Chapter 5

That was the tale: it ended there like a broken string, for while the matter was under investigation at the hands of the feldkornet, a Kafir chief in the Magaliesberg commenced to assert himself and the commando of the district was called out to wait on him. And there the matter dropped, for during the two years that elapsed before she died the woman never uttered a word. But (and here, for me, at any rate, the wonder of the story commenced) every day and all day, come fine or rain, sun or storm, there she would sit in the drift, damning the traitor's road of escape with that smile the Burghers had shuddered at. The scene, and the unspeakable sadness of it, used to govern my dreams.

I was telling Katje the story, for she said she had never heard it, but this I since learned to have been untrue. At first the conversation had been varied even to the point of inanity, but in time it turned--as such conversations will, you know--to the wonder and beauty of the character of women in general. I think it must have been at this stage that the Vrouw Grobelaar, who had been dozing like a dog, with one ear awake, commenced to listen; and I have always thought the better of the good lady for not annihilating the situation with some ponderously arch comment, as was a habit of hers.

When my tale was finished, though, the contempt of the artist for the mere artisan moved her to complete the record.

"You are wrong when you say the truth never came to light," she said. "I know the whole story."

"But," I answered in surprise, "nothing was ever done in the matter."

"Certainly not," she said with spirit. "It was not a Kafir murder. It was a killing by Burghers, and, though God knows I utterly condemn all such doings, it cannot be denied that there was as much on the one side as on the other."

The due request was proffered.

"It is not a tale to carry abroad," observed the old lady. "It concerns some of my family. The woman was Christina van der Poel, a half sister of my second husband, and what I am now telling you is the confession of Koos van der Poel, her brother, on the day he died. I remember he was troubled with an idea that he would be buried near her, and that she would cry out on him from her grave to his."

The suggestion, as you must agree, quite justified Katje's moving closer to me.

"It was like this," resumed the Vrouw Grobelaar, after an expressionless glance at the two of us. "Christina was a wild fanciful girl, with an eye to every stranger that off- saddled at the farm, Katje; and she had barely a civil word to waste on a bashful Burgher. I can't say I ever saw much in her myself. She was a tall young woman, with a face that drew the eye, as it were; but she was restless and unquiet in her motions, and, to my mind, too thin and leggy. But men have no taste in these things; and if Christina had been of a decent turn, she might have had her pick of all the unmarried men within a day's ride, and there used to be some very good men about here.

"But, as I said, she kept them all on the far side of the fence, and for a long time their only comfort was in seeing no one else take her. Till one day a surprising thing happened.

"A tall smart man rode into the farm one afternoon and hung up his horse on the rail. He swaggered with his great clumping feet right into the house, and went from one room to another till he found the old father.

"'Are you Mynheer van der Poel?' he asked him in a loud voice, standing in the middle of the chamber with his hat on his head and his sjambok in his hand.

"'I am,' answered the other.

"'I am John Dunn,' said the stranger. 'I have a store at Bothaskraal, and I am come to ask for your daughter to wife.'

"'An Englishman?' asked the old man.

"'To be sure,' said the stranger.

"'But where have you seen the girl?' asked Mynheer van der Poel.

"'Oh, in many places,' replied the Englishman, laughing. 'We are very good friends, she and I, and have been meeting every evening for a long time. Indeed, you have to thank me for giving you a chance to consent to the wedding.'

"Now the Heer van der Poel was always a quiet man, but there was nothing weak in him.

"'I do thank you,' he said, 'for playing the part of an honest man, and no doubt the girl has been foolish. A girl is, you know; and you are big enough to have taken her eye. But there will be no marriage; Christina is to marry a Boer.'

"'So you object to an Englishman?' sneered the other.

"'Yes,' said the old man.

"'What have you against the English?'

"'In general, nothing at all. I have found them brave men and good fighters; at Potchefstroom I killed three. But,' and the old man held up his forefinger, 'I will not have one in my family.'

"'I see,' said the other. 'So you refuse me your daughter?'

"'Yes,' answered the father.

