Chapter XIII

John Bunyan, Sir Walter Raleigh, and I are striking examples of the blessing that prison-life may become to those who know how to use and value it by thinking out, properly and fully, thoughts that have stayed but a short time in the heart during freedom; for when such finished thoughts are put upon paper, they become of value to our fellow-creatures.

Since I have been in the jail at Pietermaritzburg, many things that heretofore I thought little on, or else were exceedingly great puzzles to me, have come back to me in their proper truth and fulness. For example, it was not until I have had time to ponder on the strange happenings of the past year, that I saw one of the great advantages of living in England. I have been told by Englanders that it is quite possible for a man to live there and not know or be known to other men living only a few miles away,—a thing hard to understand and believe by one living in a country where you know every farm within a hundred miles, and are related by marriage or cousinship to every second man and woman in South Africa. I have in my ignorance pitied such people in England, thinking that, if it were true, it showed how unsociable and unfriendly Englanders were to each other. But a thing that happened at Pretoria made me wish that we Afrikanders were more like the English in this matter, and did not know so much of one another’s goings-in and comings-out.

The morning after my serious talk with Charlotte, and my resolve to take her for my wife, I went to Mr Human’s house early to see her, for I was quite restless and unhappy away from her. She was, as I feared, gone to the cottage to see the khaki captain with Mr Human; and on the way thither I met them returning, when Charlotte said I must go shopping with her, which I knew meant that I should have to pay for all she bought. But so long as I had her away from the khaki, I did not mind what it cost me.

We had been in two stores, and were going into a third in Church Street, when who should suddenly stand in front of us but the old vrouw of the dreadful railway journey, Mrs du Beer. Before I could get into the shop she stopped me.

“So you are not married, Sarel Erasmus. You are waiting for Katrina Bester, I suppose. Charlotte Brink,” the wicked old woman went on, speaking to Charlotte, who was looking in the shop window and had not yet seen her, “do you know you are taking away another woman’s man? You ought to be whipped; but what do you expect from a girl who would tell the porters I had smallpox! Katrina Bester will be here presently, and she will spoil that

pink face for you.”

“What business is it of yours?” I asked, not knowing what to say, and feeling very sick.

“It is all my business. Katrina is my second husband’s half-cousin, and it is my right to see that no girl in the family is made a fool of by a thing like you.”

Charlotte had stood very cool and amused, her grey eyes passing all over Mrs du Beer, and staying long on the old woman’s big and ugly boots.

“Mrs du Beer,” said she with politeness, “you are very drunk, and I can see that the smallpox has made your feet swell. Why do you not go back to the hospital before they miss you? Come on, Sarel; if the police see us talking to her they will send us to the lazaretto,” and she turned away.

The old woman stood speechless during Charlotte’s talk, her mouth open, as if the words had frozen in coming out; and we had gone several yards down the street before she recovered her voice, when she screamed, “You pair of Rooinek spies! Look at them! Stop them! Here, Burghers, catch them; that girl says I have smallpox. They are spies; I saw them at Ladysmith.”

The word “smallpox” made the people in the street stop and look frightened, for they could not quite understand whether it was we or she who had the dreadful disease; so nobody did anything but look from her to us, and we could have got away easily; but Charlotte’s anger was stirred by being called a spy. She turned back, and walked boldly to the old woman.

“You wicked, old, ugly thing, how dare you say that! It is you who are the spy. You have brought smallpox to kill all the Burghers, and you call me spy because I found you out. Keep away from her, Burghers. Look at her feet; they are swelled already,” and while the crowd were looking at the old woman’s feet, Charlotte walked away, the people making a path for her as if she was a smallpox ambulance.

Long after we had turned the corner we could hear the shrill voice of the old woman trying to satisfy the crowd that her feet were only of the size usual in her family, and were no sign of smallpox.

When we had got into a quiet street, Charlotte said very earnestly, “What is this about your marrying Katrina Bester?”

I had expected this, and for once was ready with my answer.

“Katrina Bester I have known since I was a child, and she is as fat and old and ugly as Mrs du Beer, who would no doubt much like to have me marry Katrina.”

“Old, fat, and ugly, is she?” said Charlotte.

