Chapter 6

Theron's corps now came through from the Transvaal and joined De Wet. Theron, dissatisfied with his treatment by the Transvaal Government, was here received with open arms. His hundred and fifty young fellows were as keen as ever; it did one's eyes good to see one corps at least where discipline was not despised. Theron was a slightly built young lawyer, with an expression of the deepest sadness, due to the premature decease of his _fiancée_. He took care of his men, fed and horsed them well, led them into hot corners and saw them safely out again. Terrible indeed must be the engagement when one of Theron's men is abandoned by his comrades. "No cowards need apply" was the motto of the band, held together by an _esprit de corps_ without equal; and no cowards did. When the corps passed Frankfort Theron commandeered a horse from an alleged British subject. The latter threatened to appeal to the Government, and came into town for the purpose, vowing vengeance on Theron's devoted head.

"I enjoy myself," said Theron to me, "when they threaten me. It is when they come to me with soft words that I cannot resist."

As a matter of fact, the Government sustained Theron's action, and the owner of the animal was obliged to ask Theron to take two others for it. This he agreed to do, and thus ended the only instance of which I know in which the Free State Government allowed anything to be commandeered from a British subject.

The capture of the Yeomanry took place about this time. There have been several attempts to explain this affair. It was said in our laagers at the time that Colonel Sprague, immediately after his surrender, remarked to our commandant that he would shoot the Lindley telegraphist if he could get hold of him, because the latter had tampered with his message asking for reinforcements. This was quite possible, for at this time _most of the British telegrams passed through our hands before reaching their destination_. If I might venture to express an opinion, formed at the time, I should say that General Colville was absolutely free from any blame in connection with the capture of the Yeomanry--an incident to which we attached very little importance, being interested merely in the military qualities of our opponents, and in their social rank not at all.

When Rundle's force was at Senekal and Brabant's Horse at Harmonia every one of their telegrams was read by a telegraphist attached to one of the commandoes lying in the vicinity. Several of these messages were in cipher, it is true, but many of them were not. It was largely owing to information thus obtained that the British sustained a rather severe check when they advanced against our positions near Senekal. One would think the enemy would have taken strict precautions against their plans leaking out in this manner, but I presume we were considered rather too dense for that kind of thing.

The affair of Roodewal decided Roberts to send back a strong column to keep us off his flanks. It was only infantry, and we got quite tired of waiting for it to reach us. It reached Villiersdorp eventually, and we fell back from Frankfort towards Bethlehem--the new headquarters. It was with heavy hearts that we said good-bye to our kind friends in Frankfort, for well we knew by this time what the passage of a British column meant for the defenceless non-combatants--houses broken down and burnt, children and greybeards torn from their families, and all the other useless and unnecessary cruelties that have broken so many lives, converted so many joyous homesteads into tombstones of black despair, and imprinted into the very souls of many Afrikanders an ineradicable loathing and hatred of everything British. As Boadicea felt towards the Roman, so feels many a Boer matron to-day against the Briton, and when Britons shall have followed Romans into the history of the past, the Afrikander race shall write an epitaph upon their cenotaph. Ambition! By that sin fell the angels, and by that sin fall the Angles. But oh, the pity of it! For of all the nations that in turn have risen and waxed great upon the surface of the globe, there are none for whose ideals the Boers feel more sympathy than for those of the British. It is the paralysing difference between the ideal and the real that is creating the gulf which threatens our eternal separation.

OFF TO THE TRANSVAAL

When we reached Reitz, on our way to Bethlehem, another young Transvaaler and myself obtained permission to try and reach the Transvaal. The enemy's columns were traversing the intervening country in all directions, but we determined that the attempt was worth making. Bidding good-bye to our Free State colleagues, we left the little village that was later to become famous as the scene of the capture of the Free State Government, and retraced our way to Frankfort. The send-off given us took the form of a little reunion in the parlour of the modest hotel. Here there were gathered together some dozen young Free Staters, and an impromptu smoking concert was held. Everyone present was compelled to give a song or recite something. The first on the programme was Byron's "When we two parted," which was sung with fine effect by a blushing young burgher. Next came the old camp favourite, "The Spanish Cavalier." The sentimental recollections induced by these two songs were speedily dissipated by a rattling comic song in Dutch, "_Op haar hot oog zit'n fratje_" A few recitations followed. One of the reciters had just enunciated the lines--

"Within the circle of your incantation No blight nor mildew falls, No fierce unrest, nor lust, nor lost ambition, Passes those airy walls"--

when a mocking voice came floating in at the window--

"Are you referring to Downing Street?" It was a captured British officer, who, roaming about the village, had been attracted by our revelry. He was evidently no follower of the expand-or-burst policy of the British Cabinet.

