A striking contrast no less than a striking personality was offered by
the two leading figures in this group as Stephanus De la Rey advanced to
welcome his noted visitor. Both were fine types of their nationality
and class--the one calm-faced, reposeful, with the air of a thoroughly
contented and prosperous man; the other bright-eyed, restless, alert,
with the nervous rapidity of movement of one existing in a state of
chronic tension. The greeting between the two was cordial enough, and
there was much handshaking, as the others, to the number of a round
dozen, dropped in by twos and threes.
"Why, who is this?" exclaimed the delegate, a shade of distrust coming
into his face as he shook hands with Colvin Kershaw--for among Boers the
ceremony of introduction is but seldom performed. "An Englishman, I
believe?"
"That is so, Mynheer Botma. And one who is very proud to make the
acquaintance of so famous and gifted a man as yourself," replied Colvin,
who spoke the _taal_ very fairly well.
The delegate shot a keen glance at the speaker, then he became quite
cordial. He hated the English, but it suddenly occurred to him that
this particular Englishman had a look of one who might be turned to some
account. Accordingly he engaged him in conversation, during which
Colvin adroitly contrived to insinuate that his sympathies were all with
the Transvaal cause, and that for the person of Oom Paul in particular
he entertained feelings of the profoundest admiration.
"That is good," said Jan Grobbelaar, showing his tusks approvingly. "We
were having much talk about this only last evening, brother," Turning to
the delegate: "Colvin is a neighbour of mine. He is not like other
English."
Whether the object of this comment was gratified thereby or not, he made
no sign; but one result of the voucher thus made was that the assembled
Boers, to most of whom he was well known, conversed with far less
restraint--both then and during the course of the evening. And the
burden of their conversation was confined well-nigh entirely to the very
strained relations then existing between the Transvaal and the suzerain
Power, and what was going to be done upon the final and certain rupture
thereof.
Not much was said during the evening meal, and that little was mainly
confined to local and farming matters and the prospects or the reverse
of a speedy rain. The Boer guests fell to with a will, and did ample
justice to the springbuck stew and other delicacies of the veldt as
there set forth in abundance; for Mrs De la Rey had anticipated just
such an inroad as had taken place. Moreover, she was a model housewife,
and possessed of wonderful Dutch recipes of old-time Cape and Batavian
origin, and within her domain here were none of the insipid and
over-sweetened dishes which prevailed in the ordinary and rougher class
of Boer household. After supper--when pipes were in full blast, in such
wise, indeed, that it was hardly possible to see across the room--it was
not long before the subject engrossing all minds came to the fore.
"_So_, Colvin. _You_ smoke Transvaal tobacco, then?" said one young
Boer with a wink at his neighbours, and affecting surprise.
"Rather, Marthinus. Why not?"
"Why, because you're an Englishman, to be sure."
"Ha-ha. But then, Marthinus, I happen to be an Englishman who smokes
what he likes. And I like Transvaal tobacco. Shall I tell you what
else I like? I like _dop_. So just send along that decanter that's at
the other side of Barend Van Zyl's elbow, will you?"
There was a great laugh at this, and Barend Van Zyl aforesaid made
believe to withhold the decanter on the ground that its contents might
impair the speaker's patriotism. It led to a lot of chaff with regard
to the political situation, some of which, albeit good-humoured, was
keen enough to have thrown some Englishmen, Frank Wenlock, for instance,
into a real fighting rage. This one, however, was made of different
stuff. It didn't ruffle him in the least. Moreover, he knew that they
were merely "taking the measure of his foot."
"And they say that we can't shoot any more, we young ones," said another
Boer. "I saw it in a Cape English newspaper which Piet Lombard had sent
him. They say that we are all going off in our shooting, and are good
for nothing; that we cannot bring down game like out fathers could."
"_Maagtig_! but they are liars, those English newspaper men," assented
somebody else. "_Nee wat_. I would like to get the miserable
ink-squirter who wrote that, and make him run at five hundred yards from
my Martini. We would soon show him whether we young ones are so
_sleg_."
"Hallo, Marthinus, that's a little too loud," cut in Colvin Kershaw with
a laugh. "Why, man, how about that old springbuck ram I saw you miss
twice running that shoot we had at Tafelfontein at the end of last
season there, _oerkant_, by the vlei? He wasn't a step over four
hundred yards. Come now, what would you do with your runaway man at
five hundred?"
"That's true," assented Marthinus a little crestfallen. Then
brightening up: "But then the English newspaper man would be running too
hard. _Ja, kerelen_. Now, an English newspaper man _would_ run!"