I did not give her time to say more. “You have such a sharp and clever tongue, Charlotte, that I don’t wonder that the old woman said things to hurt you.”

“She did not hurt me; what she said made me glad,’ and she left me to puzzle what her saying meant, for that she was pleased at something I could see. “Now go,” said she, “and come to the house to-night, for I think we must leave to-morrow. The Burghers may set importance on what that old cat said about our being spies, and we shall be watched, which will make matters bad for the captain,’ and with that she ran to the house, without waiting for me to go as far as the gate.

As I walked away, a great sadness came over me— first, because of the way the khaki was keeping Charlotte away from me; and secondly, because of the words of the old woman about Katrina. I was afraid to think what would happen if she should come, for I feared that Charlotte believed what had been said about my going to marry Katrina, for young women always think that men are wanting to be married to some other girl, which shows that they are all jealous and afraid of one another. Then what did she mean by saying she was glad? Did it mean that she was glad to have an excuse for not marrying me?

As I walked aimlessly down a quiet and nearly deserted street, I came to a respectable drinking-bar to which, in the old days, I used sometimes go to find certain Government officials who used it. It was open, though most such places were at that time closed by order of the landdrost, and before I knew where I was, I found myself drinking whisky with a kerel who knew me.

After a time, and just as I was about to leave, there happened one of those things that, as I have often had cause to remark, change the direction of our paths. Two policemen came in and ordered the bar to be closed, so the barman invited us all into his private room, saying it would not look well if a lot of us all left at the same time.

The police sat drinking a long time, I having to pay for their liquor. They finding I had come from Ladysmith, I had to tell them all about the war, which kept them there so long that my complaint began to be bad, and I fell asleep.

I was awakened by the barman, who told me it was already night, and that I must go home. I went outside, but had not walked far before I felt really ill, and knew that the whisky I had drunk a little of must be poisoned. But after I had rested, by lying behind a banana-tree in a private garden, I got up, feeling very full of a strange desire to go to Charlotte, and, once for all, settle the question,—me or the khaki. I would begin to act,—not meekly, as I had done, but as a man having the right to a woman because he was going to marry her.

It was nearly eight in the evening, and about the time I had decided to go to Charlotte. So I called at the house of Mr Human, who told me he had sent a messenger for me already, as the captain must be got away that night. This pleased me much; for as the train left at ten o’clock, there was little time for Katrina to come. I hurried to the hotel to get a few things I had bought, and particularly a uniform. My clothes had grown so shabby and dirty that Charlotte said she would not let me walk in the streets with her. So I went to a Jew’s store, and having bought a nice suit of clothes that, though rather big, were cheap, he showed me a beautiful uniform, which he said was just the thing for a commandant. It had been made for the chief sanitary inspector of Johannesburg, but did not fit him. I thought it looked too rich and full of colour for me, being blue and green; but the Jew persuaded me. “It may save your life,” said he, “for if you get captured, the British will think you are one of their great officers, and while they are finding out what uniform it is, you can run away.” So I bought it, and decided that I would put it on to travel with.

I got to my room and changed, and was paying my bill, when the barman gave me a great schrick.

“There is a lady asking for you,” said he.

“What name?” I asked, getting the words out with great difficulty.

“She did not say; but she is with young Frikkie Bester, and is rather fat.”

My heart gave a great thump; but I knew that I had to be cool, and act as if in a very serious position, as I was.

“Is she here?” I asked.

“Yes; somewhere in the hotel.”

I took out a five-pound note, nearly the last I had, and gave it to the man.

“I don’t want to see her,” said I. “Keep her here as long as you can, and tell her if she asks again that I have sent a messenger to say I am coming here at eleven o’clock. Do you quite understand?”

The man laughed. ‘I have been porter in a Johannesburg hotel; you can leave me to manage it,’ and I went off almost happy, though, as I walked to Mr Human’s house, I kept glancing behind to see that I was not followed, and I hurried so much that I arrived quite breathless.

Charlotte and the captain were there. He was dressed as much like a Boer as they could make him. They had tried to make him look like a German, as the pass he had described him as a German artillery officer going to Ladysmith; but he looked so much like an Englishman, that they made him change into an old Boer suit, but still he looked more British than Afrikander, particularly when he tried to smoke, for he was not used to a pipe and strong Boer tobacco, and at that time there was only bad leaf to be got in Pretoria.

