THROUGH THE DUTCH CAMPS
Pretoria: November 30, 1899.
The bitter wind of disappointment pierces even the cloak of sleep.
Moreover, the night was cold and the wet clothes chilled and stiffened
my limbs, provoking restless and satisfactory dreams. I was breakfasting
with President Kruger and General Joubert. 'Have some jam,' said the
President. 'Thanks,' I replied, 'I would rather have marmalade.' But
there was none. Their evident embarrassment communicated itself to me.
'Never mind,' I said, 'I'd just as soon have jam.' But the President was
deeply moved. 'No, no,' he cried; 'we are not barbarians. Whatever you
are entitled to you shall have, if I have to send to Johannesburg for
it.' So he got up to ring the bell, and with the clang I woke.
The first light of dawn was just peering in through the skylight of the
corrugated iron shed. The soldiers lay in a brown litter about the
floor, several snoring horribly. The meaning of it came home with a
slap. Imprisoned; not able to come and go at will; about to be dragged
off and put in some secluded place while others fought the great quarrel
to the end; out of it all--like a pawn taken early in the game and flung
aside into the box. I groaned with vexation, and, sitting up, aroused
Frankland, who shared my blanket. Then the Boers unlocked the doors and
ordered us to get ready to march at once.
The forage which we had spread on the floor rustled, and the first idea
of escape crossed my mind. Why not lie buried underneath this litter
until prisoners and escort had marched away together? Would they count?
Would they notice? I did not think so. They would reason--we know they
all went in; it is certain none could have escaped during the night:
therefore all must be here this morning. Suppose they missed me? 'Where
is the "reporter," with whom we talked last evening?' Haldane would
reply that he must have slipped out of the door before it was shut. They
might scour the country; but would they search the shed? It seemed most
unlikely. The scheme pleased my fancy exceedingly, and I was just
resolving to conceal myself, when one of the guards entered and ordered
everyone to file out forthwith.
We chewed a little more of the ox, slain and toasted the night before,
and drank some rainwater from a large puddle, and, after this frugal
breakfast, intimated that we were ready. Then we set out--a sorry gang
of dirty, tramping prisoners, but yesterday the soldiers of the Queen;
while the fierce old farmers cantered their ponies about the veldt or
closed around the column, looking at us from time to time with
irritating disdain and still more irritating pity. We marched across the
waggon bridge of the Tugela, and following the road, soon entered the
hills. Among these we journeyed for several hours, wading across the
gullies which the heavy rains had turned into considerable streams and
persecuted by the slanting rays of the sun. Here and there parties of
Boers met us, and much handshaking and patting on the back ensued
between the newcomers and our escort. Once we halted at a little field
hospital--a dozen tents and waggons with enormous red-cross flags,
tucked away in a deep hollow.
We passed through Pieters without a check at the same toilsome plod and
on to Nelthorpe. Here we began to approach the Dutch lines of investment
round Ladysmith, and the advance of half an hour brought us to a very
strong picket, where we were ordered to halt and rest. Nearly two
hundred Boers swarmed round in a circle and began at once--for they are
all keen politicians and as curious as children--to ask questions of
every sort. What did we think of South Africa? Would we like to go in an
armoured train again? How long would the English go on fighting? When
would the war end? and the reply, 'When you are beaten,' was received
with shouts of laughter.
'Oh no, old chappie, you can never beat us. Look at Mafeking. We have
taken Mafeking. You will find Baden Powell waiting for you at Pretoria.
Kimberley, too, will fall this week. Rhodes is trying to escape in a
balloon, disguised as a woman--a fine woman.' Great merriment at this.
'What about Ladysmith?' 'Ten days. Ten days more and then we shall have
some whisky.' Listen. There was the boom of a heavy gun, and, turning, I
saw the white cloud of smoke hanging on the crest of Bulwana.
'That goes on always,' said the Boer. 'Can any soldiers bear that long?
Oh, you will find all the English army at Pretoria. Indeed, if it were
not for the sea-sickness we would take England. Besides, do you think
the European Powers will allow you to bully us?'