"Do you know how I was taught to shoot, Colvin?" asked a wiry,
middle-aged Boer with a long light beard, pushing his tobacco bag made
of dressed buckskin across to the Englishman. "When I was eight years
old my father used to put a loaded rifle into my hand. It was a
muzzle-loader--we had no Martinis or Mausers in those days. _Maagtig_--
no. He didn't give me a second charge for reloading either. He would
start me out into the veldt at daybreak, and if I returned without
having shot a buck I got no breakfast. Then he would start me off
again, and if I returned a second time without having shot a buck I was
allowed some dinner, but first of all I got plenty of `strop.' Then I
was turned out again, and if I failed again I got still more `strop,'
and went to bed without any supper. But it was not more than two or
three times that happened. _Nee, kerelen_! Well, that is the way to
teach a youngster to shoot."
"That's all very well, Izaak," replied Colvin; "but it might be the way
to teach some youngsters not to shoot. The fact of knowing they hadn't
another chance might get upon their nerves and make them miss."
But the other, whose name was Izaak van Aardt, and who was known amongst
his neighbours as second to none for a sure and deadly game shot, only
shook his head, unconvinced.
"But," struck in the young Dutchman who had started the chaff about the
Transvaal tobacco, "it is only English youngsters who have nerves. Boer
youngsters have no nerves." And he winked at the others as at first.
"Haven't they?" responded Colvin Kershaw, with a tranquil smile. "No,
especially when you tell them some yarn about the _spoek_ that comes out
of the waggon-house at night and yells."
They laughed somewhat foolishly at this, the point being that Boer
children, filled up as they are with all sorts of Hottentot stories,
weird and grotesque, are no more intrepid under the circumstances named
than would be other children.
The above conversation, however, was significant of two things. One was
the high-pitched tension to which racial feeling had attained among the
northern border Dutch. It bristled with sly digs, and open ones too, at
the English. They could no more keep such out of their conversation
than could Mr Dick keep King Charles's head out of his classic
memorial. The second was the exceedingly friendly terms upon which this
one Englishman, alone in their midst, stood towards them. Had it been
otherwise, while they would have refrained from intentionally saying
anything that might have been offensive to their fellow-guest, and one
held in so much esteem by the people under whose roof they found
themselves, they would have sat taciturn and constrained, confining the
conversation for the most part to heavy monosyllables. And as
emphasising these two points it is worthy of record.
Now the talkers began to break up, some, however, remaining rooted to
their chairs, talking out the situation with increasing vehemence.
Others went out to see after their horses, while others again had
convened music in the other room. The Boer, as a rule, is fond of
music, even if it takes no more aspiring form than the homely strains of
a concertina; and whereas both the De la Rey girls could play, and one
could sing, fairly, well, their audience listened with a whole-hearted
appreciation not always to be found under like circumstances in the
drawing-rooms of the fashionable and of the would-be artistic. Colvin
Kershaw likewise was in great request, for he had a smattering of ear
knowledge which enabled him to rattle off snatches from most of the
comic operas of the day, and these were hugely in favour with his
somewhat primitive hearers. He could, too, on occasions, as when
performing for the benefit of some old-fashioned and highly orthodox old
"Tanta" who deemed all secular music an invention of Satan for the
snaring of souls, turn such and similar lively strains, by an alteration
of time and expression, into the most solemn and soul-stirring of psalm
tunes; to the convulsive, because concealed, delight of Andrina and
Condaas and others in the know, and to the ecstatic edification of the
antiques aforesaid, who would go away thinking that if only "Mynheer"
would induce the performer to play on the harmonium in church on Sunday,
what a long way they would travel in order to be present.
But the lighter side of life is never far removed from the momentous,
and this was represented in another part of the house, whose owner was
closeted in long and earnest conversation with "the Patriot."
"You are the man we want, Brother De la Rey," the latter was saying in
his quick, emphatic voice, having spent an hour setting forth his
mission in all its fulness, and that with the convincing earnestness of
a man who thoroughly believes in it. "Just consider. The whole of this
district is with us, and not merely the whole of this district but the
whole of the Northern border. Others, too, as far as the seaboard on
one side and the Cape on the other. You cannot stand aloof. You cannot
be the only one to refuse to side with your countrymen, those of your
own blood, in their struggle for freedom and power."
"We had better not talk too much about freedom," was the reply, with a
grave head-shake, "I should like to know, Brother Botma, under what
Government we could enjoy greater freedom than that under which we are
now living."