When Charlotte at last ceased to look at the khaki and noticed me, she said, “What is the matter, Sarel? you look ill and worried,” which, I have no doubt, was true.

“It is the food at the hotel; I am not used to it.” As I said this I saw a strange smile on the face of the khaki that made the blood rush all over my body.

“Perhaps you do not feel well enough to go to-night,” said he, in a tone which I interpreted to mean, “I hope you will not come.”

“Whether I am well or not I must go, for I have to look after a lady,” I answered, putting as much feeling and meaning into my voice as I could.

“Why did you not think of that before you drank so much whisky?” said Charlotte, in a most unfriendly manner.

My anger, which had been growing stronger the more I looked at the khaki and saw how plainly Charlotte cared for him, now got hold of me, and I answered hotly, “I am quite as well able to look after you as the khaki, and better; and I am going to do so properly.”

There must have been great meaning and dignity in my words, for Mr Human came to me and told me to be calm and quiet, and lie down on the sofa and rest. I pushed him away, saying I did not want rest, as I had been sleeping all day, at which I saw the khaki again smile and look at Charlotte.

This made my anger burn. “Yes, I will stay,” said I; “but the luggage stays with me,” and I looked meaningly at Charlotte.

She came to me, in her wondrously smooth way, and, putting her hand on my shoulder, said, “Sarel, you are not drunk; you are ill. You have been worrying too much about me, and can hold out no longer. Sit down,” and she pushed me gently on to the sofa and sat by my side.

I could hold no longer, but put my arms round her and kissed her and nearly cried. She turned very red, and looked at the captain, but did not push me away, but told me not to cry, so kindly, that I could no longer be angry, but resolved to sit quietly on the sofa, while Mr Human and Charlotte made preparations for leaving, as the time was getting late.

I must have fallen asleep, for I was awakened by Charlotte telling me the cab had come.

I got into it with difficulty, being weak and giddy after all the heart trouble I had gone through. The first thing I saw was the tin box; and the thought of what was in it made me feel happy, and I spoke nothing on the journey to the station. The train was waiting, and we went straight to a reserved carriage without causing much remark, though I noticed that the Burghers, who were on the platform in numbers, looked very hard at my uniform, thinking I was a very high German officer. To help the deceit, I walked with my head well back, and struck my heels hard on the platform, jingling my spurs, which much amused Charlotte and the captain.

I sat in the corner nearest the door, the captain and Charlotte sitting at the farther end, so as to be away from the eyes of the Burghers as much as possible, for, with their usual love of handsome uniforms, they came and looked at me as they slowly passed the carriage.

We were shaking hands with Mr Human, and the train was slowly moving out, when I saw a commotion near the entrance-gate, and looking up, I saw Katrina, Mrs du Beer, and Frikkie Bester hurrying towards the train.

Immediately the blood rushed to my head, my heart thumped, and my stomach turned deathly sick, and I slipped on to the floor of the carriage just as I heard Frikkie Bester say, “There he is, Katrina,” and I felt a hand, which by its hardness and bigness I knew was Katrina’s, clutch my hair and pull so hard that I could have called out in my pain, while her big voice screamed, “Stop the train! he has my thousand pounds and another woman.”

I heard and knew no more, but passed into a blissful sleep of death.

When I again saw the light I was sitting on the floor, the captain holding me up, and Charlotte putting water to my mouth. I got up with great difficulty, and spoke no word, although they both asked if I felt better now, for I wanted time to frame what I should say when they asked about Katrina.

They let me remain quiet for some time, till I put my hands to my head, for I could almost still feel the big fingers of Katrina in my hair.

“Did she hurt you much?” asked Charlotte.

“Who?” I answered, still further to gain time.

“That woman who said you had stolen her thousand pounds.”

“I do not remember; I was ill. Was it Mrs du Beer?”

“No. Mrs du Beer said she would tear my hair; but it was the other woman who pulled yours. What did she mean about your stealing her money?”

“What did Mrs du Beer mean by what she said about you?” I was still trying to put off explanations.

