Colvin was beginning to have enough of it.
He had spent some weeks with Cronje's force, and into that short space
about half a lifetime of strange and stirring experience seemed to have
crowded itself. Besides the Modder River battle, he had witnessed the
British repulse at Magersfontein, and had seen several desultory
skirmishes. More than one narrow escape had he known, and had been
slightly cut about the hand by the splinter of a spent shell. But he
had become inured to the rush and whirr of missiles, and now paid no
heed whatever to them. He had likewise adopted the American's
suggestion, and started in to take notes on his own account. He might
make some use of them after the war, he declared, and, at any rate, as
Acton had said, the taking of them gave him something to do. By this
time, too, he had become indurated to the ghastly and horrifying sights
which had so got upon his nerves at first. Yet he had had quite enough
of it, and thought longingly that he would gladly be back at Pretoria.
And what stimulated this longing was the fact that during all the time
he had been away he had received neither line nor word from Aletta.
At first he had thought but little of this, attributing it to a natural
delay consequent on the hurry and bustle of the times. But as days
became weeks he began to think it strange and to feel uneasy. Several
of the burghers had received letters from their people, and plenty of
messages and despatches reached the various field commandants from
headquarters. Surely the influence of Piet Plessis would suffice to
command means of sending through the communication for which he now
began so ardently to long.
Even then no idea approaching suspicion of the real state of affairs
crossed his mind. Some technical difficulty might be standing in the
way--Piet might not be able to use his official position for such
purposes. No, that did not seem to account for it either. Colvin began
to feel anxious--he hardly knew why. He had wanted to see the fighting,
and he had seen a great deal of it--enough, he thought, to last him for
life. The fierce glare of summer midday, with its dust-clouds and
chronic and tormenting thirst--the bitter chill of night on the high
veldt--lying out under the stars, while every now and then the
searchlight in the beleaguered town away in the distance swept round its
fan-like ray, now and then drawing the muffled boom of a shot--of all
this he had had enough. He made up his mind to obtain Commandant
Botma's permission to return to Pretoria.
Hardly had he done so than a letter was put into his hand. Ah, the
longed-for communication at last! and the thrill of delight that went
through him almost made up for the long, wearing anxiety. But this was
nipped in the bud by a second glance at the envelope. It was not
directed in Aletta's handwriting.
He tore it open. A glance at the end of the sheet showed that the
handwriting was that of Piet Plessis' wife. At the same time an
enclosure fell out. This at any rate was from Aletta. Eagerly he
picked it up--then, as he mastered the contents, a look of the blankest
dismay and bewilderment came over his features. For the contents were
very brief, and they ran thus:
"I am going home at once. No explanations are needed, are they? For,
remember--_I saw_.
"Good-bye, Aletta."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
He stared at the sheet of paper, and his look of bewilderment grew
blanker and blanker. What did it mean? What on earth _could_ it mean?
No explanations needed? But they very much _were_ needed, he thought.
And what on earth mystery lay covered by those words, so significantly
underlined--"_I saw_?" What did the writer see? The thing passed
comprehension. He turned to the other letter with some wild hope of
finding enlightenment there.
It did not afford him much. Aletta had asked her to enclose this note
to him, wrote Mrs Plessis, and was going back home to Ratels Hoek at
once. "I hope there is nothing wrong," she went on, "but the child has
been very strange during the last two or three days. I don't know what
to make of it. She will not give me her confidence, and made me promise
faithfully not so much as to hint to Piet that anything had upset her.
She leaves us to-morrow, and travels back home in charge of Adrian. But
I trust there is nothing really the matter."
In charge of Adrian! Ah, now he began to see light. Adrian was behind
whatever had happened. Why, of course. His every motive made that way.
All that cordiality of his had not altogether gone down with Colvin.
There was a suggestion of malice underlying it, which should have put
him more on his guard. Adrian had played him some dirty trick in his
absence, though what it might be he could as yet form no idea.
He glanced at the letter, also at the note. Both bore a date some ten
days old. Why, Aletta would have been home now for days. Well, his
mind was made up. Instead of returning to Pretoria, he would proceed
straight to Ratels Hoek. No explanation needed! It struck him that
that very thing was most urgently needed.
He applied to Andries Botma for facilities, which, being English, he
would need to prosecute his journey and to ensure his safe passage
through any of the Republican forces he might fall in with. These were
readily granted, and the Commandant bade him a kind and cordial
farewell.
"I need not remind you, Mynheer Kershaw," he said, in Dutch, for "The
Patriot" never spoke English, although perfectly able to do so, unless
positively obliged--"I need not remind you that you have pledged your
solemn word of honour to divulge nothing that you may have seen or heard
during the time you have been with us. But it is not entirely the other
side I distrust, and therefore I would impress upon you the necessity of
using the greatest caution in conversing with those who, by nationality,
are our own people. But many of them (with shame I say it) are not
really our own people--that is, they are not heart and soul with us.
They will not strike a blow for the sacred cause--at least not yet.
They are waiting to see which will prove the victorious side--as if
there could be any doubt. These are the people I would warn you
against, when you are back once more across the river. But you are one
of us now, for I hear you are to marry Stephanus De la Rey's daughter.
In that receive my most cordial wishes--and carry my compliments to
Stephanus and all our good friends in the Wildschutsberg. And if
hereafter I can be of service to you at any time--why, it will be to me
an agreeable duty. Farewell."
Colvin shook hands warmly with the kindly Dutch Commandant, and, armed
with his credentials, went forth. At the moment he little thought of
the weight of that last promise, still less what it might or might not
be destined to mean for him in the not distant future. He thought more
on the subject of the other's congratulations, for they stirred up a
very real and desolating misgiving. What if events should already have
rendered them devoid of meaning?
