PRISONER OF WAR
How the routine of life at Harmony was broken in upon by news "from
the front" that April month in 1901, I shall endeavour to relate.
Hansie coming home one morning from a shopping expedition, found her
mother in a state of suppressed excitement.
Everything was as much as possible "suppressed" in those
days--goodness only knows why, for surely it would have been better
for the nervous and highly strung mind if an occasional outburst could
have been permitted. Hansie suffered from the same complaint, and had
to pay most dearly in after years for the suppression of her deepest
feelings.
There is a Dutch saying which forcibly expresses that condition of
tense self-control under circumstances of a particularly trying
nature. We say we are "living on our nerves," and that describes the
case better than anything I have ever heard.
Our heroines, like so many other sorely tried women in South Africa,
were "living on their nerves," those wise, understanding nerves, so
knowing and so delicate, which form the stronghold of the human frame.
The external symptoms of this state were only known by those who
lived in close and constant intercourse with one another. Hansie
therefore knew, by an inflection in her mother's voice, that something
out of the way had happened when she said:
"I have had a note from General Maxwell."
"Indeed! What does he say?"
"He writes that Dietlof has been made a prisoner, and he encloses a
telegram from the Assistant Provost-Marshal at Ventersdorp, in the
name of General Babington, to say that Dietlof is well, as was Fritz
when last seen. See for yourself."
Hansie grabbed--yes, grabbed--the papers from her mother's
outstretched hand.
"'When last seen?' Mother, what can that mean? Why have the boys been
separated?"
"That is what I should like to know," her mother answered. "I wonder
how we can find out. We must ask to see General Maxwell at once."
That afternoon the two women called at the Government Buildings and
were shown into the Governor's office.
He seemed to be expecting a visit from them, and Mrs. van Warmelo
apologised for troubling him, reminding him of the promise he had made
on the occasion of their very first visit to him, that he would help
them if they came to him in any trouble.
This he remembered perfectly.
"What is it you want me to do?" he asked.
"If you will be so good, we want a permit to visit our prisoner in the
Johannesburg Fort, where he will probably be kept until he is sent to
Ceylon or where-ever he may have to go."
"Certainly; I will do this with the greatest pleasure. But first we
must wire and find out his whereabouts. I'll see about the matter and
let you know at once."
Thanking him gratefully, mother and daughter took their leave.
"We should have asked permission to take a box of clothes and other
little necessaries for our boy," the mother said.
"Yes, what a pity we did not think of it! But surely there could be no
objection to that! Let us get everything ready at least, and ask
permission when we hear from General Maxwell again."
The largest portmanteau in the house was overhauled and carefully and
thoughtfully packed by the mother's yearning hands.
No article of comfort was overlooked, no detail of the wardrobe
considered too small for her closest attention and care.
Presently Hansie came with _her_ contribution, a thick exercise-book
and a couple of pencils.
"Put these in, mother, if you still have room. I am going to ask
Dietlof to write down all his adventures in this book for us to read
afterwards. It will help him to get through his time of imprisonment."
(This small act, I may add here, led to the publication of her
brother's book, _Mijn Kommando en Guerilla-Kommando leven--On
Commando_, in the English edition--which was begun in Ladysmith and
written in the Indian Fort at Ahmednagar and smuggled out to Holland
under conditions of such romantic interest: the first book on the war,
written _during_ the war and devoured by the public in Holland long
before it was allowed to reach South African shores--a book famed for
its moderation and its truth, direct, sincere throughout.)
* * * * *
That Saturday night poor Mrs. van Warmelo never closed her eyes. She
feared, and she had good reason to fear, that her son would pass
through Johannesburg, and be transported to some foreign isle, before
a word of greeting and farewell could be made by her. The thought of
the morrow's Sabbath rest and inactivity intensified her fears.
The first thing she said to Hansie next morning was:
"You must go to General Maxwell and ask whether there is no news for
us."
"But, mother, this is Sunday!"
"I know that. You will have to go to his house."
"Oh, I could not possibly do that. What does he care about our
anxieties? Besides, I think it would be most indiscreet."
"I don't care," shortly.