“Katrina seems to object to your leaving her,” said the captain.

“Ja; she always does,” I answered, quite unthinkingly.

“Why? Has she any right to object? Is she your wife, for instance?” the captain went on, speaking as if very much interested, and determined to get the matter cleared up.

“God forbid!” I answered. “She wants to be my wife, and has persecuted me for years. She is my cousin, and often lives in my house with her aunt.”

“Poor creature! She seems very fond of you.”

“You promised to marry her, did you not, Sarel?” Charlotte broke in.

“Do you believe what that wicked old du Beer woman says?”

“Nay; Katrina said so herself, and her brother also.”

“I would make a thousand promises to escape a woman like Katrina,” I answered boldly, seeing it was useless to try to make Charlotte believe I had not promised marriage, for all women are hard to convince when they get this notion into their heads.

‘Yes,’ Charlotte went on; “but what does she mean by saying you have stolen her money?”

“I have no money,” I said; and then I looked straight and hard at Charlotte, who turned red and looked away through the window, where she could see nothing, for it was dark. I noticed, too, that the captain seemed surprised at this sudden alteration in Charlotte’s manner. He looked inquiringly at Charlotte, then at the tin box, which was standing on end in the middle of the carriage.

“Mrs du Beer said the money was in that box,” said the captain.

My heart gave a thump, and Charlotte turned round quickly—

“Arthur, how can you know what she said, for she only speaks the Taal?”

I noticed that she called him “Arthur.” Before she had only called him “Captain Watson.” In a moment a thought flashed through my mind that she had got this money for the captain, and did not wish him to know anything about it.

“It doesn’t require to know much of the Taal to understand what a woman means when she points to a box and says, ‘Daar is de gelt.’ You forget I know German.”

“If I had money that did not belong to me I should give it up,” said I, again looking hard at Charlotte, for something told me that if I kept on the subject of the money she would get frightened, and I should get my share without trouble, for I could see she was fearful lest the captain should know the truth as to how she got it.

“You are stupid people to listen to what a silly old woman says, and I am also stupid for listening to what the other one said. Give me something to eat,” said Charlotte, skilfully turning away the subject, which I could see was getting very disagreeable to her, for she had not reckoned on ploughing such a deep furrow when she put her hand to the plough.

Then she told the captain about our first meeting with Mrs du Beer, and the scene in the street at Pretoria.

The captain laughed much, saying he could now quite understand why the old lady should be so spiteful. “It was a very feminine revenge she took,” said he, and this started Charlotte on asking whether English women would have done such a thing, and if they quarrelled as Boer women do, and many other questions, in which I joined, for it kept the talk off dangerous subjects.

The captain made one or two attempts to get back on to the track; but Charlotte and I were too much for him, and we kept him off.

I had noticed that, after a few stations had been passed, the stationmasters always came to our carriage when the train stopped, and gave a good look round, as if counting us. Sometimes they asked to see our passes, and they always looked hard at the tin box. When this had been done several times, the captain remarked upon it.

“Do they suspect me, do you think?” he asked.

This was a good excuse to put him off the spoor, for I had no doubt that Katrina had sent a telegram down the line asking that we be watched.

“I have no doubt they suspect you,” said I; “for any one can see you are no Boer, and you will talk English when we stop at stations.

“But what does this pass say?”

I read it. It described him as Captain Brandt, going to Ladysmith to take charge of the signalling.

“Then why do they look so hard into the carriage?”

“It is Sarel’s uniform,” said Charlotte. ‘They think he is the German officer. My people will go a long way to see fine clothes.”

Although the captain laughed at this, I could see he was not satisfied; and to keep him amused, I told him about Katrina’s parting speech to me at Prinsloosdorp, at which he laughed heartily; and this encouraged me to tell him all I could against Katrina, secretly intending that Charlotte should be the more convinced that I cared nothing for Katrina. I laid great stress upon her physicking me, so that I might be fit for fighting, saying, “It must be a strange kind of love that makes a woman do her best to get a man killed.”

“Perhaps she has high ideas of the duty of men,” said the captain.