His journey to the border seemed to him intolerably long and depressing,
but its monotony was varied more than once by meeting with a party of
burghers patrolling the country or on their way to join Cronje's force.
These would scan his credentials narrowly and suspiciously, but the name
of Andries Botma was as a very talisman, and they allowed him to
proceed. At the passage of the Orange River, some delay occurred.
This, however, was at last surmounted, but it was towards the close of
the third day that he found himself--riding a very tired horse--entering
the Wildschutsberg range, just beyond which lay his own home, and, yet
nearer, Ratels Hoek.
Straight to the latter he intended to proceed, and now, as he drew so
near, for the hundredth time he was cudgelling his brains over the
mystery of Aletta's strange behaviour, and for the hundredth time was
forced to own himself no nearer finding a clue to it than before--except
that he still connected it in some way with the evil influence or
trickery of Adrian. Well, two or three hours more would clear it up,
for he and Aletta would talk face to face, and in her own home.
Ah, but would they? With a dire chill the thought struck him--what if
she were no longer there? had left home, perhaps, and gone away to Cape
Town, as she had done before? Well, even thither he would follow her,
if necessary, and claim an explanation.
What was this which had come between them? Had their times been too
bright, too unclouded, rendering some such trial needful? They
certainly had been that Day by day, so far from stagnating, from turning
into the easy matter-of-fact groove, their love had grown--had
intensified--right up to the moment of parting, so ardently mutual had
it been. It had seemed that nothing could add to it--that no margin was
left for any further extension of it. Yet as he rode along now,
saddened, heart-desolate, almost bereaved, Colvin thought to himself
that this ordeal had seemed needed to prove that there was.
As he entered the mountains, the roll as of an approaching storm had
boomed sombrely away on his left. Now, in the opposite direction,
beyond the range, came faint and far, other deep thunder voices. This
was not thunder though. It was a sound he had become tolerably familiar
with of late, the distant roll of guns. A battle was in progress in
that direction. Well, it did not concern him. He was nearly at home
again.
He looked up. The shadows of evening were already lowering. In the
dusk something white attracted his glance. A white stone--and then,
with a rush, the familiarity of the surroundings swept in upon his mind.
He had reason to know that white stone, for it was while passing that
very object he had been fired at on the night he had first seen Aletta.
The track he had been following here struck the main road, just where it
forked, in the direction of his own home, and in that of Ratels Hoek.
Well, he would soon be at the latter place now, and then--and then--Ah,
how that other evening came back!
This stage of his meditations received a shock, being, in fact,
disturbed by a loud, harsh voice calling upon him in Dutch, and very
peremptorily, to halt. It proceeded from in front and above. Looking
up, Colvin became alive to the startling discovery that some twenty
rifles were levelled straight at him, at a distance of about that number
of yards. There was no disputing such a summons.
"Dismount!" repeated the voice.
Again there was no alternative but to comply, and, as he did so, several
Boers, still keeping him covered, arose from their concealment, and came
towards him. Some two or three were men from the surrounding district,
whom he knew by sight, but most of them were strangers.
"Who are you?" asked the leader crisply, in Dutch. "And where are you
from?"
Colvin told him. The news that he had come straight from Cronje's force
in the field, and had witnessed several engagements, impressed them
somewhat. They began to look at him with considerable interest and
increased respect.
"_Daag_, Gideon," he exclaimed, suddenly becoming aware of the presence
of Gideon Roux among the party. The Boer came forward and greeted him
as though nothing had happened. They chatted a minute or two together
as to the local news and so forth. Then Colvin said:
"Well now, friends, I must bid you good-night. I am going on to
Stephanus De la Rey's."
"You cannot go on to Stephanus De la Rey's to-night," rejoined the
leader promptly.
"Why not?"
"Because you have to go with us--to Commandant Schoeman's camp at Krantz
Kop."
This was a terrible facer, but Colvin was forced to accept the situation
with what grace he could. At first he tried expostulation, urging every
reason he could think of for being suffered to pursue his way. In vain.
Even the magic name of The Patriot seemed to fail in its power here.
The burghers got their concealed horses from behind the rocks and they
started.
It was quite dark when they reached the camp, which had been pitched
around Gideon Roux' farmstead. How well Colvin remembered the last time
he had visited this place--the discovery of the concealed arms, the
squalid household and his doubtful reception, Hans Vermaak's warning and
its ample justification. Now, as he saw the place again, under
circumstances suspiciously like being made a prisoner of, a great
despondency came upon him. He had beguiled the journey chatting with
his escort, or captors, or whatever they were, and learned that for the
past day or two fighting had been going on with the British forces out
beyond Schalkburg, and that a few prisoners had been taken, most of whom
would be forwarded to Bloemfontein. There was one, however, who was
exceedingly obstreperous. If he was not careful he would very likely be
shot.
They were challenged by vedettes as they reached the outskirts of the
camp, but allowed to pass through. In the darkness Colvin could make
out a few waggons and several tents pitched without any particular
regard to order. In one or two of these some men were singing Dutch
hymns in a slow, droning tone--but, early as it was, most of the
burghers had turned in for the night. Once, as he passed the farmhouse,
he thought to detect an English voice, proceeding from the stable,
cursing and swearing, its owner the while kicking vigorously against the
door, and supposed this must be the obstreperous prisoner they had been
telling him about. He was shown to a tent, which he found he had to
share with three other men, who were already asleep.
The Commandant? Oh, he could not be disturbed that night. He was
asleep. So there was nothing for it but to put the best face on things.
And yet it was not with pleasant foreshadowings that Colvin Kershaw at
last closed his tired yet sleepless eyes in the burgher camp, realising
that he was something very like a prisoner.