In the Shadow of Death Part 17

Bresler asked his comrades, as they were leaving them. "No," was the reply. "Well," said Bresler, "to be sure, they are British scouts." He called them back and asked them to which commando they belonged.

"Potgieter's" was the answer. As there was no such commandant, they were immediately arrested. Had Bresler not been present the probability is that they would have captured the three burghers, for, as they told him, they simply waited for an opportunity to disarm them, but they saw that Bresler was watching them all the time and so could not venture to lift their rifles.

Sport of the most dangerous nature was sometimes indulged in. Certain Boer officers, and also privates, would risk their lives to have some amus.e.m.e.nt. Commandant W. Fouche was one of those who ventured most.

Naturally brave and sometimes even reckless, he would step in almost anywhere. In the district of Willowmore, Cape Colony, he one evening entered a house where two of the enemy's scouts were comfortably seated by the side of two young ladies. He stepped into the room, greeted all, and took a seat next to one of the young ladies. To chafe and annoy the scouts, he placed his hand on the shoulder of one of the young ladies and pretended to kiss her. This act of his was enough to set one of the Englishmen on fire. "I shall not allow you," he said, "to touch the lady. You have no right to do it." Fouche then desisted; he withdrew his arm, and asked the young lady for some food, as he was very hungry.

His friend calmed down, and they began to converse. By chance one of the scouts touched his pocket and noticed that there was something strange in it. "What is that hard thing in your pocket?" he queried. Fouche replied, "Oh, it is my pipe." "Your pipe is very large indeed," rejoined the scout. (This pipe was nothing else than a revolver.)

To irritate his unknown friends, Fouche began again to trifle with one of the ladies. This time the scout lost self-control; he rose, and taking his chair with both hands, brought it down upon Fouche with all his might, evidently with the intention of shattering the brains of the latter. Fouche smartly parried the blow, and the next instant the striker was a wounded man, and his comrade a prisoner.

In the district of Rouxville the same officer had a similar experience.

There, one evening, he came across three of the enemy--one a Dutch colonist, the other two Britons--off-saddled at a farm. As they did not expect any Boers, their rifles were carelessly left outside the house.

Fouche was again the one to enter. Having disguised himself so as to create no suspicion, he boldly walked in and shook hands with the party.

The Colonial, in a domineering tone, asked him the object of his visit.

"Come to see my young lady," was the reply. "Have you permission to leave your farm?" "No," said Fouche. "We arrest you at once," said the Colonial, "and will take you to Rouxville gaol. You shall have to walk all the way [some 24 miles], and that will teach you not to go about without a pa.s.s at this time of the night." "Well," said Fouche, "I really did not know that I must have a pa.s.s to come and see my young lady, and if you arrest me you must kindly allow me to get a horse at home, for certainly I cannot walk all this distance." "Nonsense,"

replied the Colonial; "there is no time to go home now."

As Fouche was supplicating for grace the other two went to fetch their horses. They were cordially received by the burghers outside. The Colonial in the meantime questioned Fouche as to the whereabouts of the Boers. The prisoner informed him that the notorious Commandant Fouche was again in that district. "Why," asked Fouche, "don't you capture this fellow with his raiding bands? They are the plague of the district. You should protect us." The Colonial: "Just a few days longer and he will be no more in the land of the living." At the same time he began to abuse him, without being conscious in the least that he was at the very moment speaking to that officer himself.

After some more talk he took Fouche by the arm and said, "Come along, we must be off; you are my prisoner." "What," rejoined the latter--"your prisoner! Don't you believe it. You are mine." So saying he took a revolver out of his pocket and pointed it at the over-confident Colonial, who thereupon looked several inches smaller.