Chapter XV

One of the disadvantages of being an educated man among ignorant people is that they cannot understand one, and much sympathy is lost, and more anger created, at the inability of the ignorant to see things in a proper light. I have always been careful not to cause annoyance to others by letting them see my superiority, and only in my letters to the papers or to the Government did I make a habit of using big words. Although I wield both English and Hollands with great fluency, I only use in my ordinary converse words that are within the comprehension of lower intellects, a practice that grew upon me when public prosecutor; for it is not often that educated people get into court, unless it is Germans, who make bad witnesses, because they will talk too much, being the reverse of Scotsmen, who say too little.

As I have shown, Paul was quite unable to understand my great grief at finding my affection for Charlotte sown on barren soil. Love, in its noble and inspiring form, as practised in England and in stories and plays, has no meaning for a Boer, who looks upon it as foolishness; and Paul could know nothing of it, for he was first married at sixteen years of age, and, as he lost each wife, took others quickly, not having even the trouble of seeking them; for he was always well off with cattle, had two good farms, and stood well in the kerk, until his foolish doctrines and his jealousy of predikants caused trouble. So high did he stand as a marrying man, that all through his district he was looked upon as a safe stand-by; for, somehow, it was felt that he would frequently fall into widowership, as he did, and his next wife was fixed upon by the vrouws, who were always correct in their guessing. Thus it came that, women being much after him, he held them in light esteem; and there is a story that he once put one of his wives to help the Kafirs draw the plough as a punishment.

When the predikant rebuked him for making his wife a beast, Paul was ready with a scripture verse from Ecclesiastes, which says a man has no pre-eminence above a beast.

“That may be true of some men,” answered the predikant, “but the Bible does not say that a woman has no pre-eminence.”

This was the only time that Paul was defeated out of the Bible, and on a verse of his own choosing. And it was this that started him as a hater of predikants, except those that were young and not so good at argument as he; then he was fond of them.

But though highly educated on all that concerned the Bible and the management of kerks, both of the Dutch Reformed and the Doppers, and particularly on the history of all the predikants in the country, who were his special study, Paul was an ignorant man, and unable to understand what I meant when I tried to express my finer feelings.

As we rode away from the laager I gave a last look round at the deserted place, and a lot of sad thoughts came over me, for I could hear the voice of Charlotte singing as she did only two nights before, and I could see all the crowd of Burghers of whom I was commandant. Now the place had become as Sodom and Gomorrah, and the words of Shakespeare came to me: “Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!”

I said this out aloud to myself, remarking to Paul in what is called irony, “I have not many to see my greatness.”

“And a good job, Sarel,” answered he. ‘It is better that a man should have no one to see him when he falls into a dirty sluit, for he looks foolish while getting out.”

“But I have not fallen into a sluit,” said I, being the more angered because I secretly felt that I had.

“No? Not fallen? Not even if you have lost your commando, and got four thousand pounds in debt, and all over a missie who doesn’t want you? Nay, Sarel, it is the only ending to a man who listens to a vrouw before he is married to her; and all your trouble comes of this Rooinek way of getting a wife. A man who goes wife-finding in the new way is like a Boer who sets his heart on having a trek-ox that is dearer than he can afford. He rides over often to see it, watches it pulling in the trek-chain, talks about it to everybody, counts his money, thinks all his own span is bad because that one ox is not in it, gets unhappy, and sits all day thinking and drinking coffee; but when he has bought the ox he puts it with the span and thinks no more about it. You should have married Katrina and inspanned her early; then you would not now be hungering after a pink missie, who is no good for pulling, and this punishment would never have come.”

“But I am not punished,” said I, not that I believed what I spoke, but because I hated to think that the old man was right.

If you are not, you soon will be. What is General Joubert going to say when you go back, and Ben Viljoen?—‘They that are first shall be last;’ ‘The wicked prosper but for a moment.’ Ah, Sarel, but you do make the Bible come true; yet you never want to listen when I read all the evil that comes to the unrighteous.”

I could not answer, for, being of a very quick intelligence, I could but see that there was much truth in Paul’s sayings.

“But what must I do, Paul?” I said.:

“You have come to wisdom at last, Sarel. This is the first time you have sought advice of the only man who can give it. While you have been wasting your thoughts and your heart on a girl, I have been planning everything. The time has come, Sarel, for you to be a man and not a mouse, for you dare not go back to Slim Piet with your hands empty; you must take back something.”