In the end Hansie had to go, and when once she had made up her mind
she looked forward with some pleasure to her little adventure, for
there was no one of the officials known to her for whom she had a more
sincere regard than General Maxwell. His house was but a few minutes'
walk from Harmony, and Hansie, looking up at the gathering clouds,
hoped that she could be home again before the approaching storm broke
loose.
Our "brave" heroine _trembled_ when she rang the bell, for all her
distaste of the task had returned with redoubled force, but her
self-confidence was soon restored under the genial warmth of the
General's greetings.
He did not seem to be the least annoyed or displeased at this
intrusion on his Sabbath privacy. And he was quite alone--not, as
Hansie had feared to find him, surrounded by a crowd of officers.
He told her that though he had not been able to get news of her
brother direct, he knew that a large number of prisoners had arrived
at the Johannesburg Fort from Ventersdorp. He thought her brother
would probably be amongst them, and gave her special permits to
Johannesburg and back, and also a letter of introduction to the
Military Governor in Johannesburg, asking him as a personal favour to
assist the ladies in their quest.
"If I were you, I would not wait for definite news, but go to-morrow
on the chance of finding him. Delay might bring you great
disappointment. But, tell me, Miss van Warmelo, are you not glad that
your brother has been captured and is out of danger now?"
"Glad? No, how can I be glad? It means a man less on our side--and _he
is a man_, I can assure you. If all the Boers were as brave and
true--and such unerring marksmen--the war would soon be over."
The Governor looked disturbed.
"It seems to me a strange thing for a girl like you to feel so
strongly. Are all your women such staunch patriots?"
"Not all, perhaps, but there are many who feel even more strongly than
I do."
The General kept her there and talked of many things, asked her
innumerable questions on the country and its people, and drew her out
upon the subject of the war.
Outside, the elements were raging, for the storm had broken loose, and
the rain came down in torrents, while the crashing thunder pealed
overhead.
Hansie looked anxious, and the Governor said:
"It will soon be over. Are you afraid?"
"Oh no, I love our storms; but my mother is alone at home, and she
does _not_."
She told him, toying with her permits, of her curious collection of
passes and other war-curios, and he left the room with a friendly--
"Perhaps I can find something for you too," returning with a button
from his coat and a colonel's crown.
"The storm is over; let us see what damage has been done," and he led
the way into the garden, showed her the flowers, asked the names of
shrubs unknown to him.
* * * * *
"Oh, mother, the English must not be so good to us! It is not right to
accept favours at their hands, for it places us in a false position.
Don't ever ask me to go to General Maxwell again."
"Of course not. I quite agree with you, but I am very glad to have
those permits. Did you ask about the portmanteau and box?"
"Yes. He said it was all right, and promised to give permits, so that
they need not be examined."
They did not leave for Johannesburg, after all, on Monday, for a full
list of the names of prisoners from Ventersdorp arrived, but there was
no van Warmelo among them.
Telegrams were sent right and left, but there was something strange
about the whole affair, and no satisfactory answers could be got until
five days after the first tidings had reached Harmony. The prisoner
was at Potchefstroom.
Two more days of suspense and a note from Major Hoskins came,
enclosing a telegram--"Van Warmelo leaving to-morrow for Fort
Johannesburg."
Great rejoicings! The women had begun to fear that their hero had been
whisked away to some remote portion of the globe, without one word
from them.
General Maxwell's letters of introduction acted like a charm when
presented at the various military departments in the Golden City.
Colonel Mackenzie, the Military Governor, gave the women a letter of
introduction to the O.C. troops, who directed them to the
Provost-Marshal, Captain Short, informing them that they would find
him at his office in the Fort.
The Provost-Marshal did not know that more prisoners from
Ventersdorp were expected that day. He thought there must be some
mistake--unless--yes, there would be another train at 5 o'clock that
afternoon.
The ladies were advised to call again on Sunday morning and drove to
Heath's Hotel, where they had taken up their quarters. How quiet and
deserted the Golden City looked! How bleak and desolate, with the
first breath of winter upon it!
Poor Hansie had a shocking cold, and as she drove through the silent
streets with her mother all the miseries of the past eighteen months
came crowding into her aching heart and throbbing brain.
