PASSES AND PERMITS
At this time the procuring of passes and permits became the order of
the day, and it is inconceivable the amount of red-tape that had to be
gone through in the process.
For women living alone and having no menfolk to send to the offices,
this was especially annoying.
Hours were spent in waiting, and applicants were frequently sent from
one official to another, and from one department to another, on
unimportant matters.
This brought Hansie into touch with the very men whose society she had
resolved to avoid.
It took her three or four hours to get a permit for her bicycle and as
many days to get permission to retain her Colt's pocket-pistol, for
the officers in charge of the rifle department refused to let her keep
it and she eventually decided to go straight to head-quarters, viz.
the Military Governor, General Maxwell.
Orders had very rightly been issued that all firearms should be
delivered to the military authorities, but in this case Mrs. van
Warmelo thought an exception should be made, because two unprotected
women, living in an isolated homestead, could hardly be considered
safe in times of such great danger unless sufficiently armed and able
to defend themselves.
Other matters, of minor importance, could be overlooked, but it was to
this question of retaining weapons that she and her daughter owed
their acquaintance with the charming and affable Military Governor.
The two women were received with great courtesy, and when they had
explained that they had a Mauser rifle in their possession, a
revolver, and a pistol, begging to be allowed to keep them for
self-defence, General Maxwell instantly granted them permits for the
revolver and pistol, but asked them to give up their rifle. He gave
them a written promise, signed by himself, that the rifle would be
returned to them after the war--which promise, I may add, was
faithfully kept. General Maxwell asked many questions about their
fighting relatives, and, when they were departing, said he hoped they
would come straight to him if at any time they got into trouble.
This kindness opened the way to many subsequent visits, and brought
about a friendly understanding between the officials in the Governor's
Department and Mrs. and Miss van Warmelo.
The latter, upon whom naturally devolved the task of procuring the
necessary passes and permits, was always well received, and never kept
waiting, although she made no secret of her feelings towards the
British, and frankly gave vent to her opinions on every subject
connected with the war. This state of affairs was brought about all
the more easily by the fact that General Maxwell and his A.D.C., Major
Hoskins, invited her opinions on every possible occasion.
Mutual respect, and a sincere desire to alleviate the suffering caused
by the war, formed the basis of the somewhat incongruous friendship
between the high British official and the Republican girl, especially
as time went on and the appalling problem of the concentration camps
presented itself. Then it was that General Maxwell, pacing up and down
in his office, his brow drawn with care, and every movement betraying
his distress, frankly discussed the situation with Hansie and invited
her confidence. As she had no secrets of importance at this time,
these interviews were marked by a spirit of mutual understanding, and
she learnt more and more to admire and respect the Governor for his
humanity and nobility of character; but the time was soon to come when
the demands of her land and people called her to more dangerous fields
of labour, and then it became difficult, well-nigh impossible, to meet
the searching eye of the Military Governor.
Her visits became less frequent, of her own free will, and in time
ceased altogether.
Soon after the rifle incident Hansie had to call on General Maxwell,
as Secretary of the Pretoria Ladies' Vocal Society, for a permit to
hold rehearsals. She found him alone and disengaged, for a wonder, and
so evidently pleased to see her again that she entered into
conversation with him unhesitatingly.
After she had explained the object of her visit and apologised for
troubling him about such a trifle, she told him that she had been
informed in other Departments that as there was no institution for
granting permits to hold rehearsals, she would have to get a special
permit from the Military Governor.
"Why," he exclaimed in surprise, "can you not rehearse without a
permit?"
"No," Hansie answered laughingly. "Do you not know that two or three
may not gather together except in the name of the Governor under the
new regulations and since the execution of Cordua? Why, we may be
conspiring against your life instead of rehearsing our songs, and at
the present moment we can hardly put our noses out-of-doors without
being asked whether we have permits for them."
"You are right," he answered; "I did not think of this. Well, you may
have your permit on condition that you promise to talk no politics and
to be in your own homes before 7 p.m."
