"We shall have to turn you into a prisoner of war, Colvin," said Piet
Plessis a week or so after the breaking out of hostilities. "And, as I
feel sort of responsible for your safe custody, my orders to you as your
custodian are to go over to the Grand, now, at once, and pack up your
traps and bring them here. I'd have suggested it before, but everything
was so _uit-makaar_, and I didn't know whether you might not have been
wanting to go down-country again."
Whereby it is manifest that the inquiries we heard Piet promise to set
afloat had turned out satisfactory, albeit their burden and the result
he had characteristically kept to himself.
"No. I don't feel that way inclined, Piet," answered Colvin. "I am a
sort of cosmopolitan rover, without ties--except such as are here," he
added significantly. "Besides, it's more interesting watching the row
from behind your lines than from behind those of the other side. By the
way, we are quite alone, just the two of us. What show do you think
your crowd has got?"
"What show?" said the other, after an instinctive glance on either side.
"Look here, Colvin. You're one of us now. If anybody who wasn't had
asked me that question I should have said: `It is all in the hands of
Providence, and our cause is just.' Now I say: `It is all within the
potentialities of politics, and the potentialities of politics spell
Uncertainty.' What show? Every show. We shall see. But if you really
are wanting to go down-country any time later, I dare say I could always
get you through the lines."
"Oh, we'll think of that later. I might feel inclined to go and see
some of the fighting--"
"What's that? What might you feel inclined to do?" interrupted the
voice of Aletta, who with Mrs Plessis had just come out on the back
_stoep_, where the above conversation was taking place. "Colvin, I am
astonished at you! See some of the fighting indeed! Do you think I
shall let you?"
She had locked her hands together round his arm, just resting her head
against his shoulder, and stood facing the other two, with the prettiest
air of possession. Piet Plessis spluttered:
"Ho, ho! Colvin! A sort of cosmopolitan rover without ties; isn't that
what you were saying just now? Without ties? Ho, ho, ho!" And the
jolly Dutchman shouted himself into a big fit of coughing.
"He is one of us now, is he not, Piet?" went on the girl, a tender pride
shining from her eyes. "Yet he talks about going to fight against us.
Yes, you were saying that, Colvin. I heard you when we came out."
"Little termagant!" he rejoined lovingly, drawing one of the hands which
was linked round his arm into his. "I wasn't talking about fighting
against anybody. I said I might go and _see_ some of the fighting. You
may go and see a bull-fight, you know, but you needn't necessarily be
taking part in it. In fact, the performers on both sides would object,
and that in the most practical manner, to your doing so. Now, I meant
to go as a non-combatant. Sort of war-correspondent business."
"Well, we are not going to let you do anything of the sort," answered
Aletta decisively. "Are we, Piet? Why don't you make a prisoner of war
of him, then he can't do as he pleases?"
"`He is one of us now,'" quoted Colvin, innocently. "I believe those
were the words. How can `one of us' be a prisoner of war?"
Piet laughed at this deft turning of the tables.
"Go away and get your traps, man," he said, "then you'll be all snug and
fixed up here by lunch-time. Here's the buggy," as the sound of wheels
came through from the front of the house. "I must get back to office.
So long?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Every day some fresh news from the seat of war came flowing in--
beginning with the capture of the armoured train at Kraaipan, historical
as the first overt act of hostility, the investment of Kimberley and
Mafeking, the reverse at Elandslaagte, and the death of the British
general, and, later on, the arrival of a good many British prisoners.
And over and above authenticated news, of course wild rumour was busy,
magnifying this or that skirmish into a Boer victory, diminishing
losses, and playing general skittles with most of the facts of the
particular event reported, as is invariably the case on either side of
the contested field. But what struck Colvin Kershaw after the first
week of excitement was the calm, matter-of-fact way in which it was
received by the crowd at large. News which would have thrown Cape Town
or Durban into a perfect delirium, was treated in Pretoria as so much
matter of course, and only to be expected.
Day after day, he would watch the muster of burghers or the entraining
of the guns, great and small, of the Staats Artillerie, and here again
the sober, almost phlegmatic demeanour of the combatants was remarkable.
