With Steyn and De Wet Part 13

"It's this confounded Kafir of mine. Was it you, Jantje?"

"Yes, baas," responded the dutiful black, bobbing up and down on his master's spare horse.

"Give him twenty with the sjambok."

"Right!" Jantje and his master turned out of the road, and soon the unmistakable thwack! thwack! of the sjambok could be heard, mingled with subdued e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns in Kafir and Dutch. But judging by the expression on Jantje's features by the camp fire that night, as he blew long fragrant clouds into the gaping nostrils of his envious friends, I have my doubts about that thras.h.i.+ng.

We halted frequently to allow the straggling ox-waggons to close up.

Then we would dismount, stamp our chilly feet, draw our overcoats or blankets closer, and discuss trivialities. During one of these halts a horseman came das.h.i.+ng up from the rear--

"General, there's a doctor behind who has just come through the enemy's lines. He asks you to wait for him."

"Tell him to hurry!"

We sat down and waited. In about half an hour's time another horseman came hurrying along. Here at last! No. Only another messenger. Another long wait, and finally the doctor arrived. He squatted down next to De Wet, and in a low voice related how he had been unjustly captured by the British some weeks ago, how they had sent him to Johannesburg and kept him in prison until now, only liberating him after repeated requests for a hearing. His tale was listened to in silence and with deep attention. When it was told the order was given to mount, and on we trekked again past the sleeping British camp. Presently the moon rose, and by its light we pa.s.sed a lonely farmhouse. Beware its slumbering inmates when the British come along to-morrow, for are not they responsible for the telegraph line which runs across the farm, and which we have cut in half a dozen places! No doubt the house will be burnt, and all the stock confiscated. But never mind, the owner has surrendered and is living under British protection--protection whereof he is going to get a taste now, so why should we pity him? On we go until long past midnight, when we halt in a secluded little valley. Our horses greedily swallow the icy water, and then eagerly crop the tasteless dry gra.s.s, for our waggons are too far behind, we can give them no mealies to-night.

The next morning a cloud of dust in our rear showed that we were being pursued. Whilst we were hastily inspanning and upsaddling, Theron came in from the right, bringing with him a captured Hussar. One old Boer, who had his little boy with him, brought the youngster up to the soldier and said--

"Now, sonny, you've never seen an Englishman. Here is one. Look at him well; you must shoot lots of them yet."

"Go away," said one of the Boers, "what do you mean by staring at the man like that? Don't you know any better than to insult a helpless prisoner?"

"I'm sorry," said the old man, turning away, "I don't want to hurt his feelings; I only wanted to show my son the game he must track one day."

The little boy cried when they led him away, saying--

"I 'ants my 'ickle khaki, I 'ants my tame Englishman!"

"Don't cry," said the old man, "father will catch you some to-morrow."

The little fellow's eyes brightened with antic.i.p.ation, and his tears gave way to smiles. Sure enough his father came into camp a few days later driving before him two diminutive steeds bending beneath the weight of two corpulent khakis. He called his son and said--

"Now, sonny, here are the soldiers I promised you."

The little fellow looked them over carefully. Then his lower lip began to pout, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

"What's the matter, my son," asked the astonished father, "doesn't he like his khakis?"

"No, daddy," replied the little chap, striving with his tears.

"Why not, my lad?"

Then the child's restraint gave way, and he burst out--

"Oh, daddy, they're not--_sob_--real--_sob_--soldiers at all!"

They were two of the C.I.V.

But to return. As soon as the waggons were ready they were sent on along the winding valley, whilst the hors.e.m.e.n and artillery took up a position on a neighbouring hill and awaited the British attack. This took the form of continuous sh.e.l.ling until sundown. As soon as darkness fell the hors.e.m.e.n took a short cut and rejoined the waggons, which in the meantime had gained a considerable start. President Steyn and his secretary accompanied De Wet during the day and had a taste of the enemy's sh.e.l.l-fire. When we asked the secretary that evening how he had liked the ordeal he said he could hardly describe his feelings whilst it lasted, but when the sh.e.l.ling ceased it was the heavenliest sensation of his life. So if you want a heavenly sensation you know now how to get it.

We had an ambulance staff with us, but were sometimes obliged to leave our wounded behind, because we knew very well the enemy would be only too glad to get hold of our doctors and deprive us of all medical help.

On crossing the railway near Honingspruit we captured a train. From the newspapers taken out of the mail-bags we learnt that we were being closely pressed, and that hopes were entertained of our speedy capture.

We did not grudge the papers the pleasures of hope; what we objected to was their crocodile tears over us poor misguided, ignorant burghers, who were too stupid to see the beauty of becoming exultant British subjects, like the Irish. We also learnt that Steyn was ill, that he was hiding on a farm near Heilbron, that he was a prisoner in De Wet's camp, that his mind had given way, that he wouldn't let De Wet surrender, that De Wet wouldn't let the burghers surrender, that the burghers wouldn't let Steyn surrender, _ad fin. ad nauseam_.