I said, 'Why bully if you are so strong?'
'Well, why should you come and invade our country?'
'Your country? I thought this was Natal.'
'So it is: but Natal is ours. You stole it from us. Now we take it back
again. That's all.'
A hum of approval ran round the grinning circle. An old Boer came up. He
did not understand what induced the soldiers to go in the armoured
train. Frankland replied, 'Ordered to. Don't you have to obey your
orders?'
The old man shook his head in bewilderment, then he observed, 'I fight
to kill: I do not fight to be killed. If the Field Cornet was to order
me to go in an armoured train, I would say to him, "Field Cornet, go to
hell."'
'Ah, you are not soldiers.'
'But we catch soldiers and kill soldiers and make soldiers run away.'
There was a general chorus of 'Yaw, yaw, yaw,' and grunts of amusement.
'You English,' said a well-dressed man, 'die for your country: we
Afrikanders live for ours.'
I said, 'Surely you don't think you will win this war?'
'Oh, yes; we will win all right this time, just the same as before.'
'But it is not the same as before. Gladstone is dead, they are
determined at home. If necessary they will send three hundred thousand
men and spend a hundred millions.'
'We are not afraid; no matter how many thousand penny soldiers you
send,' and an English Boer added, 'Let 'em all come.'
But there was one discordant note in the full chorus of confidence. It
recurred again and again. 'Where is Buller?' 'When is Buller coming?'
These merry fellows were not without their doubts.
'He will come when the army is ready.'
'But we have beaten the army.'
'No, the war has not begun yet.'
'It's all over for you, old chappie, anyway.'
It was a fair hit. I joined the general laughter, and, reviewing the
incident by the light of subsequent events, feel I had some right to.
Very soon after this we were ordered to march again, and we began to
move to the eastward in the direction of the Bulwana Hill, descending as
we did so into the valley of the Klip River. The report of the
intermittent guns engaged in the bombardment of Ladysmith seemed very
loud and near, and the sound of the British artillery making occasional
reply could be plainly distinguished. After we had crossed the railway
line beyond Nelthorpe I caught sight of another evidence of the
proximity of friends. High above the hills, to the left of the path,
hung a speck of gold-beater's skin. It was the Ladysmith balloon. There,
scarcely two miles away, were safety and honour. The soldiers noticed
the balloon too. 'Those are our blokes,' they said. 'We ain't all
finished yet,' and so they comforted themselves, and a young sergeant
advanced a theory that the garrison would send out cavalry to rescue us.
We kept our eyes on the balloon till it was hidden by the hills, and I
thought of all that lay at the bottom of its rope. Beleaguered
Ladysmith, with its shells, its flies, its fever, and its filth seemed
a glorious paradise to me.
We forded the Klip River breast high, and, still surrounded by our
escort, trudged on towards the laagers behind Bulwana. But it was just
three o'clock, after about ten hours' marching, that we reached the camp
where we were to remain for the night. Having had no food--except the
toasted ox, a disgusting form of nourishment--and being besides unused
to walking far, I was so utterly worn out on arrival that at first I
cared for nothing but to lie down under the shade of a bush. But after
the Field-Cornet had given us some tea and bully beef, and courteously
bidden us to share the shelter of his tent, I felt equal to further
argument.
The Boers were delighted and crowded into the small tent.
'Will you tell us why there is this war?'
I said that it was because they wanted to beat us out of South Africa
and we did not like the idea.
'Oh no, that is not the reason.' Now that the war had begun they would
drive the British into the sea; but if we had been content with what we
had they would not have interfered with us--except to get a port and
have their full independence recognised.
'I will tell you what is the real cause of this war. It's all those
damned capitalists. They want to steal our country, and they have bought
Chamberlain, and now these three, Rhodes, Beit, and Chamberlain, think
they will have the Rand to divide between them afterwards.'
'Don't you know that the gold mines are the property of the
shareholders, many of whom are foreigners--Frenchman and Germans and
others? After the war, whatever government rules, they will still belong
to these people.'