What would the meeting be like to-morrow? Would he be changed? And
what would he have to tell? The question still remained whether he
would be allowed to tell them anything about the war at all----
Suddenly a brilliant thought flashed into Hansie's mind.
"Oh, mother, let us go to the Braamfontein Station and see the train
arrive. I know we won't be allowed to speak to him, but we may at
least wave our hands and _look_ at him."
Her mother was delighted with the thought, and at 4 o'clock that
afternoon they took a cab to Braamfontein Station.
The train had been delayed, and would be in at 6 instead of 5 o'clock,
so they were told, but, for fear of having been misinformed, they
decided to wait at the station.
Cold, dusty, pitiless, the keen wind blew on that unfriendly platform.
There was no ladies' waiting room--in fact, it seemed as if the rooms
had all been utilised for other, perhaps military, purposes.
It is incredible the amount of suffering that can be crowded into one
hour of waiting!
Thank God, at last the train steamed in.
Armed troops and an unusually large number of passengers alighted on
the platform, but there was not a prisoner to be seen. The desperate
women walked up and down, keenly scrutinising every face they passed,
until they heard a well-known, highly excited voice calling out
"Mother! Mother!" to them from behind. They turned and saw their hero
tumbling from the train, an armed Tommy at his heels.
There are no memories of the moments such as those which followed.
Things must have been rather bad, for when Hansie looked round again
the armed soldier had turned away and was slowly walking in another
direction. Blessed, thrice-blessed Tommy!
To this day when Hansie thinks of him she remembers with a pang that
she did not shake hands with him.
"May we walk with the prisoner as far as the Johannesburg Fort?"
Hansie asked.
"Certainly, miss."
How the people stared and turned round in the street to stare again!
And now that I come to think of it, it must have looked remarkable--a
ruffianly-looking man, carrying a disreputable bundle of blankets, a
tin cup and water-bottle slung across his shoulders all clanking
together, and a small _Bible_ in his hands, with a well-dressed lady
on each arm and an armed soldier behind, guarding the whole!
The prisoner was a sight! The old felt hat was full of holes, through
which the unkempt hair was sticking, and the dirty black suit was torn
and greasy-looking--but the face, except for the moustache and
unfamiliar beard, was the same, the look of love in the blue eyes
unchanged.
It seemed like a dream, incredibly sweet and strange, to be walking
through the streets of Johannesburg in uninterrupted conversation,
carried on _in Dutch,_ with him, and to be able to ask the burning
questions with which their hearts had been filled all day--why he was
alone, where he had left Fritz, how and where he had been captured.
Everything was explained on that memorable walk, simply and briefly
explained, for the time was short, and under the circumstances Dietlof
would not give any details of information concerning the war,
considering himself bound to silence by the guard's trust in him.
He had been promoted to the position of commandeering officer by
General Kemp and had been in the habit, for some time past, of leaving
his commando for days at a stretch on commandeering expeditions.
About four days before his capture he had left his people again for
the same purpose, and on this occasion he had fled before the enemy
for three days, falling into their hands through the death of his good
horse through horse-sickness.
His brother Fritz was under General Kemp with Jan and Izak Celliers
(this was the first news Mrs. van Warmelo heard of Mr. Celliers' safe
arrival on commando, after the adventures undergone by him and
described in Chapter IX), and a few others of his most trusted
friends, but what they must have thought of his inexplicable
non-appearance Dietlof did not know, but he feared they would be
undergoing much anxiety on his account.
Near the entrance of the Fort mother and daughter took their leave,
thanking the soldier warmly for his kindness to his charge, whom they
hoped to see again the following morning.
Very different was the meeting then!
The prisoner, a forlorn object, stood between two guards, before the
Provost-Marshal's office, when the cab containing the two women drove
up.
Hansie jumped out and was going up to her brother, when one of the
soldiers said to her:
"You may not speak to the prisoner."
"But I may kiss him!" Hansie retorted, throwing her arms round his
neck and giving him a kiss which could be heard all over the Fort.
There was a general laugh, and Mrs. van Warmelo promptly followed
suit.
Dietlof was called into the Provost-Marshal's office and
cross-questioned, while his mother and sister waited outside
impatiently. What a lengthy examination! Quarter of an hour, half an
hour passed, then he appeared with a soldier, who said curtly:
"You may talk to the prisoner for half an hour _in English_!"