“That is it; all she thinks men are for is to make money to give to their vrouws. I think the vrouw should do something when she has money of her own,” and I looked at Charlotte again, who appeared not to hear, but called the captain to look at some buck running in the distance, which neither he nor I could see, though I pretended I could, to oblige Charlotte and keep the captain off disagreeable subjects.

We made a good and quick run into Natal, the only thing noticeable about it being the regular visits of the stationmasters to look into our carriage.

The adjutant and private secretary of General Joubert were at the train to meet us, and I was told that I had to go right away to the General. There was a spider to drive us to the head laager; and I noticed that the adjutant looked specially after the tin box, which he saw to being put into the cart.

“Does the General know about me?” asked the captain of me.

“Of course. We Afrikanders are not altogether fools,” said the adjutant, who was always very bitter against everybody who was not a Boer; and I feared that the captain might say something in his anger, but he kept very quiet.

‘When we reached the head laager we had to wait some time before going in to the General, as Charlotte had disappeared. She presently came from behind the General’s tent, and we went in.

“Well, Charlotte,” said he, after looking close at the captain through his little half-shut eyes, “you have done your work well.” Then to the captain, “How did my kerels treat you in Pretoria, captain?”

The adjutant translated, for Slim Piet would never let Englanders know that he understood their tongue if he could disguise his knowledge.

The captain replied that he had very little to complain of.

“Neither will you if you treat us properly,” said the General.

My heart began to thump, for I was in fear lest the General should go on to make the speech he had made to me and to all who were going to help him, for he was very fond of it, and let it out very often. I knew that if he said anything about helping the Boers to the captain, there would be trouble; for though I had not been told all the story of how the captain was got away, I had heard that when it was explained to him that the General thought he would help the Boers, he refused to leave till matters were put right. But Piet Joubert was well called “Slim Piet,” for he knew how to read men, and what to say at the right time. He even knew how to handle women, though he would never take advantage of his great skilfulness with them. I could have kissed the General with joy when I heard him say, “Good-bye, captain. All you have to do is to put yourself in the keeping of Charlotte.”

The captain looked as if he would say something, but the General gave him no time, but waved him away.

Then he spoke to me, looking me through and through—

“So, Sarel, you have brought money back. That is bad, for the vrouws want all the money while their men are away.”

I became very frightened, and knew not what to say, so I answered—

“General, money is not made easily in the Transvaal now.”

“But I hear it is, Sarel, though I never before heard it was easy to get money out of a vrouw.”

Then I knew that Katrina had done as I feared, and I felt very sick and bad at the heart and stomach, the more so as the General had his little eyes fixed on me, and kept putting back the smile that would grow.

“Why did you take Katrina’s thousand pounds, Sarel? Do you not know that even in war-time men do not rob their own people?”

“General, it was years ago. She lent me a thousand pounds to buy cattle, and I have bought oxen with the money.”

The General let out a long “Oh!” and thought for some time. Then he spoke, and his manner was very different.

“You say it was long ago, Sarel, and that you have bought cattle with the money?”

“Yes, General.”

“Then why does she say you stole it?”

“Jealousy, General. She saw me in Pretoria with Charlotte, and this is her wicked way of vengeance.”

The General lay back in his chair, and laughed his funny quiet laugh that made little sound.

“Sarel, I begin to think I am getting old and foolish. Of course she was jealous; I forgot about Charlotte. Where are the cattle you bought with the money?”

“With my cousin in Natal.”

“Ah, that’s good. If they are in Natal my Burghers will get them, so I can tell Katrina that the Government has her money. That will do, Sarel,” and I went out, feeling like a man who has been pulled out of a river in flood just when he thought he must drown.

I went to the tent where the adjutant had taken Charlotte and the captain to have food. As I entered, I could see that the two had been having serious words, for Charlotte’s face was red, and there were tears in her eyes. They were quiet for some time after I entered; then the captain said very seriously—

“Sarel, I am not at all satisfied about that money. It is no business of mine how you came by it, but it is my business to know that Charlotte has nothing to do with it. She now tells me that there is money in her box, but that it is yours.”

I saw, as in a flash, that after this I would, if I were clever, have all instead of only half, or even the thousand pounds that Charlotte had cut me down to.