“And what will that be?” I asked, in great wonder.

“Andries Brink. He is a great schelm, and no oprecht Burgher. I did not want the captain to tell me that; I knew it all the time. We will make him prisoner and take him to the head laager, and all your foolish failures will be forgiven.”

I was too astonished to speak. Paul, as usual, tried to read my thoughts, but mistook them.

“You have a chance to obey the Bible now, Sarel. You can’t visit the sins of the father upon the child, but you can punish the father for the sins of the daughter,—that’s real good Bible religion, Sarel.”

Paul spoke with such seriousness that I grew frightened, for I knew Andries better than he did, and I was not going to fight a man so strong and clever.

“Paul,” said I, “it is easy to say any man is a schelm, but you must have proof. We do not even convict a Kafir till we have heard at least part of the evidence.”

“You are yet a calf, Sarel, or you would not need me to tell you that Andries is all that the captain says he is. Has he not always had his Kafirs in our laager, spying out? I knew them. He is a traitor, and I would shoot all traitors, even if they were my own children.”

These discomforting words made my heart thump, for Paul spoke them so savagely.

“But you believed in him once, and was angry with me because I did not.”

“Sarel, again you do not understand. If you are going to catch and saddle up a fresh young colt running loose, do you go up to him shaking the bridle? No, Sarel, you may be a public prosecutor, and know how to convict a man when you have him in tronk without bail, but you do not know how to catch him

first.”

As I had never told Paul all my full knowledge of Andries, and my doubts, I was anxious to find how much he knew, so I said—

“Paul, it would be foolishness to catch Andries for a traitor if we could not prove it. What do you know against him except that he had Kafir spies in our laager?”

“I know that no man can serve two masters, and that is what he is doing. I know, also, that he has a Kafir running for him who was running for Scotty Smith, the great horse-thief, years ago, and I judge a driver by the cattle he chooses to inspan.”

“How long have you known all this, Paul?”

“Ach, Sarel, when a young kerel sets his eyes on a girl he thinks everybody else is looking the same way. What do you think I was doing while you were being fooled, but trying to find why she was fooling you. You forget that I have been in the veld seventy years; and though my eyes are not as good as they were from the print of my Bible getting worn, yet I never see a spoor without wanting to know what animal made it.”

“And do you know the animal you are after?”

“Ja, Sarel; he is a big biting chameleon, and I am going to mark the place where he sits and change his colour to red.”

This talk was so bold and unlike Paul’s usual discourse, which was always for peace, except when he was reading of smiting the Amalekites hip and thigh, that I began to feel sorry that I had agreed to come; for if he acted as he talked there would be trouble, as I feared that Paul would be no match for a slim kerel like Andries, and secretly hoped he might not be. Still, I was in the dark as to how he was going to work, so I said—

“Paul, if Andries be all you think, he should be finished; but how will you finish him?”

“When you go out to shoot a buck or a baboon, can you say where you will finish him? You must first put him up, then shoot as near the heart as you know how. We have first to find our baboon.”

“But we are only two,” said I.

“And he is only one.”

“Ja; but he has the eyes, ears, and scent for danger of a herd of buck and a troop of baboons.”

“Then must we stalk him with more care,” answered the old man; and as we rode he unfolded to me the plans which he had worked out in the quiet days and nights when the commando had left the laager.

We were to go to Andries’ place, and, by certain cunning ways that Paul had planned but did not then tell me, we were to get him to come alone with us to my old laager. Then, when he was so far away that there was no fear of any of his Kafirs helping, we were to say “Hands up!” and take him prisoner to General Joubert.

This, in a few words, was Paul’s plan, but he not being like me, clever, and trained to seeing the weak places in a case, was not prepared for my searching questions.

“Paul,” said I, speaking as if addressing my old landdrost father-in-law when he was extra hard to convince, “let us suppose, for the sake of argument, that Andries comes away as easily as you seem to think, and that we get him to the head laager. Are you satisfied that Piet Joubert will be as convinced that Andries is a spy as you are? for, you know, he is very hard to convince.”

“Ja, Sarel; you may well say that after that whisky business of yours.”

I passed this over without reply, for I knew that when Paul said spiteful things like this it was because my arguments were too much for him.

