he knew more than I of the work going on behind my back. So we talked of other things till supper-time, and went to bed early.