As we had a distinct object in view, _i.e._ to bring Steyn to Kruger, we generally preferred to avoid unnecessary engagements. But we could show our teeth when we liked. We were laagered near Vredefort one day when the pursuers made a sudden dash forward, coming within a mile or so before they were observed. On this occasion there was no hasty flight.

The cattle continued peacefully grazing around the waggons, whilst the hors.e.m.e.n went to meet the enemy. There was a brief exchange of sh.e.l.ls, and then our men charged with such good effect that the British were forced to retire. They followed us at a more respectful distance after that.

De Wet kept his plans so secret that very few knew for certain whither we were bound. The President called me into his tent one morning and asked me a few questions about the roads near Balmoral, where the Transvaal Government was at that time. I happened to have a map with me, and so was able to supply the desired information. He then told me to take a couple of heliographists and try to get into communication with one of the Transvaal commandoes near Potchefstroom.

We climbed one of the numerous hills lying around and called up towards Potchefstroom, but got no reply. As we sat chatting, keeping our eyes fixed on the dark ridges in the distance, one of my companions remarked--

"This reminds me of a fine trick I played on the English a few months ago. We were trekking along quietly one day when I observed a heliograph glitter on a hill about ten miles away. I at once fixed my instrument, and soon learnt that it was a British helio post. I sent him a heliogram saying that we were a small party of British in danger of capture, and asking that an escort should be sent to bring us in. The next day the escort walked into our arms! We took the rifles and let the prisoners go--about a hundred men. The next day the British heliographist called me up again and reproached me for telling him such a deliberate lie!"

"And what did you reply?"

"Oh, I said, 'g.t.l.'; you know what that means!"

Espying a pretty little cottage in the valley below, I rode thither to try and buy a loaf of bread, leaving the others to continue calling. On the way down I noticed a telegraph wire running in the direction of Potchefstroom. In the farmhouse were only two young girls, the elder a charming golden-haired fairy with tender eyes of cornflower blue. And her smile!--it was enough to make one say all kinds of silly things just for the pleasure of seeing her ripe lips part, revealing her wholesome, even little teeth! No wonder I delayed my departure! I left at last, however--not without the loaf of bread--and made for the camp. I had not gone far before I met one of the burghers, who told me Steyn and De Wet had gone up to the helio post a little while before. What would they say when they found me absent from my post! I approached the camp in anything but an enviable mood, and was just off-saddling when the two leaders returned. Like a flash the thought came to me of the telegraph line I had seen.

"President," I said eagerly, before he could speak, "there's a telegraph line near here. Shan't I go and try to tap it?"

He looked at me very seriously for a moment, and then replied, a smile breaking through the frown, "Yes, go on, you should have been there already." Saved again! I went, but needless to say, if I heard any secrets that evening it was not through the medium of a telegraph wire!

SKIRMISHES

A band of about thirty Transvaalers, mostly from Potchefstroom, who had been attached to De Wet for some time, now decided to go on ahead and join Liebenberg's commando, near their native town. As De Wet had no intention of moving forward just yet, I joined my brother Transvaalers.

Bidding adieu to our Free State comrades, we crossed the Vaal. Just beyond the river we were joined by two or three others, who had with them as prisoner a British sergeant. This fellow had been in charge of a band of native police, whose insolence had terrorised the women and children for miles around, until a body of Boers came along and routed them out of the district, capturing their leader. What became of the blacks I do not know, but it must be remembered that the Transvaal natives are Boer subjects, and liable to be shot if caught aiding the British. The feeling against the sergeant was very bitter.

"Oh, you're the Kafir chief, are you?" said one of our men to him.

"Ho, yuss, h' I'm the Kefir ginnyril," responded the flattered c.o.c.kney, with an irritating grin.

"I'd like to Kafir general you through the head," said the disgusted Boer promptly. The sickly grin faded, and the threat was not carried out.

Towards afternoon a heavy rain began to fall. There was no shelter for us, and we pushed along, wet and cold. Then night came, and the road, now transformed into a rus.h.i.+ng torrent, was only shown us by the lurid lightning flashes that continually rent the heavens. And we had a sick man on the trolley, for whom this exposure was a serious matter. But finally we reached a farmhouse, occupied by an old woman. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw us, and she thanked the Lord that He had spared her to behold once more the defenders of her country. Near by was an empty building. We outspanned and off-saddled, turning our animals loose, as we knew they would not stray far in such a blinding storm. The sick man was hastily carried in and laid upon some dry blankets.

Then we made half a dozen roaring fires with some mealie cobs that we found lying in the house, stripped ourselves, and held our boots and clothing over the fire till they were fairly dry. By this time the water boiled; we drank some coffee, then made up beds on the floor and slept till morning. It was a bit of a struggle to get into our damp things when we awoke, but as we rode along our clothes dried and our spirits rose. Then Potchefstroom came in sight, but, alas! it was held by the enemy.

"What would my poor mother say," said one young fellow, "if she knew I was so near!"

"Oh, my wife and children!" sighed another.

"Cheer up, boys!" interrupted the commandant. "Our country first, you know."