"'So be it,' returned the stranger, turning to the door. 'In that case I shall take her without your leave.' And off he went at a canter, never looking back.

"Next day Mynheer van der Poel took Christina into a kraal, and when she had confessed her meetings with the Englishman, he gave her a sound beating with a stirrup- leather, and told her that for the future she must not go alone outside of the house.

"'And either I or one of your brothers will always be at home,' concluded the old man, 'so that if this Mynheer Dunn comes, he will be shot.'

"So Christina for upwards of a month never saw her Englishman. Of course the matter was a great scandal, and her people said as little as they could about it; but, nevertheless, it got about, and the number of visitors to the farm for the next week or two was astonishing. But call as often as they pleased, the Englishman stayed away and they saw nothing of him.

"But one morning when daylight came Christina was missing. They looked about, and there was no trace of her, but in the road outside there was the spoor of a cart that had halted in passing during the night.

"'It is plain enough,' said the old man 'She is with her Englishman at Bothaskraal. Sons, get your rifles, and we will ride over.'

"But on the way they had to pass Morder Drift, and thinking only of the shame to their house, they rode altogether into the water, none looking ahead. There had been rains, and each man was compelled to give all his care to guiding his horse through the torrent, while holding his rifle aloft in one hand.

"When they were thus all in the water together they heard a shout, and the Englishman on a big horse rode down to the water's edge. He had a gun at his shoulder covering them all, and they headed their horses up-stream and halted to hear him speak.

"He was prideful and contemptuous. 'Six of you,' he cried, 'no less than six, who have come out to kill one man, and the whole lot bottled up in the middle of a ditch and waiting to be shot. The first one that moves his rifle till I give permission dies.'

"Not one of them answered, but all kept their eyes on him. Old Mynheer van der Poel had a cartridge in his rifle, and he touched his horse with the spur under water that it might fidget round towards the Englishman.

"'Well,' said the man on the bank, 'if I shot each one of you as you sit, I should be in my right, and not one could blame me. But where I come from one does not shoot even a duck sitting, and I am going to let you go. You shall have a chance to do the thing decently, so come back and fight me openly. Or,' and he laughed as he spoke, 'you can do it another way. I am leaving this cursed country shortly with Christina. See if you can get at me and kill me before then. It's a fair offer; but I warn you you'll find it a dangerous game, and there'll be blood-letting on the one side or the other.'

"He drew back his horse a little, still covering them with the rifle. 'Now,' he cried, 'drop your guns into the water, and you can go. Drop them, I say!'

"One by one the young men let their rifles fall into the stream; but the old father fumbled with his finger. Suddenly there was a shot, and the Englishman's big horse shied at the spurt of mud at his feet. Of course the old man could not shoot without aiming.

"Then the Englishman brought round his gun, and the old man, sitting on his horse, with the water streaming over his saddle, knew that a tremble of the finger would send him to God.

"'But that you are Christina's father,' said the Englishman, in a voice as clear as falling pebbles, 'I would put a bullet through your white head this minute. This time, though, you shall go alive, but by--! you shall have your ducking.'

"And dropping his muzzle, he suddenly shot the straining horse through the head, so that it fell immediately, and the old man was plunged out of sight in the rushing water.

"When he got to the bank, fifty yards down the stream, the Englishman was gone.

"They went home soberly, all busy with thoughts of their own. When they neared the home kraals the father spoke.

"'This is a business to be wiped out,' he said. 'This shame cannot rest with us. For my part, I could not pray with a clear mind and that Englishman alive.'

"They all agreed with him, though, as Koos admitted, with the death-rattle shaking him, they were all dreadfully afraid of that big swaggering man. The old man had done a fair share of fighting before, and at Potchefstroom, as he said, he had killed three rooineks, so he was ready enough for the business.

"But the young men had only been out against the Kafirs, and there is not very much in that.

"Now old Mynheer van der Poel was not such a fool as to risk his life or the lives of his sons in fighting the Englishman. The war against the rooineks had made him slim; for it is chiefly by wits and knowledge that the Boers have beaten the English. So instead of going out to be shot like a fool, he made a plan.