“Yes,” said I; “the money is mine.”

“Then how came it in Charlotte’s box?”

“Because there was no other way to carry it.”

“Then will you oblige me by taking it away? I

R don’t like her to have the risk of carrying so much money that does not belong to her.” The captain pointed to the tin box, which had been brought to the tent.

“But I have nowhere to carry it,” I objected.

“A thousand pounds does not require a waggon, or even a box of that size. Open it at once, Charlotte.”

Charlotte, who had been standing as one uncertain what to do, slowly took a purse from her bodice, produced the key, and kneeling down, opened the box. The paraffin-tin was there just as I had put it, except that the rest of the box was full of women’s clothes. Charlotte tried to lift the tin.

“He cannot take it now; it is too heavy,” said she.

The captain also tried to lift it.

“Is all this money?” he asked sternly. “There is much more than a thousand pounds.”

“There is three thousand,” said Charlotte.

The captain got up and looked gravely at me.

“Sarel,” said he, “unless you tell me the truth about this money, I shall go to the General. There is something more than either of you will tell me, and I will not be mixed up in anything shady. Is the money really yours?”

There are some men that you cannot easily lie to, and the captain was one.

“Part of it is mine,” I answered.

“And the other?”

“Mine,” said Charlotte, looking very pale and agitated.

“Yours? Where did you get so much money? Tell me truthfully all about it.”

“It is mine, given me by my uncle. Sarel knows. Don’t you, Sarel?”

I could see that Charlotte was losing the great coolness that before was always with her in time of trouble.

“Yes, captain; it is all right. It is Charlotte’s.”

“Then how came you to claim part of it?”

“Only a thousand of it is mine. I had nowhere else to carry it, so put it in the box.”

“Then that is the thousand pounds the woman claimed.”

“No, no; it is my own.”

The captain had a hard look on his face, showing me he was not believing either of us. He made no further remark, and got up as if to leave the tent.

Charlotte sprang up, and, throwing her arms round him, said, with her voice all choked with tears and emotion—

“Don’t go, Arthur. I will tell you the truth. It is all yours and mine. I got it so that we could go away together, as I know you are poor. Don’t go to the General,” and she clung to him, sobbing, and showing herself as weak and fearful as before she had been strong.

The captain sternly put Charlotte away from him, holding her at arm’s length so that he could see her face.

“Tell me all the truth, Charlotte. If this money is yours, where has it been?”

“Sarel can tell you; he helped me get it.”

“It’s all true, captain,” said I; “her uncle gave it to her.”

“Did you see him give it to her?”

“No; but it’s all right.”

Charlotte broke in, clinging to the captain and kissing him, “Arthur, it is all right; don’t ask so many questions.”

Seeing her kiss him, and call him by his Christian name,—which English girls only do when going to marry a man,—made my anger rise, and I cared not what I said, so long as the money did not go to the captain.

“Captain, I will tell all the truth. We got this money from her uncle’s farm, where it was hidden in the forage-house, while he is on commando. I am to have half of it for helping Charlotte.”

She turned to me, and in a low and bitter voice, said in the Taal—

“You miserable schelm! now you shall have none of it.” She turned to the captain. “Yes, Arthur, I took it; but it will all be mine some day. But give it to the General to keep for me.”

“That is the best thing to do, Charlotte. Then he can find your uncle, and, when I know the truth, you can perhaps take it back.”

I was too full of just wrath and disappointment to speak, for not only had this wicked girl made love to me and promised me marriage, but now that she had got her captain, she threw me away, and robbed me of the share of the money that I had hurt my conscience by helping her steal.

She was still hanging on his shoulder, sobbing, so I went out of the tent, and smoked several pipes to help me think what I had better do; for if I had lost the girl, I did not see why I should lose the money also.

As I walked and smoked, I thought out a great plan by which I might get the money to my laager. Once there, I could contrive to get hold of at least half of it.

I went back to the tent, where Charlotte and the captain still sat like lovers; but I pretended to take no notice.

“Captain,” said I, “I have thought out a plan that even you will see the righteousness of. If we leave this money with the General it will all go to the Government, and neither old Vorster nor Charlotte will ever see it again.”

