The rondavel was curious rather than beautiful. It was built entirely
on the native principle, save that it had a fireplace and properly
constructed chimney. In the centre four uprights of timber supported
the roof--young trees which had been felled and barked under Nel's
supervision. The roof was of wattle and reed, the thatching of which
had been done entirely by native women because in Nel's opinion they
understood the work thoroughly. The mud floor, smooth and of a perfect
evenness, was subjected regularly to the unsavoury process of smearing--
washing over the surface with a weak solution of cow-dung. This is less
unpleasant than it sounds, and is admittedly the best treatment for mud
floors; it prevents crumbling and unevenness of surface. Upon the floor
were one or two good skins. A curious curtain of strips of hide
attached to the supports divided the hut into separate apartments. Nel
held aside this reimpe curtain and disclosed his bed.
"When I go to bed," he explained, "I draw the curtain back; then my
sleeping apartment is quite spacious."
Behind the rondavel a second and smaller hut had been erected. This
served as a kitchen and his boy's quarters; and from this hut presently
a Kaffir appeared and spread a cloth on the round table, and brought in
the breakfast. They took their seats.
"You would have fared better by my brother's house," Nel observed,
helping his guest to porridge with which raw cream was served. "I live
simply here. It suits me. There are buttered mealies to follow--and
biltong, if you care for it. It's quite good eating cut fine--a
pocket-knife is best for the purpose. I'll cut you some to eat with
bread and butter."
"Thanks," Matheson answered. "I call it excellent fare. For myself I
should be satisfied with the porridge and that fine water melon to
finish with."
"Yes!" Nel regarded the huge green fruit that furnished the centre of
the table. "We grow good melons--a very pleasant and refreshing fruit.
It makes a nice confit, too. My sister-in-law is very clever in that
way. It is she who keeps me supplied with meiboss, and other agreeable
preserves."
He went into a dissertation on the unsurpassed excellence of Dutch
housewifery, and extolled the Dutchwoman's knowledge in all branches of
cookery, and the special preparation of the produce of the country.
Matheson was not particularly interested in the subject; but the speaker
and his quaint abode and curious mode of living interested him
enormously. He had imagined that all Dutchmen were phlegmatic; slow of
speech, slow of thought, heavy in their humour, and violent in temper.
This Dutchman was altogether different from any type he had met.
Instinctively he liked him. He had a feeling that Nel was predisposed
towards reciprocating this liking; but the man was cautious. He talked
continuously; and while he talked he was quite plainly taking stock of
his visitor--thinking him out. He could not place the Englishman, and
was frankly puzzled. The Englishman was agreeable, and seemed honest;
but an honest man does not undertake a dishonourable mission.
"I expected to see you at the meeting last night," he said presently.
He spoke with some abruptness, and fumbled in his pocket for his knife,
which he opened deliberately, keeping his gaze fixed on Matheson's face
the while.
"It is the first I have heard of any meeting," Matheson replied. "I
suppose Mr Krige attended?"
"Yes. You think it wise to keep away, eh?"
Matheson stared hard at the speaker. The shrewd eyes withdrew their
gaze and fixed themselves on the dried buckflesh which was being finely
sliced with the sharp blade of the clasp knife. Matheson felt incensed.
"I don't know what you mean," he said. "I wasn't invited to attend.
Why should it seem to you wise that I should keep away?"
Nel went on quietly dicing the biltong.
"When a man sells his country he does not usually attend the auction,"
he said.
Matheson's head went up with a jerk. It was the most astonishing moment
in his life. Here was a man whose hospitality he was partaking of, with
whom a minute before he had been in amicable conversation, accusing him
of one of the worst crimes in the calendar; and for the life of him he
could not tell whether the accusation were just or not. That was the
worst of it, the most serious side of the business; he did not know the
extent of his responsibility.
He raised his hand, prepared to bring his clenched fist passionately
down on the table; but his arm dropped to his side, the hand fell open
loosely. He sat back in his seat and stared amazedly at the composed
face of the man who accused him of a thing so vile, so absolutely
unthinkable.