Hansie gave the promise on behalf of the vocal society, and yet
another war-permit was added to her curious collection! With all the
friendliness existing between the Governor and herself, I do not for a
moment think that they ever trusted one another completely. Were they
not both good patriots? Hansie knew by the questions he asked her that
he was trying to extract information from her, and the Governor only
told her as much as he thought she could use to his own advantage.
On this particular occasion, when he parted from her, he asked in a
fatherly, I-take-such-an-interest-in-you way whether she ever heard
from her brothers.
"No," she exclaimed in innocent surprise. "How can I?" (and at the
time she spoke truth). Whereupon he sympathetically murmured something
about "a very trying time for you."
Permits everywhere and for everything!
Men were stopped in the streets to show their residential passes,
private carriages were held up and the occupants requested to produce
their permits for vehicle and horses, and cyclists had to dismount a
dozen times a day at the sign of some khaki-clothed figure patrolling
the streets.
The first British officers to cross Harmony's threshold as visitors
and equals were a colonel and a young captain, who both came from
Wynberg with letters of introduction from Mrs. van Warmelo's daughter,
Mrs. Henry Cloete.
After the long months of irregular correspondence, always severely
censored, it was such a relief to get news direct that the bearers
were welcomed gratefully.
They called again, and the dignified presence of the Colonel soon
became a familiar sight at Harmony. With him it was quite possible to
converse, for he avoided every painful topic with the utmost tact and
good-breeding, but the Captain was a veritable firebrand, and many
were the heated arguments carried on during his visits.
As the weary, weary months dragged on, and the most sanguine could not
see the end of the terrible war, it seemed as if feeling grew stronger
and the power of endurance lessened.
Even the occasional visits of the British officers became trying to
the van Warmelos, and one day her mother asked Hansie to request the
Captain not to come again, valiantly retreating to the garden when
next he called, and leaving her daughter to fight it out with him
alone.
"I am very sorry," he said, "but what have _I_ done?"
"Nothing," Hansie answered, "but you see it is against our principles,
and we would like you to wait until the war is over----" The hateful
task was over, and the Captain took his departure, not to return
again.
Hansie refused obstinately to go over the same ground with the
Colonel. He came so seldom, and he was such a kind and courteous old
gentleman, that it seemed unnecessary to put an end to his visits, and
in time his own good feeling told him to discontinue them.
It was in the summer of 1901, when the days at Harmony were spent in
the fruit-laden garden and great jars of apples, pears, peaches, and
figs were being canned and preserved for winter use, that thoughts
strayed most lovingly and persistently to the two hungry brothers in
the field.
"Where are they, I wonder?" was a frequent exclamation. "Did they ever
reach the Boer commandos, and oh, when shall we hear from them?"
Great were the rejoicings when Dr. Mulder, who was on his way to
Holland, and had got permission from the British to pass through
Pretoria from the Boer lines, arrived at Harmony with the news that he
had seen the two van Warmelos in the English camp at Nooitgedacht,
after its capture by the Boers under General Beyers. They were well
and in good spirits then, and the delight their mother and sister
experienced at seeing some one direct from the Boer lines can only be
appreciated by those who know what it means to a Boer to be a captive
under British martial law.
At this time Pretoria was almost completely surrounded by the Boers,
and every precaution was being taken against a possible attack. Deep
trenches were dug all round the town, electric wires put up, while the
hills bristled with cannon and searchlights played from the forts
incessantly at night.
The realities of war were forced upon one by the increased activity on
the Eastern Railway line to Delagoa Bay, plainly visible from the side
verandah at Harmony, and, daily, train loads passed of armed soldiers,
or Boer women and children being brought in from the devastated farms.
Armoured trains and Red Cross carriages steamed in and out, horses,
cattle, provision loads--everything that could remind one of the
fierce strife raging throughout the land.
At this time it became evident that a thief or thieves were helping
themselves at night to thoroughbred fowls and fruit at Harmony, and
Mrs. van Warmelo asked the sergeant-major of the Military Mounted
Police to consult with her about catching the miscreants.
She suspected Kaffirs--certainly not the troops encamped about the
place, for a more orderly set of soldiers it would have been hard to
find. Their behaviour was always so exemplary that they were now and
then rewarded with baskets of fruit and vegetables from Harmony's
overflowing abundance.