'What are we fighting for then?'
'Because you hate us bitterly, and have armed yourselves in order to
attack us, and we naturally chose to fight when we are not occupied
elsewhere. "Agree with thine adversary whiles thou art in the way with
him.'"
'Don't you think it wicked to try to steal our country?'
'We only want to protect ourselves and our own interests. We didn't want
your country.'
'No, but the damned capitalists do.'
'If you had tried to keep on friendly terms with us there would have
been no war. But you want to drive us out of South Africa. Think of a
great Afrikander Republic--all South Africa speaking Dutch--a United
States under your President and your Flag, sovereign and international.'
Their eyes glittered. 'That's what we want,' said one. 'Yaw, yaw,' said
the others, 'and that's what we're going to have.'
'Well, that's the reason of the war.'
'No, no. You know it's those damned capitalists and Jews who have caused
the war.' And the argument recommenced its orbit.
So the afternoon wore away.
As the evening fell the Commandant required us to withdraw to some tents
which had been pitched at the corner of the laager. A special tent was
provided for the officers, and now, for the first time, they found
themselves separated from their men. I had a moment in which to decide
whether I would rank as officer or private, and chose the former, a
choice I was soon to regret. Gradually it became night. The scene as the
daylight faded was striking and the circumstances were impressive. The
dark shadow of Bulwana mountain flung back over the Dutch camp, and the
rugged, rock-strewn hills rose about it on all sides. The great waggons
were arranged to enclose a square, in the midst of which stood clusters
of variously shaped tents and lines of munching oxen. Within the laager
and around it little fires began to glow, and by their light the figures
of the Boers could be seen busy cooking and eating their suppers, or
smoking in moody, muttering groups. All was framed by the triangular
doorway of the tent, in which two ragged, bearded men sat nursing their
rifles and gazing at their captives in silence. Nor was it till my
companions prepared to sleep that the stolid guards summoned the energy
and wit to ask, in struggling English (for these were real veldt
Boers), the inevitable question, 'And after all, what are we fighting
for? Why is there this war?' But I was tired of arguing, so I said, 'It
is the will of God,' and turned to rest with a more confident feeling
than the night before, for I felt that these men were wearying of the
struggle.
To rest but not to sleep, for the knowledge that the British lines at
Ladysmith lay only five miles away filled my brain with hopes and plans
of escape. I had heard it said that all Dutchmen slept between 12 and 2
o'clock, and I waited, trusting that our sentries would observe the
national custom. But I soon saw that I should have been better situated
with the soldiers. We three officers were twenty yards from the laager,
and around our little tent, as I learned by peering through a rent in
the canvas, no less than four men were posted. At intervals they were
visited or relieved, at times they chatted together; but never for a
minute was their vigilance relaxed, and the continual clicking of the
Mauser breech bolts, as they played with their rifles, unpleasantly
proclaimed their attention. The moon was full and bright, and it was
obvious that no possible chance of success awaited an attempt.
With the soldiers the circumstances were more favourable. Their tent
stood against the angle of the laager, and although the sentries watched
the front and sides it seemed to me that a man might crawl through the
back, and by walking boldly across the laager itself pass safely out
into the night. It was certainly a road none would expect a fugitive to
take; but whatever its chances it was closed to me, for the guard was
changed at midnight and a new sentry stationed between our tent and
those near the laager.
I examined him through the torn tent. He was quite a child--a boy of
about fourteen--and needless to say appreciated the importance of his
duties. He played this terrible game of soldiers with all his heart and
soul; so at last I abandoned the idea of flight and fell asleep.
In the morning, before the sun was up, the Commandant Davel came to
rouse us. The prisoners were to march at once to Elandslaagte Station.
'How far?' we asked, anxiously, for all were very footsore. 'Only a very
little way--five hours' slow walking.' We stood up--for we had slept in
our clothes and cared nothing for washing--and said that we were ready.