"I think, Mr Nel, you will have to take that back," he said quietly,
"or prove your words." And then, losing for a space the grip he had
managed to get on his feelings, he burst out with some vehemence: "Damn
it! What the devil do you mean?"
Nel pushed the plate of biltong towards the middle of the table,
pocketed his knife, and sat forward, leaning with his arms on the cloth.
"You resent my words," he said. "Why should you? Are you not the paid
messenger of a German secret agent?"
"Holman! ... You mean Holman? Holman is--"
"A German," interrupted Nel coolly. "In the Colony perhaps it suits him
to pass as British. If you had read the letter you delivered to Andreas
Krige you would have seen that he signs himself Holmann. That isn't the
English way of spelling the name."
"You've read the letter?" Matheson asked quickly.
"No." Nel smiled drily. "I saw only the signature. They do not trust
me with the letter--no! When they can they keep me from their meetings.
But last night I attended. I attend to talk common sense. They do not
like common sense; they do not listen. When I talk Andreas Krige closes
his eyes; when I have finished he opens them again and resumes as though
I had not spoken." The Boer became suddenly excited. "It's devil's
work you are engaged upon, Mr Matheson. I am not surprised you feel
shame to acknowledge your part in it."
Matheson leaned his arms on the table also and brought his face close to
the speaker's. With an effort he controlled his temper. He was on the
fringe of a discovery; he did not wish to prejudice his chances of
learning what was so vitally important that he should know by rousing
the other to anger. To learn more of this secret business was all that
mattered for the present. In those days the fact that Holman was German
was not in itself significant, but it was remarkable that he should
conceal his nationality and pass as British. The whole thing in its
lying secrecy wore a very sinister look.
"It seems rather much to ask you to believe, Mr Nel, that I am less
well informed than yourself as to the nature of this business of
Holman's. He told me it was political; and I gathered that it was some
party squabble. I consented to act as the bearer of his letter in part
payment of a sum of money I owed him. I also undertook to keep my mouth
shut. But in opening it to you I cannot be said to be giving
information. You, know more than I do. It would seem I have been
assisting in what is contrary to the interests of the Empire. I would
let my hand rot off before I applied knowingly to such work."
Nel shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't care that for the British Empire," he said, snapping his
fingers. "It's working against the good of this country that concerns
me. Look at this country, prosperous and free and developing rapidly.
South Africa was never more prosperous. The conditions for the white
races are favourable to all alike. We in South Africa enjoy as great
liberty and freedom as any country; yet men like Krige and Cornelius--
ah! and older and more responsible men whom I could name if I would--
would plunge the country into bloodshed out of a bitter spirit of
revenge. They have a sense of personal grievance; they seek to wipe it
out with no care nor compunction for the wrong they will do others. We
can't get anything through war that we haven't got. It is merely
nominal privileges they seek. They want to separate South Africa from
the British Empire. Even if they succeeded, what would they gain? Do
they imagine they would be allowed to keep so great a prize? ... There
is only one sure means of conquest." He smiled, a slow, quiet smile.
"It isn't warfare... Propagation... that is the secret We multiply; and
I tell you surely we will people South Africa. Your people come and go,
but the Boer lives by the land. South Africa is his Fatherland. I bid
them to have patience; but they want to see in this generation the
result of the seed which lies in the womb of the future."
"It's rebellion, then, that is hatching?" Matheson said.
The present concerned him much more vitally than the future. The future
of South Africa he believed was quite secure; there was little need to
worry about that. He reflected for a space.
"The overthrow of the government... Yes; I begin to understand."
Again he was silent, staring into the Dutchman's flushed, earnest face.
Nel's eyes, alight with patriotic zeal, returned his gaze.
"I would do anything," the Boer said--"anything in the world, to crush
this spirit of rebellion--to rid the land of it for ever. There must be
an end of racial bitterness. The welfare of the country depends upon
the co-operation of Dutch and British. The Boers must learn to crush
down personal feeling. The best men have done that in the interests of
the Fatherland. What matters it, the flag we prosper under? The
country belongs to the people who live in it. It's personal feeling
that is at the bottom of this discontent. There is no patriotism in it.
