It was a curious court-martial this before which he was now convened,
thought Colvin, the ridiculous side of things striking him, as an hour
later he stood once more before the Commandant's tent, having washed and
got some breakfast in the interim. This old Dutch farmer, clad in
greasy moleskins, and crowned with a weather-worn, once white
chimney-pot hat, was his judge, with absolute power of life and death,
and looked moreover as solemn as though he thoroughly realised it.
Those others too, squatting on the ground, smoking pipes, and very
frequently spitting: on their good word depended to a very great extent
his own life.
"Do you confess to having assisted the prisoner to escape?" asked the
Commandant. "It will save trouble and lighten the guilt upon your soul
if you do."
"Certainly I do not, Mynheer," returned Colvin. "How can I have
assisted any prisoner to escape when I was a prisoner myself?"
"_Maagtig_! Said I not that all Englishmen were liars?" grunted the old
burgher, for the benefit of those within the tent.
Morkel, too, Colvin had not failed to observe occupying the same seat as
yesterday. But Morkel had turned on a wooden expression of countenance,
and avoided catching his eye. Clearly Morkel believed in the maxim
anent self-preservation. He had a wholesome fear of drawing suspicion
upon himself.
"We will first hear the testimony of Adrian De la Rey," said the
Commandant.
Colvin managed to repress the astonishment he felt as Adrian came
forward. The latter differed in outward trappings from the other
burghers only in the fact that his get-up was smarter. He, too, avoided
Colvin's glance.
"Tell your story," said the Commandant shortly. But before the other
had said half a dozen words, Colvin interposed:
"Excuse me, Mynheer Commandant. But in taking evidence it is usual and
indispensable to take it on oath--to swear the witness to tell the
truth. Now this has not yet been done."
It was just possible some advantage might be gained by this formula
being observed, but Colvin did not reckon it would amount to much.
Morkel, however, put in a word in favour of the suggestion, and
accordingly Adrian was sworn after the usual Dutch method, with his
right hand held up. Then he proceeded to tell his story.
As one of the field-captains of the burgher force it had been his duty
to go the round of the sentries. Two mounted guard over the place
wherein Frank Wenlock was confined, namely, the stable at the back of
Gideon Roux' house. The door was locked with a strong padlock, and
there was one window, which was iron barred, and fairly strong. One
sentry was stationed beneath this, and the other before the door. When
he arrived at the stable he was surprised that the sentries gave him no
recognition, but, on examining further into the matter, he found they
were both asleep. Moreover, he could hardly wake them, and when he did,
they excused themselves by saying that the Englishman in the camp--not
the prisoner, but the other Englishman--had given them a _soepje_ out of
his flask. His first thought being for the security of the prisoner--
the witness had ordered the door to be opened. But the key could not be
found. It had been in the first sentry's keeping. Then having called
several times to the prisoner inside, and receiving no answer, the
witness had caused the door to be broken open. The prisoner had
vanished.
This had happened at about twelve o'clock. But half an hour earlier he
had met Colvin Kershaw wandering through the camp, and they had stood
chatting for a while. Kershaw had told him he had been at Gideon Roux'
house, and was returning to his tent. After his discovery of the escape
he, Adrian, had thought of arresting the accused, but had placed his
tent under guard until the morning.
"The accused man says it was under guard all night," said the
Commandant. "Do you know anything of such a guard?"
"Nothing whatever, Mynheer."
Now, indeed, the whole mystery was clearing up, decided Colvin, but
clearing in such wise as would be disastrous, if not fatal, for himself,
Adrian De la Rey was the prime mover then in this matter. Adrian had
every motive for destroying him, and now Adrian had concocted this plot
for his destruction. He saw through it now, and his heart sank within
him. Schoeman and his crew would be willing accomplices. He had no
friends here in this camp, and he knew, all too well, that no chance
would be allowed him of communicating with those he had elsewhere. Now
he claimed his right of cross-examining witnesses. At first the "court"
was not inclined to allow this. Of what use was it? It savoured of the
blasphemous. God-fearing burghers, who had sworn to tell the truth, and
had called God to witness, could not lie. But he pressed his point and,
being supported by Morkel, carried it.
Not much good did it do him, however, with this witness. Not all his
cross-examination could shake this tissue of amazing lies which Adrian
reeled off with a glibness which imposed on his hearers up to the hilt.
Everything he had said he stuck to; doing it, too, with a sorrowful and
against-the-grain air. This Englishman with all his lawyer tricks could
not shake that honest and simple testimony, decided these
unsophisticated burghers, and all his efforts at doing so only served to
deepen the adverse feeling.