Then I told a story I had invented, of how money was left with the General and never seen again.

“Vorster is in the commando next to mine, so we can take the money with us and find him, and he will say whether Charlotte’s story is true.”

Charlotte looked surprised, and inclined to say something; but she remained silent.

“Are you sure Vorster is there?” asked the captain.

“Yes, unless he is killed, and then the money would be Charlotte’s without further trouble.”

The captain made no answer, but still looked unconverted, so I drove in another nail—

“Did you not see how the adjutant looked at the box? He is the man who stole the money I told you of. He is a great schelm, and would do anything for money.”

This was not true; but I remembered that the captain had said to me when he first saw the man, “What an evil face!” and I find that it is always easy to make a man believe that he is right in his dislikes of another. So I kept on telling bad stories of General Joubert’s officials, winding up very cleverly, as if I were addressing a landdrost in a case wherein I was very anxious to get a conviction.

“The case is very simple, captain. Here is the money. Charlotte says it is hers by inheritance, and, as old Vorster has no relations but her, this may be true. We can get the only witness who can settle this question by going to him. You say, make the general the judge and leave the money here. The general has not better means of finding out the truth than you have; and what is most serious is, that he is a man who will not take any trouble, but leave the matter to his adjutant, who will do anything to keep the money for himself. If you have any interest in Charlotte, you will protect her money by doing what I advise.”

After a pause the captain said—

“There is sense in what you say, Sarel, and I agree; but remember, it is on your assurance that we shall find Vorster. If we do not, the money goes to the General.”

“That is quite right and fair, and I also agree,” I answered.

Charlotte had, during our talk, been sitting quietly twisting the loose twine on her riding-whip.

“What do you say, Charlotte?” I asked.

Then she said a clever thing—

I am content to leave it to you two, who have to take care of me. I know that Sarel is right when he says if you leave the money we shall never see it again, for these Hollanders cannot help taking what is not their own.”

Charlotte got up, and went to look at a waggon that had just arrived in the laager; and I felt that she went away so that she might not have to talk on the subject.

When she was quite out of hearing the captain came nearer to me, and, speaking very quietly but with great seriousness, said—

“Sarel, let us properly understand one another. I know that you think you are in love with Charlotte, and I am sorry for you, because she was mine long before she knew you existed. She has used you for her own purposes, and we are both, I hope, duly grateful to you for what you have done. But I know that your silly jealousy won’t let you look at things sensibly; and as jealous men generally do very foolish things for the sake of revenge, I don’t suppose you will be any different to others. But I want you to understand that I am not a bit afraid of you, and that I don’t mind going back to Pretoria. In fact, I am half sorry that I have come, for there is such a thing as paying too high a price, even for liberty. Of course I would naturally rather be among my own people than shut up in jail; and if you help me through I shall not forget you. But if you play traitor,—well, you will never forget me. Do you quite understand?”

There was so much devil in his face and manner that I could not but well understand; so I promptly told him that I would do nothing to hurt him, but everything to help him, at which he smiled in a way that reminded me of Piet Joubert, there was so much meaning in it. I offered him my hand to shake, but he did not take it. ‘

“No,” said he, “we will not shake hands till it is all over, for I’m sorry to say I don’t altogether believe you.”

This was such a bold thing to say to me, who could do so much to hurt him if I wished, that I felt there was truth in what he said about not being afraid of me or of going back to Pretoria; and I began to feel towards him as I did to Andries Brink, for men always feel when another is their master. So, although I was very angry when he refused to shake hands and said what he did, I made no sign, but answered, “You are quite right, captain,” and I secretly planned to do nothing that would make him suspect that I was determined to have my share of the money, and to show him that an Afrikander could be quite as slim as a Britisher.

Charlotte came back soon after, and stopped our further talk, for which I was not sorry. I then went to the adjutant to arrange about my return to my commando.

“You need not trouble about the captain,” said he, when I began to ask questions. “The General has told the girl what is to be done, and she has all the plans.”

“When did the General tell her?” I asked in amaze, for he had certainly not said anything of the kind to her in my presence.

The adjutant laughed.

“Don’t you know that when a woman makes up her mind to get in first she always gets there. She saw the General once before you, and once after.”