This appropriate interpellation put an end to the proceedings. We set off, unarmed, as we had sent our Mausers back to the Transvaal some time before, and mounted on a pair of nags that were plainly unfit to make the journey. Long before we reached Frankfort, in fact, my companion's horse gave in. We rode to a farmer's house near the road to try and find another mount. A boy of thirteen was the only male person on the farm. Yes, he had a pony. Would he exchange it for ours, and take something to boot? No fear, what he wanted was cash. How much? Thirteen pounds. But thirteen is an unlucky number; better take twelve. In that case, he would prefer to take fourteen. The pony was worth the price, the cash changed hands, and we continued our journey. Some miles from Frankfort we met two Boers, who told us that they had also meant to return to the Transvaal, but had heard that the enemy were so close to Frankfort that they had decided to turn back. We determined to continue, however, and shortly after dark we cautiously entered the village. The enemy had not yet arrived, but were expected early the next morning. We consulted one of our friends in the village, who advised us to try and cross the railway near Standerton. We decided to follow his advice, and left early the next morning. A few miles out of town we observed several horsemen to our left. Fearing these were British, we swerved to the right, cutting across country. Keeping a good look-out, we continued our way till evening, when we were overtaken by a farmer driving a cart. He was lame and had never been on commando, but on the approach of the British columns had left his home to their mercy. He conducted us to the modest cottage of his brother-in-law, where we found a bed for ourselves and stabling for our horses. Before sunrise the next morning we were again on our way. Through the thick mist we saw several horsemen approach a house standing solitary in the veld. They dismounted and entered the dwelling. Anxious to know whether these were friends or foes, we rode thither. Making as little noise as possible, we managed to gain the spot unobserved, and found that they were Boers. They gave us each a cup of steaming coffee, black and bitter, but none the less acceptable, directed us on our way, and wished us good luck. Towards noon we reached a hamlet named Cornelia, where we introduced ourselves to the leading inhabitant, with whom we lunched. Here my horse refused to feed, showing strong symptoms of _papies_. There was no help for it, however; he had to carry me, sick or well. Some miles further we reached the house of an English farmer. He had the consideration to conceal his satisfaction at the approach of his countrymen and the kindness to doctor my horse for me. The poor animal was in such a pitiable state that it could hardly stand. After swallowing a dose of strychnine, however, it improved wonderfully, and we were enabled to continue, but naturally at a very slow pace. That evening we slept at a farmer's house near the Vaal River. Here we heard that there was a Boer commando lying near Greylingstad, and thither we directed our way. As we rode through the Vaal the next morning we felt a genuine thrill of joy at setting our feet once more upon our own soil. That afternoon Greylingstad came in sight, but what a bitter disappointment! Instead of finding our own commandoes here, we found the place occupied by a large British force. We reined in on the veld, gazed at the British camp, and then at each other. To our left lay Heidelberg, to our right Standerton, both held by the enemy, and in front of us stood the tents of a British column at least five thousand strong!

Whilst we were still discussing the situation a Bushman mounted on a scraggy pony and seated on a sheepskin saddle came riding along. We hailed him and asked him where he was off to. He told us he belonged to a party of half a dozen Boers, who, hidden just over the hill, had sent him to see what we were. We ordered him to lead us thither. When we approached the spot it was to find the men all on their feet, rifles loaded and cocked, ready to lay us low should we prove to be Englishmen. We lost no time in dissipating their fears. They explained that they belonged to the commando which had been lying here, and which only the day before had retired on the approach of the enemy. They themselves, having been on a visit to their farms near by, had got left behind. I at once suspected that they meant to lay down their arms, but it would never have done to say so, so I contented myself with demanding their advice as to the best way of rejoining the aforesaid commando. They were not very anxious to rejoin it themselves, and consequently represented the matter as being extremely difficult. At length they showed us a farm near the British camp, and recommended our going thither, as the people there would be able to give us all possible help. We reached the farm just after sunset to the accompaniment of barking dogs and hissing geese. The door was opened by a feeble old man, who, with his equally aged wife, were apparently the only occupants of the place. As soon as it was evident that we were friends, however, two strapping sons made their appearance from a kopje behind the house, where the clatter of our horses' hoofs had caused them to take refuge. They informed us that they had followed the enemy's movements throughout the day, and that the line was so well guarded that our getting through was extremely unlikely. But we could sleep there that night, and the next morning we could see what was to be done.

During the evening the old father recounted, with much humour, his experience of Theron's merry band. How they had come there in the middle of the night, knocked him up, stabled their horses in his yard, asked for bread, _brod_, _brood_; eggs, _eiers_, _ejers_, in all the dialects under the sun, how they had actually plucked the oranges from his trees, until he was forced to ask Theron to station a guard in the orchard! But the next morning they had paid for everything, and ridden away, singing and shouting.