The two sentries were then called, and their testimony exactly
corresponded with that of Adrian! They were somewhat heavy-looking
young men--brothers, named Hattingh. Asked what the drink consisted of,
they thought it was whisky. It was not square-face or _dop_? No; they
were sure it was whisky. All Englishmen drank whisky; therefore,
decided the hearers, the man who gave them the drink must have been this
Englishman.
Both brothers had the same tale to tell, and they told it so glibly, so
naturally, as to puzzle even the accused himself. They were of the type
that do not make good liars--that is, in the sense of ability to sustain
a series of consistent and circumstantial lies; indeed, had he been an
impartial auditor of their testimony, instead of one vitally concerned
therewith, he was forced to own to himself that he would have believed
it. Such being the case, it was hardly to be wondered at if those who
heard it believed every word.
These witnesses knew this Englishman, but not very well. They had seen
him sometimes about the camp, and when he came up and chatted to them,
and offered them something to drink, they were only too glad, for the
nights up here in the Wildschutsberg were chilly, and a drop of
something warmed a man.
And here we will digress briefly to explain that what would have been a
very serious offence for all concerned, in the British regular, or even
irregular forces, constituted just no offence at all in a Boer commando.
For a Boer commando represents a chronic state of "marching-at-ease,"
and the fact of a couple of sentries having a chat with a comrade and a
"nip" out of his flask was nothing.
Both these men Colvin cross-questioned, not at any length, and in a
conciliatory tone, and his main points were as to how they could be sure
of his identity in the dark, especially as they had owned to being
personally unacquainted with him. But the questions seemed genuinely to
surprise them. For one thing, it was not so dark. The stars were
shining very brightly. A Boer was not an Englishman that he could not
see out of doors by starlight.
Then followed Gideon Roux, who testified that Colvin had spent at least
two hours at his house the evening before. He would have left about the
time named by Adrian De la Rey, but he could not say for certain within
half an hour or so.
What had the accused to go upon? One after another of these men came
forward unhesitatingly to swear away his life, for that is what he fully
realised this mock trial to have for its object. The net was winding
itself more fatally about him, and by nothing short of a miracle now
could he be extricated from its entangling meshes. In Gideon Roux'
malignant face a gleam of devilish exultation seemed to lurk, as though
he recognised that this was a safer, surer method of disposing of an
obnoxious and inconvenient person than shooting at him in the dusk from
behind a rock. Those around listened in solemn and impressive silence.
The groups of bystanders had been steadily augmenting, and now nearly
the whole camp stood crowded around, in a strangely picturesque armed
assembly.
After Gideon Roux followed that worthy's _vrouw_, looking quite as
slatternly and rather more frightened than on that occasion when Colvin
had partaken of her somewhat grudging hospitality. She emphatically
confirmed all that her husband had said. The course the accused took
with her was to remind her as impressively as he was able of the oath
she had taken, and to suggest that she had better think well over her
testimony lest she should have been mistaken. Sheer waste of words.
Colvin realised that he was doomed, and that every man in that camp
believed every word that had been stated with regard to him. So when
Hermanus Delport, and one or two others, came forward to corroborate
that he had spent the evening at Gideon Roux' house, he simply refused
to waste time or trouble asking any more questions. What he would ask,
however, was that the man who had mounted guard over him should be put
forward the man who had kept him a prisoner all night--that was, from
just after sundown--by the Commandant's orders.
"I gave no such orders, as I have said before," said Commandant
Schoeman. "Were any such orders given, _Heeren_, by any of yourselves?"
turning towards the other occupants of the tent.
"_Nee_--_nee_," came forth the reply, universal and emphatic. "We know
of no guard being placed over the accused during the first part of the
night."
Colvin had thought they had now got more than ample testimony--false
testimony--to afford them all the pretext they wanted. But he reckoned
without Commandant Schoeman. Said the latter:
"Mynheer Morkel. Will you kindly stand where the others have stood, and
tell what you know of this matter?"
Morkel fairly started, a great look of dismayed consternation
overspreading his features.
"But I know nothing about it, Mynheer Commandant," he protested. "I
have not seen or spoken to Kershaw since I begged you to grant him an
interview last night."
"Just so, Mynheer Morkel. But we want to know what passed between you
and the accused man _before_ that. Stand up. The exigencies of the
Republics imperatively require it."
This was a command there was no disobeying, so Morkel stood up, and was
duly sworn. He would willingly have perjured himself up to the scalp in
such a cause, but he knew it would be useless. There might have been
spies overhearing all that had passed between him and Kershaw relative
to Frank's condemnation, or even if not there would be no difficulty in
putting forward sufficient witnesses to swear that they had overheard
it, giving of course their own version.