The Commandant then departed, to return in a few minutes bringing some
tea and bully beef, which he presented to us with an apology for the
plainness of the fare. He asked an English-speaking Boer to explain that
they had nothing better themselves. After we had eaten and were about to
set forth, Dayel said, through his interpreter, that he would like to
know from us that we were satisfied with the treatment we met with at
his laager. We gladly gave him the assurance, and with much respect bade
good-bye to this dignified and honourable enemy. Then we were marched
away over the hills towards the north, skirting the picket line round
Ladysmith to the left. Every half-mile or so the road led through or by
some Boer laager, and the occupants--for it was a quiet day in the
batteries--turned out in hundreds to look at us. I do not know how many
men I saw, but certainly during this one march not less than 5,000. Of
this great number two only offered insults to the gang of prisoners. One
was a dirty, mean-looking little Hollander. He said, 'Well, Tommy,
you've got your franchise, anyhow.' The other was an Irishman. He
addressed himself to Frankland, whose badges proclaimed his regiment.
What he said when disentangled from obscenity amounted to this: 'I am
glad to see you Dublin fellows in trouble.' The Boers silenced him at
once and we passed on. But that was all the taunting we received during
the whole journey from Frere Station to Pretoria, and when one remembers
that the Burghers are only common men with hardly any real discipline,
the fact seems very remarkable. But little and petty as it was it galled
horribly. The soldiers felt the sting and scowled back; the officers
looked straight before them. Yet it was a valuable lesson. Only a few
days before I had read in the newspapers of how the Kaffirs had jeered
at the Boer prisoners when they were marched into Pietermaritzburg,
saying, 'Where are your passes?' It had seemed a very harmless joke
then, but now I understood how a prisoner feels these things.
It was about eleven o'clock when we reached Elandslaagte Station. A
train awaited the prisoners. There were six or seven closed vans for the
men and a first-class carriage for the officers. Into a compartment of
this we were speedily bundled. Two Boers with rifles sat themselves
between us, and the doors were locked. I was desperately hungry, and
asked for both food and water. 'Plenty is coming,' they said, so we
waited patiently, and sure enough, in a few minutes a railway official
came along the platform, opened the door, and thrust before us in
generous profusion two tins of preserved mutton, two tins of preserved
fish, four or five loaves, half a dozen pots of jam, and a large can of
tea. As far as I could see the soldiers fared no worse. The reader will
believe that we did not stand on ceremony, but fell to at once and made
the first satisfying meal for three days. While we ate a great crowd of
Boers gathered around the train and peered curiously in at the windows.
One of them was a doctor, who, noticing that my hand was bound up,
inquired whether I were wounded. The cut caused by the splinter of
bullet was insignificant, but since it was ragged and had received no
attention for two days it had begun to fester. I therefore showed him my
hand, and he immediately bustled off to get bandages and hot water and
what not, with which, amid the approving grins of the rough fellows who
thronged the platform, he soon bound me up very correctly.
The train whereby we were to travel was required for other business
besides; and I noticed about a hundred Boers embarking with their horses
in a dozen large cattle trucks behind the engine. At or about noon we
steamed off, moving slowly along the line, and Captain Haldane pointed
out to me the ridge of Elandslaagte, and gave me some further account of
that successful action and of the great skill with which Hamilton had
directed the infantry attack. The two Boers who were guarding us
listened with great interest, but the single observation they made was
that we had only to fight Germans and Hollanders at Elandslaagte. 'If
these had been veldt Boers in front of you----' My companion replied
that even then the Gordon Highlanders might have made some progress.
Whereat both Boers laughed softly and shook their heads with the air of
a wiseacre, saying, 'You will know better when you're as old as me,' a
remark I constantly endure from very worthy people.