Nothing in the old gentleman's manner to show that the enemy were camped only four miles away, although he knew very well that they would visit him the next day, and probably deprive him sooner or later of all he possessed. Only down the face of his white-haired wife rolled silent tears as she gazed at the bearded faces of her stalwart sons and thought of the long farewell that they would bid her on the morrow!

When we rose the next morning we lost no time in making for the high, boulder-strewn kopje behind the house. Here we found the farmer's sons, armed, their horses at hand, gazing through a large telescope at the British camp, which could be plainly distinguished with the naked eye.

Presently a small party of scouts left the camp and came in our direction, riding slowly, and eyeing every little rise or depression in the ground with the utmost distrust. They reached a farmhouse lying between their camp and ourselves, and after a while we saw a cart leave the farm and drive towards the camp. Another Boer laying down his arms, beguiled by Buller's blarney! Then the scouts came nearer and nearer. When within a thousand yards or so they encountered a troop of mares grazing on the veld. Round and round these they rode, plainly intending to annex any that might suit them. My friends were strongly tempted to fire on these cattle thieves. Only the thought of their aged parents restrained them, for they well knew the result would be the burning down of their home.

It was plain that the scouts were making for this farm. We hurried down to the house, saddled our horses--mine still suffering and hardly able to go at a trot, and went to say good-bye to our hosts.

"Yes, my children," said the old lady, "it is better to go, for should the British find you here they would only treat us the worse for it. And we have sorrow enough, God knows. Come and see my son, my sick and suffering son, who perhaps will never rise from his bed again!"

She conducted us into a bed-chamber, where, pallid and worn, his wife seated by his side, lay the wreck of a once splendid specimen of manhood, now, alas! in the last stage of some wasting disease--the result of privations endured on commando. All that we could do was to speak a few weak but well-meant words of comfort to the afflicted family, and then leave them to their fate.

The sons promised to follow us later, as they wished to remain in the neighbourhood to see what became of their home. My friend and myself rode to another farm in the neighbourhood, undecided as yet whether to make the attempt to get through the enemy's lines or to turn back; crossing Roberts' lines of communication in the Free State was easy enough, but here we had Buller to deal with. Upon reaching this farm we found the occupants greatly excited. A Hottentot had just arrived from a farm already visited by the enemy, bearing Buller's proclamation, printed in Dutch and English, and promising protection, compensation, and I know not what all, to those who came in and surrendered. The entire household and several armed Boers from the vicinity gathered round the farmer. No one dared to read the proclamation aloud. It was handed from one to the other, shamefacedly, as if there were something vile in the very touch of the document.

I anxiously watched the varying expression of their features, as interest struggled with patriotism. Wearied of strife and fearful of losing the result of years of hard work, the assembled men felt a strong inclination to accept the enemy's offer. But no one dared give utterance to his feelings. Eye met eye, and glanced away. It was easy to see what the result would be. It was plainly my duty to protest, but what could I do, a stranger, a mere youth? What could I say to these men, who had already given proof of their devotion on many a bloody field, and who only recoiled now when brought face to face with the supreme test--the sacrifice of their hearths and homes? I ventured to point out, however, that those who had already surrendered now bitterly regretted it, and added that the very nature of the case made it impossible for the British to carry out their promises. They listened in silence. My words may have had some slight effect; in any case, the Hottentot was sent back without a definite reply. It was useless to expect any aid from these men. Leaving them to decide their own fate, we started back for the Free State.

ARRESTED AS SPIES

A couple of hours' riding, then the farm of an old field-cornet, where we off-saddled and bought a few bundles of forage for our horses. The field-cornet entered into conversation with us whilst our animals were feeding, but omitted to ask us into the house, and kept eyeing us in a puzzled manner, as though we had dropped from Mars. I know not what my companion thought of it, or if he thought at all, but I myself put the old man's strange manner down to a sort of speechless admiration, and accepted it as such. But I was mistaken.

When our friend shook hands with us he did so very limply, and as far as we went he could be seen gazing after us.

"What ails him?" I asked my comrade.

"Oh, he doesn't see men like ourselves every day," was the careless answer. How could I argue?

We kept on our way, and towards sundown reached a farm on the bank of the Vaal, simultaneously with another young fellow coming from the direction of the railway line.

It turned out that this farm belonged to his father. He himself had left home that morning with the intention of crossing the railway, but had found the line so well patrolled that he had given up the attempt. We stabled our horses and entered the small but comfortably furnished cottage, where we were presented to the other members of the family. After supper came the usual evening service. This was hardly over when we heard a loud knocking at the front door. The door was opened, and the strange-mannered old field-cornet entered.

He greeted us solemnly and sat down. Next came a thundering rap at the back door, and another Boer entered, a tall, powerful fellow, who was foaming at the mouth with suppressed excitement, and bristling with cartridge belts.