"You know how Bothaskraal lies. At the back of it there is nothing but the Kafir country and the thorn bush; and if you would get to the dorp, or to the road, or to the railway, you must cross the Dolf Spruit, and for miles the only crossing place is Morder Drift. So at Morder Drift they set a watch, four in the day time and three in the night, never losing sight of the drift.

"In this manner they waited a month till the evil night came. It was a night sent by the devil's own design, a gruesome, cloud-heavy, sulphurous night, and at the drift were the old man, Koos, and the lad Hendrik. Koos was on watch among the bushes; the other two crouched below the bank out of the wind. A little rain dribbled down, and of a sudden Koos whistled like a korhaan.

"The two got their rifles and went down into the water on foot, the old man up stream, the lad down, stepping carefully, for the stream was very strong and pulled at their waists dangerously. Koos walked into the road, above the water and in the shadow, and waited.

"Three horses came down the other side of the drift, and three persons on them. The one was the Englishman, the other was Christina, the third a Kafir. In the darkness of the drift they could not see the watchers, and in the swirl of the water they could not hear the click of the rifles.

"Into the water they rode, and then Koos, who had a magazine rifle, suddenly stood up and shot the Kafir. He screamed and fell into the water, and his horse turned and galloped on.

"'Keep still, Mynheer Dunn,' cried Koos. 'A movement and you are dead. Better raise your hands, I think. That is right. Now, Christina, ride out of the water on this side.'

"'Stay where you are, Christina,' said the Englishman. 'Sir,' he called to Koos, 'you have trapped me sure enough, and I ask and expect nothing. But what are you going to do to Christina?'

"'Are you Christina's husband?' asked Koos. 'Are you married to her?'

"'I am,' answered the other.

"'That is well for Christina. Otherwise she would be shot. We have little patience with wrongdoers, I can tell you.'

"'But what are you going to do with her?'

"'I? Nothing at all,' answered Koos. 'She is no longer my business. It will be for Christina's father to decide what shall be done to her.'

"'Will you promise--' began the Englishman; but Koos laughed.

"'I promise nothing,' he replied. 'In a few moments you will be dead, and past bargaining. Christina, ride on.'

"'Stay a moment,' called the Englishman again. 'I will ask you a favor, anyhow. It is not well to refuse a dying man, and perhaps in a few moments I shall have more power over you. So I beg you, spare Christina.'

"'I promise nothing at all,' answered Koos. 'I am not afraid of ghosts.'

"'I wasn't thinking of that,' said the other. 'So I have nothing to gain whether by talking or holding my tongue?'

"'Nothing at all!'

"'Very well; if that be the case, take that!' and very suddenly he snatched a pistol--one of those things which hold six bullets--from his pocket and shot Koos in the leg.

Christina screamed as her horse bounded and carried her forward out of the water. Koos did not fall, but caught it by the rein and dragged her from the saddle. He held her close, with his left arm about her and his rifle in his right hand, pistol-fashion.

"'Shoot again, rooinek,' he cried mockingly. 'You will be sure to hit one of us.' And then he fired.

"At the same moment Mynheer van der Poel, in the water up- stream, fired, and the Englishman fell on to the bow of his saddle. The horse dashed down the water, and Koos, gripping the screaming girl, heard young Hendrik shoot again.

"There was silence for a minute then, and Mynheer van der Poel climbed out of the water and called to Hendrik.

"'Have you got him?' he cried.

"'Yes,' answered the boy; 'I am holding him up, but he is still alive.'

"'Can he stand?' cried the old man.

"'No,' came the answer from the water.

"'Then drown him,' commanded the father. 'I will come down and help.'

"When he had climbed down into the water again Koos laid the girl down. She was still white; her senses had fled. Presently as he was binding his leg he heard the father say--

"'Now raise him a little, and I will shoot again to make sure'; and immediately the sound of shot burst out. At this the girl opened her eyes, and Koos, looking at her, saw with astonishment that she smiled.

"'Have you killed him, Koos?' she asked very gently.

"'Be quiet,' answered Koos.

"'But tell me,' she persisted.