Rough, weather-beaten, somewhat melancholy-looking men were these
mounted burghers--many of them large and powerful of stature. They
bestrode wiry, undersized nags--which bore besides their riders the
frugal ration of biltong and biscuit, with which the Boer can get along
for days. Slung round with well-filled bandolier, rifle on thigh, and
mostly wearing weather-worn broad-brimmed hats--though some of the older
ones were crowned with the white chimney-pot--they would muster in front
of the Dutch Reformed church, and pace forth, singing perhaps a Dutch
hymn or a snatch of the "Volkslied"--most of them smoking their pipes,
tranquil, phlegmatic, as though they were all going home again. The
hooraying and handshaking and handkerchief-waving and flag-wagging which
would have accompanied a British combatant force under like
circumstances, would be conspicuous by its absence.
While watching such a muster, a man, who was standing among the
spectators, turned at her voice and, lifting his hat, shook hands with
Aletta. He was a tall gentlemanly-looking man, with a fair beard and
moustache worn after the Vandyke cut, and was a Hollander with a
Portuguese name. He, too, had been a high Government official.
"I haven't seen you for a long time, Dr Da Costa," said Aletta. "I
thought you had gone to the front."
"No. I am going very soon, though." Then, following the direction of
his glance, she introduced him to Colvin.
"What do you think of our main line of defence?" he went on, speaking
English with hardly an accent. "Those men have the most perfect faith
in themselves and their cause."
"Yes, they look business-like," replied Colvin, critically scanning the
long string of mounted burghers as they filed past, most of them smoking
their pipes, and chatting to each other in a placid undertone. "We had
some of their kind in Matabeleland during the rising in '96, and they
were right good men."
"Ah! So you were out in the Matabele rebellion?" said Da Costa, looking
at the other with newly-awakened interest.
"Yes, had to be."
"I see. And are you, may I ask, likely to be out in this campaign?"
"Not in the least, unless as a spectator. Here I am not needed--there I
was:--which makes all the difference."
"If you are, I hope we may meet in the field. I shall be pleased to
show you all you may be wishing to see to the best advantage."
"Now, Dr Da Costa, you are not to encourage him," struck in Aletta.
"Mr Kershaw is not going to be shot at at all. He is not needed, as he
says, and--you are not to encourage him."
The other, who had heard of Piet Plessis' attractive kinswoman and her
English _fiance_, smiled good-naturedly. Then, to change the
conversation, he went on:
"Did you make a long stay at Johannesburg, Mr Kershaw?"
"At Johannesburg?" echoed Colvin.
"Yes. Didn't I see you in the Rand Club about a fortnight ago? And
again on Pritchard Street. Someone told me it was a Mr Kershaw."
"Someone told you all wrong then, doctor, for I came right through
Johannesburg. I never even got out of the train there."
"That's odd," said Da Costa, with a momentary twinkle in his eye, as
though he didn't believe a word of this statement. "It must have been
only a likeness," he added tactfully.
"But the name," went on Aletta, opening her eyes. "It's strange they
should have got hold of the name."
"Very, because, as I said, I didn't so much as get out of the train, let
alone take a stroll as far as Pritchard Street, let alone the Rand Club,
which is farther," said Colvin. "Well, we most of us have a `double'
somewhere."
Which was precisely the remark made by the jovial Piet, when the
occurrence was narrated to him on their return home. But for once his
official instinct of reticence, even in trifling matters, was misplaced,
had he but known it. Had he imparted the results of those enquiries he
had caused to be made, what a deal of sorrow, and mistrust, and
heart-wringing might have been thereafter saved!
"Is that man we met to-day going out with the ambulance department?"
asked Colvin.
"Who, Da Costa? Ambulance department?" echoed Piet, wonderingly. "Oh,
I see," with a shout of laughter. "No fear. He's not a medico. He's a
lawyer--running hard for a judgeship. But I say, Colvin, would you like
to go up and see the President this afternoon? I think we could get at
the old man to-day."
"Just what I would like."
"And, Colvin," struck in Aletta, "you are not to look upon Oom Paul as
an old bear, as most English do. Remember, I have a great admiration
for him."
Colvin promised to keep this fact in mind when forming his opinion, and
in due course they arrived at the unpretentious-looking bungalow which
was the private residence of one of the most famed personalities of
modern times. As they went up between the stone lions which guarded, as
it were, the entrance, they passed a German officer coming down the
steps, a straight martial figure, with upward-pointing moustaches _a la_
Kaiser Wilhelm, and wearing the uniform of the Staats Artillerie. He
exchanged a salute with Piet, and the latter halted and took him aside
for a minute's conversation.
"That's all right, Colvin," he said, rejoining him, while with a parting
salute the German strode on. "He has just come out. Says the old man
is in a pretty good-humour."