I forget how many minutes of the precious thirty were lost in groping
desperately for some topic of conversation suitable to the occasion,
and safe! but when at last they found their tongues, they talked so
fast that it is doubtful whether the Tommies understood anything.
Hansie longed to ask her brother whether the Provost-Marshal knew
anything of their escapade the night before, but dared not, hoping
that the men concerned were under the impression that this was their
first interview with the prisoner.
He told them some of his war experiences and the fights he had been
in, for the Provost-Marshal had given him permission to speak of his
personal experiences of the war.
One incident Hansie remembered particularly, because of a curious
coincidence connected with it.
In describing the battle of Moselikatsnek, under General de la Rey,
in which he and Fritz had taken an active part, he told his mother and
sister of a young English officer, Lieutenant Pilkington, whom he had
found lying alone in a pool of blood among the rocks and shrubs.
Dietlof tended him, giving him brandy from a flask which he always
carried with him for such purposes, and laying grass under him on the
hard rocks. The poor man was shockingly wounded, and it was evident
that his case was hopeless. He held Dietlof's hand, imploring him not
to leave him, but Dietlof was the forerunner of the seven burghers who
were forcing their way wedgelike through the English ranks in order to
compel the enemy to surrender by attacking them from behind. He
considered it his duty to go forward, but assured the dying man that
the comrades who were following in his wake could speak English and
would care for him. The donga was strewn with dead and dying English.
In the meantime the younger brother Fritz was tending a soldier with a
terrible wound in the head. The seven men were now advancing steadily
from one ridge to the other, but Dietlof had reached a point on which
the burghers from behind were bombarding with their cannon, and as the
rocks flew into the air he found it impossible to proceed.
He therefore returned, and the captain sent a dispatch-bearer down
with orders that the cannon-firing should cease.
For a moment Dietlof went back to the wounded lieutenant, where he
found some of his comrades assembled, and while they stood there the
unfortunate man, exhausted by loss of blood, drew his last breath.
Through incredible dangers the seven burghers forced their way through
the donga until they reached the point from where they could attack
the enemy from behind. It was a most critical moment, for they were
exposed to the constant fire of their own burghers, under Commandant
Coetzee, as well as that of the enemy, but soon they were relieved to
see the white flag hoisted, and were then joined by the rest of the
commando.
The English could not believe that the party which had attacked them
from behind had consisted of only seven men.
Colonel Roberts, Lieutenant Lyall, and Lieutenant Davis were taken
with 210 men of the Lincolnshire Regiment. One officer escaped while
the burghers were disarming their prisoners and yielding themselves to
the spirit of plunder with which every man is possessed after a severe
struggle for victory.
Of dead and wounded the burghers had lost thirteen or fourteen men,
but the seven forerunners, who had been exposed to the greatest
dangers, escaped without a scratch, while the enemy, in spite of the
fact that they had been under cover throughout, lay dead and dying in
large numbers.
Strange to relate, a letter from an English officer fell into
Dietlof's hands some weeks later, and in glancing over it his eye fell
on the words, "Lieutenant Pilkington is also dead--you know that
famous cricketer."
And still later Hansie heard from her brother that one of the seven
men, Field-cornet von Zulch, who afterwards joined him as prisoner of
war in the Ahmednagar Fort, told him that he had received a letter
from Lieutenant Pilkington's mother, begging for more particulars of
her son's last moments.
Many wonderful experiences were related, many glimpses given into the
conditions of commando life. The young man dwelt lightly for a moment
on his hardships and privations, saying, "Mother, do you know those
woollen Kaffir blankets with yellow stars and leopards, and red and
green half-crescents?"
"Yes," his mother answered expectantly.
"Well, I once had a pair of trousers made of that material."
Everyone laughed.
"But there are worse things than _that_," he continued; "unmentionable
horrors--things you pick up in the English camps and can't get rid of
again----"
Hansie understood.
"You will find a tin of insect-powder in that wonderful Indian juggler
of a portmanteau," she said, "and don't forget to use the blank
exercise-book."
The thirty minutes were over, and they were considerately left alone
for a few moments----