It was therefore perfectly natural that the sergeant-major should
hurry over to the house, indignant and sympathetic, to listen to Mrs.
van Warmelo's grievances and to lay plans for the capture of the
cunning thief.
That he came at dawn seemed evident, for though the police watched
every night, they never caught sight of him, and yet there were fowls
missing every morning. Things were beginning to look rather suspicious
when, in spite of the vigilant watch kept by the police, there were
only nineteen fowls left of the sixty. Mrs. van Warmelo made up her
mind to watch for herself.
Early next morning, when a fine white cock had disappeared, she set
out with one of the native servants, and, following the track made by
the white feathers the bird had lost in its struggles, she came upon
the thieves' den. An ideal spot in a little hollow by the riverside,
surrounded by trees and shrubs! A small fireplace, a few old sacks and
tins and a mass of feathers and bones told their own tale, and Mrs.
van Warmelo went home well satisfied.
The sergeant-major, when he heard her story, said he thought it would
be better to catch the thief red-handed in the fowl-run than to
surprise him in his den, and the police were set to watch again that
night.
In the morning two fine hens were missing! The remarks then made at
Harmony on the vigilance of British soldiers in general and Military
Mounted Police in particular were complimentary in the extreme.
Then Mrs. van Warmelo sent the boy to reconnoitre, and he soon came
running back in great excitement, with the news that the thief, a
young Kaffir, was sitting beside a fire, eating fowls.
Armed to the teeth, the police set forth to capture him, and soon
returned with the miscreant. Such a sight he was! Glistening with fat
and covered with feathers, and, as one of the soldiers remarked,
"with a corporation like the Lord Mayor." He was handcuffed and taken
to the police camp, while the men had their breakfast before escorting
him to the Charge Office.
Suddenly there was a fearful commotion.
The culprit had slipped off one of his handcuffs, crept through the
wire fence unobserved, and was flying like the wind through the garden
towards the river.
After him, in wild confusion, jumping over shrubs and furrows,
followed half a dozen soldiers, a couple of natives, Carlo, and I
don't know how many other dogs.
He was captured by the brave corporal as he was dashing up the bank on
the other side of the river, and brought back to the camp, with his
hands tied securely behind.
One month's imprisonment only and a change of diet were prescribed for
him at the Charge Office that day.
This incident, though exciting at the time, would not have been worth
recording here were it not for its connection with what happened
afterwards.
Whatever suspicions the military may have had of intrigues at Harmony,
these must have been removed by the fact of their having been
requested by the inmates themselves to keep a watch over the property.
So the way was being unconsciously prepared for subsequent events.
As fruit was also being stolen from time to time, the soldiers
maintained their watch over the garden, well knowing that their
vigilance would be rewarded by a full share of the good things, while
they would be the losers if the pilfering were allowed to continue.
When it became evident, a few months later, that another thief was
helping himself to her fowls, Mrs. van Warmelo made up her mind to
catch him red-handed, without the assistance of the Military Police.
She decided that he would not come back at once, and gave him two days
to digest his spoil, and on the third day she got up very early in the
hopes of being on the scenes before him, ready to receive him when he
came.
She had only been in the garden a few moments when she saw some one,
in a stooping posture, running swiftly towards the fowl-run. A moment
later and he had seen her. He turned and ran in the opposite
direction, Mrs. van Warmelo following closely on his heels, loading
her revolver as she ran and calling out, "Stand, or I fire." On being
warned a second time he stopped and turned round. Mrs. van Warmelo
demanded what he was doing on her property, and he answered in good
English that he had lost his way, upon which Mrs. van Warmelo offered
to show him the way, and ordered him to march on ahead. With the
loaded revolver between his shoulders, the culprit was forced to obey,
and Mrs. van Warmelo had the satisfaction of handing him over to the
sergeant-major "all by herself."
To save himself, the wily thief turned Queen's evidence and offered to
conduct the police to a place where drink for natives was brewed and
sold, but the soldiers, not relishing the idea of his escaping
scot-free, first gave him a good thrashing before handing him over to
be further dealt with by the Provost-Marshal.