"'Yes.' he replied at length.

"She closed her eyes and sighed. 'That was cruel,' she said; 'I loved him so.'

"But she sat up again as the old father and the lad dragged the body out of the water.

"'Four wounds,' panted the old man. 'Not one of us missed. That was very good, considering the darkness.' And as he flung the bleeding corpse down he turned upon Christina.

"'Here,' he cried, calling her by a dreadful word of shame. 'Here is your husband.'

"'Father,' said young Hendrik, 'there is money in his pockets. If I take it people will say this was done by Kafirs.'

"'Take it then,' said the old man, and when the boy had emptied the pockets he bade him throw the money into the stream.

"Then they mounted and rode away, but not homewards. They rode across the stream to cross it twenty miles down, that their spoor should not betray them.

"And as Koos told me, while his eyes glazed, he turned and looked back, and there he saw Christina with the Englishman's head on her lap, looking after them with a face that set him trembling."

As the old lady concluded I passed an arm round Katje.

A GOOD END

One of the most awe-inspiring traits of the Vrouw Grobelaar was her familiarity with the subject of death. She had a discriminating taste in corpses, and remembered of several old friends only the figure they cut when the life was gone from them. She was as opinionative in this regard as in all others; she had her likes and dislikes, and it is my firm belief to this day that she never rose to such heights of conversational greatness as when attending a death-bed. It is on record that more than one invalid was relieved of all desire to live after being prepared for dissolution by the Vrouw Grobelaar.

On the evening following the burial of Katrina Potgieter's baby, which died of drinking water after a surfeit of dried peaches, the old lady was in great feather. Never were her reminiscences so ghoulish and terrifying, and never did she hurl her weighty moralities over so wide a scope. Eventually she lapsed into criticism, and announced that the art of dying effectively was little practiced nowadays.

"I hate to see a person slink out of life," she said. "Give me a man or a woman that knows all clearly to the last, and gives other people an opportunity to see some little way into eternity. After all, there's nothing more in dying than changing the style of one's clothes, and even the most paltry folk have some consideration as corpses. I can't see what there is to be afraid of."

"I don't think that," observed Katje. "Even if it wasn't that I was soon to be dead and buried, the whole business seems horrible. Fancy all the people crowding round to look at you and cry, while they talked as if you were already dead. When Polly Honiball was dying, old Vrouw Meyers asked her if she could see anything yet. Ugh!"

The old lady shook her head. "That's not the way to look at it," she replied. "A good death is the sign of a good life; or anyhow, that's how people judge it. It's as well to give no room for talk afterwards, Katje. And as for the mere death, no good Christian fears that. Why, I have known a man seek death!"

"Did he kill himself?" inquired Katje.

"Kill himself! Indeed he didn't. That would be a crime, and a dreadful scandal. No, he took death by the hand in a most seemly and respectable way, and his family were always thought the better of for it.

"Yes, I'll tell you about it. It will be a lesson to you, Katje, and I hope you will think about it and take it to heart.

"The man I am talking about was Mynheer Andries van der Linden, a most godly and prosperous Burgher, whose farm was on the High Veld. All the days of his life he walked uprightly, and married twice. His sons and daughters were many, and all good, save for one sidelong skellum, Piet, his second son, who afterwards went to live among the English. He had cattle and sheep at pasture for miles, and a kerk on his land, where his nephew, the Predikant, used to preach. And by reason of his sanctity and cleverness Andries grew richer and richer till the Burghers respected him so much that they made him a commandant and a member of the Church Council.

"All prospered with him, as I was telling you, until one day it seemed as if God's hand had fallen from him. He was smitten with a disease of which not the oldest woman in the district had ever seen the like, and his own flesh became a curse to him. The very marrow in his bones bred fire to feed on his body, and he lay on his bed in the torments of hell. For weeks he writhed and screamed like a madman, tossing on his blankets and tearing at his body, or struggling and howling as his sons held him down for fear he should injure himself in his frenzy. The whole thing was very terrible and mysterious; and it was said among the farms that Andries van der Linden could not have been so good after all, or God would not thus visit him with such a scourge.