Two stations beyond Elandslaagte the Boer commando, or portion of
commando, left the train, and the care and thought that had been
lavished on the military arrangements were very evident. All the
stations on the line were fitted with special platforms three or four
hundred yards long, consisting of earth embankments revetted with wood
towards the line and sloping to the ground on the other side. The
horsemen were thereby enabled to ride their horses out of the trucks,
and in a few minutes all were cantering away across the plain. One of
the Boer guards noticed the attention I paid to these arrangements. 'It
is in case we have to go back quickly to the Biggarsberg or Laing's
Nek,' he explained. As we travelled on I gradually fell into
conversation with this man. His name, he told me, was Spaarwater, which
he pronounced _Spare-_water. He was a farmer from the Ermolo district.
In times of peace he paid little or no taxes. For the last four years he
had escaped altogether. The Field Cornet, he remarked, was a friend of
his. But for such advantages he lay under the obligation to serve
without pay in war-time, providing horse, forage, and provisions. He was
a polite, meek-mannered little man, very anxious in all the discussion
to say nothing that could hurt the feelings of his prisoners, and I took
a great liking to him. He had fought at Dundee. 'That,' he said, 'was a
terrible battle. Your artillery? _Bang! bang! bang_! came the shells all
round us. And the bullets! _Whew_, don't tell me the soldiers can't
shoot. They shoot jolly well, old chappie. I, too, can shoot. I can hit
a bottle six times out of seven at a hundred yards, but when there is a
battle then I do not shoot so well.'
The other man, who understood a little English, grinned at this, and
muttered something in Dutch.
'What does he say?' I inquired.
'He says "He too,"' replied Spaarwater. 'Besides, we cannot see your
soldiers. At Dundee I was looking down the hill and saw nothing except
rows of black boots marching and the black belts of one of the
regiments.'
'But,' I said, 'you managed to hit some of them after all.'
He smiled, 'Ah, yes, we are lucky, and God is on our side. Why, after
Dundee, when we were retiring, we had to cross a great open plain, never
even an ant-hill, and you had put twelve great cannons--I counted
them--and Maxims as well, to shoot us as we went; but not one fired a
shot. Was it not God's hand that stopped them? After that we knew.'
I said: 'Of course the guns did not fire, because you had raised the
white flag.'
'Yes,' he answered, 'to ask for armistice, but not to give in. We are
not going to give in yet. Besides, we have heard that your Lancers
speared our wounded at Elandslaagte.' We were getting on dangerous
ground. He hastened to turn the subject. 'It's all those lying
newspapers that spread these reports on both sides, just like the
capitalists made the war by lying.'
A little further on the ticket collector came to join in the
conversation. He was a Hollander, and very eloquent.
'Why should you English take this country away from us?' he asked, and
the silent Boer chimed in broken English. 'Are not our farms our own?
Why must we fight for them?'
I endeavoured to explain the ground of our quarrel. 'After all British
government is not a tyranny.'
'It's no good for a working-man,' said the ticket collector; 'look at
Kimberley. Kimberley was a good place to live in before the capitalists
collared it. Look at it now. Look at me. What are my wages?'
I forget what he said they were, but they were extraordinary wages for a
ticket collector.
'Do you suppose I should get such wages under the English Government?'
I said 'No.'
'There you are,' he said. 'No English Government for me,' and added
inconsequently, 'We fight for our freedom.'
Now I thought I had an argument that would tell. I turned th the farmer,
who had been listening approvingly:
'Those are very good wages.'
'Ah, yes.'
'Where does the money come from?'
'Oh, from the taxes ... and from the railroad.'
'Well, now, you send a good deal of your produce by rail, I suppose?'
'Ya' (an occasional lapse into Dutch).
'Don't you find the rates very high?'
'Ya, ya,' said both the Boers together; 'very high.'
'That is because he' (pointing to the ticket collector) 'is getting such
good wages. You are paying them.' At this they both laughed heartily,
and Spaarwater said that that was quite true, and that the rates were
too high.
'Under the English Government,' I said, 'he will not get such high
wages; you will not have to pay such high rates.'
They received the conclusion in silence. Then Spaarwater said, 'Yes, but
we shall have to pay a tribute to your Queen.'
'Does Cape Colony?' I asked.
'Well, what about that ironclad?'
'A present, a free-will offering because they are contented--as you will
be some day--under our flag.'