“Further,” I went on, “how do you not know that all the signs that look so suspicious to you are not part of the cleverness of Andries, and used to deceive the British, for if he has deceived you, how much more easily will he deceive the stupid British?”

This pleased the old man, for he answered—

“It may be so, Sarel; but, as you say, I am hard to deceive, and though he might throw dust into the eyes of the khakis, he could not do it with me.”

I used many more good arguments, which Paul could only answer by saying, “You do not know all that I know;” but he would not unfold all his plans to me, and though I had the best of the argument all through, I gave way, and consented to go on, on the agreement that we were not to attempt to arrest Andries unless we were both quite satisfied that the evidence was strong against him. All the time a secret feeling told me that Paul’s plan would come to nought, as I hoped it would, for my heart was with the British and my money with Andries.

“So the only two oxen in the herd that have escaped the rinderpest have come to my kraal,” was the remark with which Andries Brink met us when Paul and I rode up.

“Nay, Andries,” answered Paul, as he dismounted and stood looking at Andries without offering to shake hands; “it was not rinderpest, but a scourging wind that drove them away. Evil-doers cannot face the scourging wind of righteousness,” and he looked at Andries in a meaning way that that slim kerel could not but notice.

“Don’t do any blowing here, Paul,” said Andries, pretending to laugh. ‘I have had one big blow already. What have you come for?”

I did not want to tell Andries the bad news all at once, but let him have it gently; but the fear that Paul would say something foolish before we were ready caused me to make haste, and, without waiting to eat what he had on the table for us, having seen us half an hour away, I signed to him to follow me to the bedroom, which he did, Andries being ever quick at seeing signs that were meant for him.;

“I have a letter for you, and I fear it is a scourging wind,” I said, handing him Charlotte’s letter.;

I filled my pipe while he read it, and watched his face. To my surprise he only smiled,—a real, natural smile, and not such as men put on to make it seem that they are not angry or upset.

“Clever girl, Charlotte,’ said he. “Sarel, there was a lot of money put into that girl’s education, but it was a good investment.”

Paul came into the room just then. Andries looked at him as if to say “Go away,” but the old man was not good at taking hints, and sat down. So Andries changed the subject by asking if we had seen the khakis going over the ridge. We had not, but Paul said he had, for he would always rather lie than take a reflection on his dulness.

“I say they are Boers in khaki,” said Andries. ‘Go to the ridge opposite and tell me what you think, Paul,” and the old man, all unsuspecting, went out to look for what was not to be seen.

“What was the message she gave you?” Andries asked, when Paul was gone.

I was surprised, for I had none, and told him so.

“But, Sarel, this letter is written as a blind to the khaki captain. She is pretending to run away with him, that she may get among the British and be even more useful to me. Surely she told you as much in private?”

Then I saw that Andries did not realise how great a blow had fallen upon him.

“Nay, Andries,” said I, “it is no blind, but all truth; she has gone away for ever with the khaki, and they will be married.”

“You are a fool, Sarel!” said he with real anger. “Are you also blinded by the slimness of a girl?”

I was,” said I sadly, “but my eyes are now open,” and I began to tell Andries the whole story of the part I had taken with Charlotte, from the going to my laager and the interview with General Joubert to the journey to Pretoria, with all that happened there.

Andries listened with great interest, laughing much when I described the sjamboking of young Van der Merwe and the terror Charlotte made in the laager. He also laughed when I boldly, and, like a man, told him that I loved Charlotte. I have found that men are ever different to women in this matter; for while you have but to tell a woman you are in love with another to make her friendly and serious, a man always laughs and turns it to fun, as if it was a foolish thing to love anybody.

“Ah, Sarel,’” said Andries, “that is Charlotte’s cleverness. She makes all the men love her, so that she may use them as she did you. I shall soon have the khaki captain coming to tell me how badly she has treated him.”

The only part of the story that made Andries really serious was that about our taking the money from old Vorster’s farm. Immediately he began to interrupt, which he had not done during my talk, and asked many questions. When I told how the money had been taken in the end by Paul’s pious Burghers, I could see that he was of Paul’s way of thinking, that Charlotte and the captain had gone off with it.

“Sarel,” said he, ‘you do not know men and women, leastways not my daughter. She has Hollander blood in her, and is not likely to go leaving four thousand sovereigns in the veld when she could have them for the taking.”

I was thinking whether I dare show Andries the letter of the captain, wherein he gave good reasons for not taking the money, when Paul came in at the door.