"My nephews," said the first-comer to us, "you must not take it amiss, but it is my duty to arrest you!"

"What for, uncle?"

"For being suspected of spying. You must either accompany me back to my farm, or let me take your horses there, so as to prevent your leaving here during the night."

"All right, uncle, take the horses, but don't forget to feed them well. But perhaps it would spare you trouble if you read our papers."

"It is easy to forge papers," said the old man. His companion now boiled over and broke in--

"No, no! We've got you right enough! What else can you be but cursed spies, riding about the country like this?"

"I don't wish to argue with you," I replied, angered by his brutal manner. "I'm as true a burgher as you are, to say the least, and I warn you that I shall hold you responsible for what you do or say."

"Oh! oh! Responsible? We are our own Government now. And where are your arms? Spies!"

"I see you have a gun, but perhaps that is only because you've had no chance to lay it down."

"What! Yes, I've got a gun, and I'll prove it to you!" he shouted, pointing the weapon at me.

"Just like a cowardly bully to threaten an unarmed man! But," I added gently, "you'll feel differently to-morrow."

"Will I? Why?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of his rage.

"You'll be sober then." This only incensed him the more, but he saw that he had gone too far, and contented himself with uttering a few half-intelligible threats. We then went out to the stable, gave them our horses, and went to bed.

I woke just as dawn was breaking. Before the door stood the son of the house, his gun in his hand.

"Hello, you are up early," I said. He looked rather confused.

"To tell the truth, I have been guarding you all night. But all the same, I don't believe that you are spies. Come and have some coffee."

We had just finished our coffee when we heard horses' hoofs coming along the road, and presently one of our friends from the farm near Greylingstad entered the room.

"I've brought your horses," he said, smiling merrily. "I passed the old field-cornet's this morning and told him I could certify that you are no spies."

Whilst we were saddling up the field-cornet and his companion of the night before arrived. The latter was now sober. They were profuse in apologies.

"You were angry last night because we had no rifles; you had more reason to be glad," I remarked to the field-cornet's assistant.

"Why?"

"Because if I had been armed I might have been imprudent enough to blow your brains out when you pointed your gun at me. And how awful that would have been!"

"Man," he said, "it's the cursed drink."

"Well," said I, "it's all over now. Good-bye!" Off we went--my comrade, myself, and the man who had brought our horses, Delange. The latter had an _achter ryder_ and two spare horses. Towards noon we reached the farm of one of Delange's friends. My mount was now thoroughly done up, having eaten almost nothing for three days. I asked the farmer if he had a horse for sale.

"There are several in the stable," he replied, "but they belong to my son, and he is on commando; so I am sorry, but I can't sell you one."

"I tell you what we'll do," said Delange. "I'll give you one of mine for yours, which can then remain here till it gets well. Should you come round here again one day we can then change back again."

"But suppose the animal dies?"

"Oh, I'll risk that. What is one horse more or less?"

I gratefully accepted this generous offer, and soon had my new acquisition saddled. It was a lively little nag, and all my weariness passed away as I felt it bound between my knees. Delange remained here, and my comrade and I continued our journey alone, making for Vrede.

"There's a Jew a few miles from here," said the farmer as he bade us good luck, "whom we suspect of treason. You should try and trap him and take him with you to Vrede."

Towards dusk we reached the Jew's store. We rode up to the building and he came to the door, an intelligent-looking man.

"Good evening," I said in English, "are there any Boers about?" We were both dressed after the English style.

When the man's wife heard English spoken she also came to the door and stood by her husband's side.

"Well, can't you answer?" The fellow's face was a study. He and his wife looked at each other, evidently feeling that some danger was threatening them.

"Sir," he said at last, speaking with an effort, "I have seen no Boers."

"Is this the road to Vrede?"

"Yes," he faltered.

"Thanks. Good-night," and we rode away. It might be easy to shoot a traitor in cold blood, but to try and trap a man into uttering his own condemnation seemed too cruel.

The next place we came to was a miserable-looking hovel standing by the wayside. The door was opened by an old man.

"Good evening, uncle. Can you sell us a few bundles of forage?"

"Good evening. Yes, certainly. Come inside. It's a poor dwelling, but you are welcome. Johnny, take the horses and put them in the stable. Won't you join us at supper?"

Our appetites needed no stimulating, and we at once joined the family, who had just been sitting down to table when we arrived. After the meal our horses were saddled and brought to the door.

"What do we owe you for the forage?" we asked. It would be an insult under any circumstance to offer to pay a Boer for a meal, "paying guests" being still unknown to our benighted nation.

"No, my friends," he said. "I am poor, but I can't take your money. We are all working for our country, and must help each other."

"That's true, but you must really allow us to pay."