The President was seated in a substantial armchair as they were shown
in. He was likewise smoking a substantial pipe. This looked homely.
As Piet introduced Colvin, His Honour did not rise, but merely extended
a massive hand, uttering a single monosyllabic word of greeting.
"_Daag_!"
"_Daag, Oom_," responded Colvin, as he shook the Presidential dexter,
right heartily. His Honour, however, subsided into silence, during
which Piet Plessis entertained him with a running comment on the lighter
aspect of day-to-day events, ignoring _the_ situation of the hour.
"Who is the Englishman?" said the old man at last, designating Colvin
with a wave of his pipe-stem.
Piet explained that he was engaged to be married to a near kinswoman of
his who was staying with him. The Presidential features displayed some
faint show of interest.
"Your kinswoman!" he said. "Whose daughter is she?"
"Stephanus De la Reys, Mynheer. He lives in the Cape Colony."
"De la Rey! _Ja_, that is a good name, De la Rey," replied the
President, nodding approvingly. "But--an Englishman!" Then, turning to
Colvin, he said, still speaking in Dutch.
"Can you talk our language?"
"_Ja, Oom_," came the hearty response. During the conversational
nothings fired off so volubly by Piet Plessis, he had been studying this
wonderful old man before him, and in the strong massive face could read
the extraordinary and iron will-power which had made its owner the
prominent figure in history that he was. Something of Aletta's thoughts
came into his mind, and he too was wondering whether, had this born
leader of men thrown in his gigantic influence on the British side, he
would not have met with greater appreciation, nay would not his very
defects be held to be rugged virtues? Being thus immersed, he failed to
observe a grim tightening of the mouth, as he uttered that hearty and,
as he thought, deferential reply.
"Have you been here before?" repeated his catechiser.
"_Ja, Oom_," replied Colvin. And then there was no mistaking the change
which came over His Honour's countenance. He flushed, and a heavy frown
darkened his brows, as removing his pipe from his mouth, he rolled out
in deep, chest notes, like the bark of an angry mastiff.
"_Is nie jou Oom nie. Ik is die President_!"
["I am not your uncle. I am the President."]
The tone went up on an ascending scale, ending loud and staccato.
Colvin, for a moment dumfoundered, hastened to apologise, then with the
utmost suavity of assurance proceeded to explain that he himself owned
an uncle whom he deeply revered, and who bore a most extraordinary
resemblance to "Mynheer President." Then, he deftly went on to inquire
about His Honour's earlier experiences in the old _Voortrekker_ days,
expressing boundless admiration for those wonderful pioneers, and as he
was really well up in their history, the old man, quite mollified, was
soon descanting with unusual volubility on the subject of his early
doings. Mean while coffee was brought in, and, as soon after as he
could, astute Piet Plessis, seeing the conversation was taking a turn
likely to excite His Honour, took the opportunity of terminating the
visit.
"Look after him, Piet," said the old man as he gave them his hand, and
there was the nearest approach to a smile lurking about his mouth.
"Look after him. He is an Englishman, but he is going to marry your
cousin. See that he does not get into any mischief."
"Say, Piet?" said Colvin when they were well out in the street again, "I
believe I put my foot in it some."
"Oh, rather!" answered the other, who could hardly speak for
spluttering. "You're not the only one, though, if the truth were known.
You see it was all very well twenty years ago and all that to call him
Oom Paul. But now the old man is rather sick of it. Only think, every
dirty little Jew `winkler' calling him `Oom.' Besides, he's a much
bigger man now and likes to be treated with a certain amount of state."
But not until he got safely home could Piet give full vent to his mirth,
and then he literally laughed till he cried.
"You should have seen him, Anna," he spluttered between his tears. "Oh,
Aletta, you should have heard him. Telling the _Ou' Baas_, so sweetly
too, that he reminded him of an uncle of his whom he deeply revered.
Oh, oh, you should have been there! I simply didn't dare look up. I
should have disgraced myself for ever if I had."
"Well, it had its effect," protested Colvin, who was laughing over the
recollection almost as hard as Piet. "It smoothed his feathers at
once."
"Really? No, really did it?" cried Aletta, who for her part had gone
off into rippling peals.
"Rather, it did," confirmed Piet. "Oh, oh, oh! `_Is nie jou Oom nie.
Ik is die President_!' Oh, oh, oh! I shall choke directly."
And he very nearly did.