'No, no, old chappie, we don't want your flag; we want to be left alone.
We are free, you are not free.'
'How do you mean "not free"?'
'Well, is it right that a dirty Kaffir should walk on the
pavement--without a pass too? That's what they do in your British
Colonies. Brother! Equal! Ugh! Free! Not a bit. We know how to treat
Kaffirs.'
Probing at random I had touched a very sensitive nerve. We had got down
from underneath the political and reached the social. What is the true
and original root of Dutch aversion to British rule? It is not Slagters
Nek, nor Broomplatz, nor Majuba, nor the Jameson Raid. Those incidents
only fostered its growth. It is the abiding fear and hatred of the
movement that seeks to place the native on a level with the white man.
British government is associated in the Boer farmer's mind with violent
social revolution. Black is to be proclaimed the same as white. The
servant is to be raised against the master; the Kaffir is to be declared
the brother of the European, to be constituted his legal equal, to be
armed with political rights. The dominant race is to be deprived of
their superiority; nor is a tigress robbed of her cubs more furious than
is the Boer at this prospect.
I mused on the tangled skein of politics and party principles. This
Boer farmer was a very typical character, and represented to my mind all
that was best and noblest in the African Dutch character. Supposing he
had been conducting Mr. Morley to Pretoria, not as a prisoner of war,
but as an honoured guest, instead of me, what would their conversation
have been? How excellently they would have agreed on the general
question of the war! I could imagine the farmer purring with delight as
his distinguished charge dilated in polished sentences upon liberty and
the rights of nationalities. Both would together have bewailed the
horrors of war and the crime of aggression; both would have condemned
the tendencies of modern Imperialism and Capitalism; both would have
been in complete accord whenever the names of Rhodes, Chamberlain, or
Milner were mentioned. And the spectacle of this citizen soldier, called
reluctant, yet not unwilling, from the quiet life of his farm to fight
bravely in defence of the soil on which he lived, which his fathers had
won by all manner of suffering and peril, and to preserve the
independence which was his pride and joy, against great enemies of
regulars--surely that would have drawn the most earnest sympathy of the
eminent idealist. And then suddenly a change, a jarring note in the duet
of agreement.
'_We_ know how to treat Kaffirs in _this_ country. Fancy letting the
black filth walk on the pavement!'
And after that no more agreement: but argument growing keener and
keener; gulf widening every moment.
'Educate a Kaffir! Ah, that's you English all over. No, no, old chappie.
We educate 'em with a stick. Treat 'em with humanity and
consideration--I like that. They were put here by the God Almighty to
work for us. We'll stand no damned nonsense from them. We'll keep them
in their proper places. What do you think? Insist on their proper
treatment will you? Ah, that's what we're going to see about now. We'll
settle whether you English are to interfere with us before this war is
over.'
The afternoon dragged away before the train passed near Dundee.
Lieutenant Frankland had helped to storm Talana Hill, and was much
excited to see the field of battle again under these new circumstances.
'It would all have been different if Symons had lived. We should never
have let them escape from under our guns. That commando would have been
smashed up altogether.'
'But what about the other commando that came up the next day?'
'Oh, the General would have managed them all right. He'd have, soon
found some way of turning them out.' Nor do I doubt he would, if the
fearless confidence with which he inspired his troops could have
protected his life. But the bullet is brutally indiscriminating, and
before it the brain of a hero or the quarters of a horse stand exactly
the same chance to the vertical square inch.
After Talana Hill was lost to view we began to search for Majuba, and
saw it just as night closed in--a great dark mountain with memories as
sad and gloomy as its appearance. The Boer guards pointed out to us
where they had mounted their big cannons to defend Laing's Nek, and
remarked that the pass was now impregnable. I could not resist saying,
'This is not the only road into the Transvaal.' 'Ah, but you English
always come where we want you to come.'