Bidden by the Commandant to state exactly what passed between himself
and the accused with regard to Frank Wenlock, Morkel said that he
himself had brought Kershaw the news that the other was condemned to
death. How had the accused received it? He had been very much shocked
and distressed naturally, the other having been a great friend of his--
Morkel left out "fellow-countryman" just in time. But even with all his
Court experience he made the mistake of expatiating on what had led to
that friendship, realising with dire dismay, when too late, that he had
furnished an additional motive for Colvin to act as was alleged.
"Did he not ask what could be done for the condemned man?" inquired
Schoeman.
"He did, Mynheer Commandant. But--"
"He asked that question more than once?" interrupted the remorseless
voice.
"Naturally, Mynheer. That was why he so urgently wished for an
interview with yourself--to plead the cause of his friend."
"And when he found that he could not obtain that interview, what then?"
"He was disappointed, naturally. But he said it would all come right.
He could not believe that brave men--burghers fighting for their
liberties and independence, civilised Christian men, could take the life
of a man, especially a young man, by nature hot-headed and foolish,
simply because he had made some rude and insulting remarks," added
Morkel, somewhat mendaciously, and indeed he seemed to have scored a
strong point, for a murmur, not unsympathetic, went up from the
audience. "The behaviour of Frank Wenlock was insulting and offensive,
the accused had said, but surely not a crime worthy of death," went on
Morkel, waxing eloquent.
"That will do, Mynheer Morkel. You can now take your place again," said
the Commandant. Then to Colvin, "What have you to say? Now we have
heard all the witnesses, what have you to say?"
"Very little, Mynheer. This is a plot. Adrian De la Rey has a grudge--
a bitter grudge--against me, the reason of which does not matter. I
believe he has manufactured the whole of this accusation. I believe he
himself let Wenlock escape so as to fasten it on to me. Gideon Roux
owes me money, and therefore would naturally turn against me. His
_vrouw_ looked frightened enough to satisfy even you that she was
talking under compulsion. Hermanus Delport is a friend of and related
to Gideon Roux. As for the two men who were on guard over Frank
Wenlock, I believe they are under some extraordinary delusion and were
speaking the truth as far as they knew. Morkel has stated the burden of
our conversation quite correctly. But there is one witness we have not
heard, and that is the man who turned me back into my tent last night."
"There is no such man," retorted Schoeman shortly. "It is all a
fabrication. Well, then, that is enough. You came into our camp, and
enjoyed our hospitality."
"No, I was brought here by force," interrupted Colvin.
"Still, still! Do not interrupt. You then took advantage of your
position here to commit a hostile act--an act of hostility against the
Republics, which have sheltered and shielded you--by aiding and abetting
the escape of a prisoner."
"That is not true," retorted Colvin. "Before God, in whose presence we
stand, I know no more of Frank Wenlock's escape, have had no more to do
with it, than the President himself."
"Do not add lying and blasphemy to your offence," said Schoeman
unctuously. "For the crime of which ample testimony has convicted you,
you will take the escaped prisoner's place. You will be shot at
sundown."
A gasp went up from the listeners. The proceedings had impressed them
deeply.
"Not yet," said Colvin, in a loud firm voice. "I appeal to the
President. In the presence of you all I appeal for justice to His
Honour the President of the Transvaal Republic."
Schoeman smiled coldly. "His Honour is not _our_ President--not yet.
We are not of the Transvaal Republic. Do you wish to converse with a
minister of the Gospel to prepare you to meet your Creator?" he added,
still unctuously.
"Yes," answered Colvin, unwilling to let slip any potential loophole,
however minute. "Mynheer Albertyn, of Schalkburg, is a good man. Can
he be fetched?"
The Commandant looked surprised, then conferred in a low tone with his
subordinate commanders.
"He can be fetched," he answered. "And as you have shown a proper frame
of mind, instead of blaspheming God--as your fellow-countryman did--more
time for preparation shall be allowed you. Instead of at sundown, you
must be ready for death an hour after sunrise to-morrow. That will
allow you some hours to pray with the _predikant_."
"I am grateful for that, Mynheer Commandant. But now, hear me.
Standing here, on the threshold of death, I proclaim Adrian De la Rey a
liar and perjurer--a perjurer who has taken the name of the great God to
witness his falsehood. Out there," waving his hand in the direction of
the far-off British entrenchments, "is possible death for any man--
glorious for the patriot, but for the liar and perjurer what--? I see
you, Adrian. Do not try and skulk out of sight among honester men than
yourself. Well, then, look me in the face, liar! So sure as I stand
here will death find you. Within three days death will find you out.
Now, liar and coward, well may you grow pale."
Adrian, white as a sheet, was trying to meet his denouncer's gaze, but
for the life of him could not at that moment. Muttering something, he
slipped away. And Colvin Kershaw followed his guards to his final
prison, well knowing that his hours were numbered.