It is not the wrong done them as a people, it's the personal grievance
that rankles. The whole spirit of rebellion is fed on personal animus.
These men would injure their country out of a spirit of revenge. There
is no sense in it; it is childish."
He paused, and scrutinised Matheson closely for a moment or so.
"You say you are not wilfully assisting in sowing seeds of discord
throughout the Union, yet you admit being in the pay of a man who has
carried on this devil's work for years. One day we will reap the
harvest; and the result will be that brother will be against brother,
friend against friend. A bloody civil war is not a pleasant thing to
contemplate. Think well before you meddle again in what you don't
understand. I will give you a message to bear to your friend, Mr
Holmann: tell him from me that he is a damned scoundrel."
"I shall probably have a similar message to deliver to him on my own
account," Matheson answered. "I am obliged to you for enlightening me.
And I can only say that I hope you believe me when I give you my word of
honour that I had not the remotest suspicion of what you have informed
me. I'm amazed. Of course, I've heard the Kriges' story; I know they
feel bitterly towards the British. But I imagined they voiced a quite
insignificant minority."
"They voice a minority--but not insignificant. Mostly this madness--for
it is madness--shows itself among the most ignorant of the backveld
Boers, in whom racial prejudice dies hard. They are not properly
civilised, these men. They want freedom--freedom from taxation, from
laws, and restraints. They are of the pioneer breed. They make good
trekkers, but they don't submit kindly to government. The men who lead
them know better; but they are actuated by jealousy and hate. They are
mad with hate, just mad; and a madman who isn't under restraint is a
danger to the population."
With surprising suddenness Nel's face softened wonderfully, the anger
died out of his eyes.
"I get carried away," he said apologetically. "I feel strongly, Mr
Matheson. This matter is the one subject of dissension between me and
my brother. Cornelius, like Lot's wife, cannot look forward because
some evil influence impels him always to turn back towards the shadow of
the past."
He put out a hand as though he waved the subject aside, and returned to
his neglected duty as host.
"Come!" he said. "You are not eating. You mustn't starve yourself
because I talk too much."
He passed the plate of biltong to his visitor and helped himself at the
same time.
"The best guarantee that I accept your word that you acted in
ignorance," he said presently, "is that I have spoken as freely as I
have. If you would, you could help largely in counteracting the evil
influences that are working to undermine the peace of this country."
He paused; and Matheson, looking up to inquire in what way he could be
useful, discovered the searching eyes scrutinising him anew with
disconcerting attentiveness. He laughed quietly.
"I don't believe you are very sure of me yet," he said.
"Oh! yes, I am... as sure as a man can be of another whom he knows so
slightly. What I would say to you is, go back--you can do no good
here--go back, and help to instil in the minds of your own countrymen a
feeling of greater kindliness towards the Dutch. The racial bitterness
is not all on our side. A little forbearance, a more generous spirit--
what you call fair play, will lead to a better understanding. I believe
that under tactful and sympathetic conditions of government the spirit
of rebellion which exists to-day, which will exist for some time while
men turn to look back at that shadow of the past, will eventually die
out; and the union of the two white races in South Africa will become
cemented. The prosperous future of the country depends on that. It is
one camp; there must be no enemies in it."
His mouth lifted at the corners humorously.
"This farm is an example of dissension in the camp," he said. "I build
myself a rondavel, with a rope ladder leading to the roof which I can
draw up after me. When we have eaten I will show you. No one knows of
that retreat. I have kept my secret; then, when I do not wish to be
found, I climb into my secret chamber, and they look for me in vain. My
rondavel has a double roof."
Matheson looked up with surprise at the innocent-looking grass roof,
while Nel observed him smilingly.
"A child with a toy!--eh, Mr Matheson?" he said. "I was just a big boy
when I planned my house."