"For myself, I never believed this, and what he afterwards did will show that I had the right of it. Still, good or bad, the affliction was undeniable, for I myself heard him screaming like a beast as I drove to Nachtmaal.

"The malady lasted for months, and all herbs and pills that were given him did not an atom of good. Even the Kafirs could do nothing, though Klein Andries, the old man's eldest son and a good lad, caught a witch-doctor and sjamboked him to pieces to make him help. In short, the illness was plainly beyond mortal cure, and the old man at last came to see this.

"I should have told you that he had times of peace, when the agony forsook him, and left him limp like a wet clout. Then he would sweat and quake with terror of the pains that would return; and so pitiful was his condition that he could not even listen with a proper patience to the reading of Scripture or the singing of David's psalms. You will see from this what a terrible visitation to a God-fearing man this illness was.

"So he made up his mind. One morning early, while quietness was with him, he called for Klein Andries and bade him shut the door of the room.

"'Andries,' he said, 'I have been thinking the matter to a finish, and I am determined to have an end to this torment.'

"'Have you found any means?' began Klein Andries.

"'Listen,' said the old man. 'It is plain to me, that I shall gain no cure on earth, and I have decided to die. So I shall die at the end of a week about two hours after sunrise.'

"Andries was of course very much taken aback. 'I do not understand,' he said. 'You cannot mean to kill yourself?'

"'Of course not,' answered the old man. 'That will be your part.'

"'How do you mean?' cried Andries.

"'I shall lie here in my bed, with clean pillows and fresh sheets, and the best coverlet. Our people will all be here,--you will see to that,--and when I have spoken to them and shaken their hands, you shall bring in your rifle--'

"'That will do,' said Klein Andries. 'You need tell me no more. I will not do it.'

"'But you are my first-born,' said the father.

"'It is all the same; I will not do it.'

"'Then you can get out of my house, with your wife and your children, and go look for a stone on which to lay your heads.'

"'That is very easy,' answered Klein Andries, quite calmly. 'No doubt we shall find that stone you speak of.'

"'And I will get Piet to do it,' said the old man.

"'No,' replied Klein Andries. 'Piet shall not do it. Nobody shall do it. I will not have it done.'

"'Andries,' said the old man, 'you and I must not talk thus. I am your father, and I tell you to do me this service. Say rather, I ask it of you. It is no more than an act of kindness to a stricken man; your hand on the gun will be the hand of mercy.'

"'But I cannot do it,' cried out Klein Andries in a sort of pain.

"'You will do it,' said the old man. 'Remember you are the eldest of my sons. You will do it, Andries?'

"'No,' said Andries.

"'You will do it?'

"'No!'

"'Then, Andries,' said the old man, half raising himself as he lay, and pointing a finger at his son--'then, Andries, eldest son and dearest and all, I will curse you.'

"For a full minute the two looked each other in the eyes, and then Klein Andries let his hand fall on his knee like a man beaten and broken.

"'It shall be as you say,' he answered at last. 'I will do what you ask, but--it will spoil my life for me.'

"'Thank you, my son,' said the old man, sinking back.

"'Oh, I will do it,' said Andries. 'But I hold it a sin, a black and bloody sin, that I commit with open eyes and a full knowledge. But I will do it.'

"So the thing happened, and all that week before his death the old man suffered little. As he said himself, his last taste of life was sweet in his mouth. He thought much upon his grave and the manner of his burying, and would often talk with Klein Andries and Piet, and give them directions.

"'I will not be buried in the kraal,' he said one day. 'My sister Greta never had any love for me, and I had just as lief not disturb her. Put me on top of the hill there; I was always one for an open view.'

"From where he lay he could see through the window the place where he desired to be buried, and the grave of his cousin Cornel, dead twenty years before..

"'Put me, then, on top of the hill,' he said, 'and I shall be able to overlook Cornel. He has a head-board with a round top, so you will give me two boards, one at my head and one at my feet, both with round tops. You would not have that carrion triumph over me?'

"'It shall be done,' said Andries.