We now approached the frontier. I had indulged in hopes of leaving the
train while in the Volksrust Tunnel by climbing out of the window. The
possibility had, however, presented itself to Spaarwater, for he shut
both windows, and just before we reached the entrance opened the breech
of his Mauser to show me that it was fully loaded. So prudence again
imposed patience. It was quite dark when the train reached Volksrust,
and we knew ourselves actually in the enemy's country. The platform was
densely crowded with armed Boers. It appeared that two new commandos had
been called out, and were waiting for trains to take them to the front.
Moreover, a strong raiding party had just come back from British
Swaziland. The windows were soon blocked with the bearded faces of men
who gazed stolidly and commented freely to each other on our
appearance. It was like being a wild beast in a cage. After some time a
young woman pushed her way to the window and had a prolonged stare, at
the end of which she observed in a loud voice (I must record it)--'Why,
they're not so bad looking after all.' At this there was general
laughter, and Spaarwater, who was much concerned, said that they meant
no harm, and that if we were annoyed he would have everyone cleared
away. But I said: 'Certainly not; let them feast their eyes.' So they
did, for forty minutes by the clock.
Their faces were plain and rough, but not unkindly. The little
narrow-set pig-eyes were the most displeasing feature. For the rest they
looked what they were, honest ignorant peasants with wits sharpened by
military training and the conditions of a new country. Presently I
noticed at the window furthest from the platform one of quite a
different type. A handsome boyish face without beard or moustache, and a
very amiable expression. We looked at each other. There was no one else
at that side of the carriage.
'Will you have some cigarettes?' he said, holding me out a packet. I
took one, and we began to talk. 'Is there going to be much more war?' he
inquired anxiously.
'Yes, very much more; we have scarcely begun,' He looked quite
miserable.
I said, 'You have not been at the front yet?'
'No, I am only just commandeered.'
'How old are you?'
'Sixteen.'
'That's very young to go and fight.'
He shook his head sadly.
'What's your name?'
'Cameron.'
'That's not a Dutch name?'
'No, I'm not a Dutchman. My father came from Scotland.'
'Then why do you go and fight against the British?'
'How can I help it? I live here. You must go when you're commandeered.
They wouldn't let me off. Mother tried her best. But it's "come out and
fight or leave the country" here, and we've got nothing but the farm.'
'The Government would have paid you compensation afterwards.'
'Ah! that's what they told father last time. He was loyal, and helped to
defend the Pretoria laager. He lost everything, and he had to begin all
over again.'
'So now you fight against your country?'
'I can't help it,' he repeated sullenly, 'you must go when you're
commandeered.' And then he climbed down off the footboard, and I did not
see him again--one piteous item of Gladstone's legacy--the ruined and
abandoned loyalist in the second generation.
Before the train left Volksrust we changed our guards. The honest
burghers who had captured us had to return to the front, and we were to
be handed over to the police. The leader of the escort--a dear old
gentleman--I am ignorant of his official rank--approached and explained
through Spaarwater that it was he who had placed the stone and so caused
our misfortunes. He said he hoped we bore no malice. We replied by no
means, and that we would do the same for him with pleasure any day.
Frankland asked him what rewards he would get for such distinguished
service. In truth he might easily have been shot, had we turned the
corner a minute earlier. The subaltern apparently contemplated some
Republican V.C. or D.S.O. But the farmer was much puzzled by his
question. After some explaining we learnt that he had been given
fourteen days' furlough to go home to his farm and see his wife. His
evident joy and delight were touching. I said 'Surely this is a very
critical time to leave the front. You may miss an important battle.'
'Yes,' he replied simply, 'I hope so.' Then we said 'good-bye,' and I
gave him, and also Spaarwater, a little slip of paper setting forth that
they had shown kindness and courtesy to British prisoners of war, and
personally requesting anyone into whose hands the papers might come to
treat them well, should they themselves be taken by the Imperial forces.
We were then handed to a rather dilapidated policeman of a gendarme
type, who spat copiously on the floor of the carriage and informed us
that we should be shot if we attempted to escape. Having no desire to
speak to this fellow, we let down the sleeping shelves of the
compartment and, as the train steamed out of Volksrust, turned to sleep.