“So you are no Afrikander, Andries, but a Hollander by marriage. I could see it all the time; and you have a daughter who is not your daughter, but you use her for wickedness.”

“Go slowly, Paul; go slowly,” said Andries, looking as if he had great work to keep down his anger. “How long have Afrikanders not been allowed to marry the widows of Hollanders?”

“Who was she, and where did she live?” demanded Paul, in his blunt rough way. ’

“Not behind the kraal wall,” answered Andries, making the reply that Afrikanders often make to people who are rude and curious.

I could see that the old man was going to make trouble by his foolish questions, for he in his ignorance did not know that the great cleverness in cross-questioning is to keep the person questioned ignorant that he is being made to commit himself,—an art in which I excelled, as many a witness who thought himself slim could prove with sorrow.

While I was contriving to turn the subject away cleverly, Andries spoke—

“As you are so deep in the secrets of Piet Joubert, Paul, I wonder he did not tell you all about me. Perhaps he was afraid of your slippery tongue.”

Instead of answering wrathfully as I expected, Paul said very quietly—

“Even Piet Joubert cannot tell what he does not know; and he doesn’t know you.”

“He seems to know my daughter. Do you think Piet is going to tell his business to every old Taakhaar?”

Now, although Paul had once been a Taakhaar Boer and a Dopper, he had long ceased to be one, cutting his hair twice a-year so that he might not be thought one.

“Who do you call a Taakhaar?” he asked, in great wrath.

Andries got up and went to the cupboard, taking out a bottle of whisky.

“Now, Paul, we’ll soon prove it. If I am a Hollander I should keep and offer you gin and not whisky, and if you are no Taakhaar you will drink whisky with me,” and Andries poured out three big coffee-cups of whisky.

I could see that Paul was at first for not drinking, and I would rather have had none, particularly as we had had no food yet, and whisky is not good for men whose stomachs are empty; but I would much rather suffer through drinking than have Paul and Andries quarrelling; so I sacrificed my better judgment, and, taking up a cup, looked towards Paul and said,

“Health.”

Paul still hesitated, till Andries said—

“Ah, so you are a Taakhaar after all,” on which Paul snatched up his cup and emptied it.

“That’s right; but let’s make sure,” said Andries, pouring out more.

Paul did not hesitate this time, but drank thoroughly, and by the time we had all eaten, his tongue was running freely, and he spoke so friendly that no one would have guessed he had evil thoughts towards Andries.

Now there is a thing that many otherwise good and sensible people, and especially women, do not understand when they reproach men for drinking too much. ‘If you know that two or three glasses are enough to make you merry,” say they, “why do you not then stop?’? Such people do not understand that when a man feels the better for two or three soupies, he sees things very differently, and thinks that he can drink yet more; and he generally does. This was the case with Paul; for, when I saw how fast and loosely he was talking and drinking, I tried to stop him, but he only replied that he was no calf, and could drink as hard as any Hollander.

Then he asked Andries all about his family, where his farm was, how many cattle, and all those questions which old Boers ask of strangers without offence, though Englishmen always get angry when so questioned. Andries gave answers which I could see were not always consistent, and were made to put Paul off and confuse him, for Andries was quick and sharp with his tongue, but said rude and cutting things with a laugh that made a slow-thinking man uncertain whether it was meant to be rude or only a joke. And so it was with many of his answers. Secretly I was pleased that Paul was showing his true feelings, for it would prevent my having to warn Andries as I had intended; for, as I have said, my heart was with the British, and I was more than ever anxious to get my money from Andries, and his help to join the British, for I had quite resolved not to go back to the Boer commando. I had thought I might persuade Paul to my way of thinking; but I now saw that, in his ignorance, he was prejudiced in favour of his own people. This was shown by his remarks as the evening went on, and more whisky was drunk by him. His questions got ruder and more pointed, and several times I thought Andries would get so angry that he would show it; but he did not, only laughed and joked with Paul, and pretended to agree with or to misunderstand his questions.

I regret very much that my tiredness, and the heat of the evening, made me very sleepy, so that I do not recall very clearly all that was said. But I do remember that just as I was dozing away, with my head on the table, not wishing to show rudeness by going away to sleep, Paul was saying very hard and bold things of Andries, who, instead of showing anger, only nodded his head and smiled. So, seeing that they were friendly, I, with a good conscience, gave way to sleep.