"`Under which?' Yes, that is just it. `Under which.' But we ought not
to be living `under' any Government but our own. Our independence--that
is the star to which our eyes turn. That you yourself dwell happy and
in comfort here, Stephanus De la Rey, is but an unworthy way of looking
at it. Are the ties of blood-brotherhood nothing? Are the ties of
nationality nothing? Is our independence nothing? Selfish
considerations must be thrown away now. Why, even you have two sons
with us. They will fight in our ranks. Will you, then, fight in those
of the enemy?"
"I do not desire any fighting. I deplore this trouble. If the Kafirs
were to rise, for instance, I do not think you would find me backward.
Ask those who know me if I am not speaking true. But this is a struggle
between white men, and in a land, too, where they ought to be brothers."
"Brothers? We and the English can never be brothers. Listen,
Stephanus," laying an impressive hand upon the other's arm. "It is a
struggle for life and death between us and them. To this end they have
been working. To this end have they been throwing all their adventurers
into our land. Yes; how many from this country, this very British
colony you are so proud to belong to, have come to us without a penny--
unable even so much as to make a living under the British flag--have
come to us on the very verge of bankruptcy, and actually through it--to
make not merely a living, but in many cases large fortunes? And these
are the people with a grievance! These are the people who fatten on our
land, and then want to seize it because it is richer than theirs. That
is why they desire the franchise, that they may oust the burghers who
fought for their independence; whose fathers shed their blood like water
in withstanding the heathen savage, who went forth determined never
again to submit to the English yoke."
"That is true," rejoined the other. "Yet it seems to me that it is
because of them that the country has become rich. Had they not come
there, what then? Who would have worked the gold and the mines?"
"We could have done without the gold and the mines," was the fiery
response. "We did not desire them. We were better as we were. And
look, brother. Did these Uitlanders come into our land to benefit our
land? If so, why do they not stay there when they have enriched
themselves out of it? Do they? Not so. They return to spend the
wealth they have made out of us among the Babylon sinks of vice, the
large cities of Europe. They came into the land to enrich themselves,
certainly not to enrich our land. But now that it is rich they want to
seize it."
The listener made no immediate reply. He sat in troubled meditation,
his brow clouded. The speaker, watched him the while with a kind of
hungering anxiety. This was the man he desired to win over, a man of
weight and standing, whose influence thrown into the scale would bring
hundreds to the Afrikander cause and confirm hundreds more who might be
wavering. He went on:
"Everything is ready now. The President will never yield to their
demands, and even if he would the burghers will never allow it. If we
gave them the five years' franchise they would then ask for two, then
for none at all. And where would we be? Where would we be, I ask you,
remembering the shameful attempt upon us three years ago? Mark now,
brother. We are about to put forth our strength. We know our strength,
they do not. They know not that we are ten times stronger than they
think. They boast that by the end of the year the English flag will
wave over Pretoria. Will it? We shall see.
"They think that they have only to threaten us and we shall collapse.
They have forgotten the lessons of 1881. A God-protected people
fighting for its liberties is a terrible thing, Stephanus, and that is
what we were then and what we are now. We have for years been
collecting arms and ammunition which will render us strong enough for
the whole British Army. And then when the whole British Army is hurled
against us there are European nations who will hurl themselves upon
England. They will not lose their opportunity. They hate England too
much for that. Then is our time. Now, Stephanus, will you be the only
man who refuses to join his own nationality? I go from here to-morrow,
for my mission is at an end, and it has been fruitful beyond my hopes.
When I return it will be with our conquering forces to help plant the
`Vierkleur' over our new Republic, which shall extend from the Zambesi
to the Cape. My dear brother, think. We want you; we want such men as
you among our leaders. Throw selfish considerations away, and link
yourself with the holy army of patriots."
The speaker ceased. Carried away by his own fervour, he could hardly
any longer bring out his words with sufficient coherence. And that very
fervour had carried his listener with him. Stephanus De la Rey was, to
tell the truth, deeply impressed. True, he himself had no reason to be
otherwise than perfectly contented; but had he any right to consider his
own prosperity, his own well-being, when the cause of his countrymen was
at stake? Transvaal, Free State, or Cape Colony, were they not all of
one blood--all Dutch? Many a man would have considered what advantages
might accrue to himself by joining the movement, what risk, even danger,
was incurred by abstaining; but this one was honest to the core. The
patriotic side was what appealed to him, that and that only. And
looking at him as though reading his thoughts, Andries Botma, the
Transvaal delegate, was filled with a whole-souled elation. He knew he
had won, and that however much time and thought he might give to the
situation between this and then, the moment the forces of the allied
Republics crossed the border Stephanus De la Rey would be upon their
side.
But this Stephanus De la Rey did not know himself, not, at any rate, at
that time.