But even without W. Keyse and the vanished author of "Fare Air's" letters
the ferny tree-fringed kloof at the bottom of which the beer-coloured
river ran over its granite boulders and quartz pebbles, was not empty and
void. On Sundays, when the birds returned from the hills, to which they
had been scared by the hideous tumult of War, thither after High Mass in
the battered little Roman Catholic church in the stad, the Mother-Superior
and the Sisters would come, bringing with them such poor food as they had,
and picnic soberly. All the week through they had laboured, nursed, and
tended the sick and wounded in the Hospitals, and washed and fed and
taught the numberless orphans of the siege, and upon this day the
Mother-Superior had ruled that they were to be together. And all the week
through the thought of it kept them going, as she had hoped. You are to
see her holding her little court beside the river upon a certain February
afternoon, receiving friends in her sweet, stately fashion, and dispensing
hospitality out of the largest and most battered Britannia-metal teapot
that ever brewed, what was later originally referred to in the weekly
"Social Jottings" column of the _Gueldersdorp Siege Gazette_ as the
cheering infusion. The _Siege Gazette_ was an intermittent daily, issued
from a subterranean printing-office, for the dissemination of general
orders and latest news, fluctuations in the weight and quality of the
meat-rations, and the rise and fall of the free-soup level, being also
recorded. To its back-files I must refer those who seek a fuller account
of the function described by the brilliant journalist who signed herself
"Gold Pen," as highly successful. She gives you to understand that the
company was distinguished, and the conversation vivid and unflagging. And
when you realise that everybody present was suffering more or less from
the active pinch of hunger, that social gathering of men and women of
British blood becomes heroic and historic and fine.
"Dr Saxham, Attached Medical Staff, was observed," we read. "Gold Pen"
also notes "the presence of the Reverend Julius Fraithorn, son of the
Bishop of H----, and second curate--on leave--of St. Margaret's, Wendish
Street; now happily recovered, thanks to the skill of Dr. Saxham, from an
illness, held at no recent date to be incurable. Mr. Fraithorn has
undertaken the onerous duties of Chaplain to the Hospitals in charge of
the Military Staff. It was gratifying to observe," she continues, "that
the Colonel commanding graced the occasion by his martial presence. He
was attended by his junior aide, Lieutenant Lord Beauvayse. We also saw
Lady Hannah Wrynche with her distinguished husband, Captain Bingham
Wrynche, Royal Bay Dragoons, Acting Senior Aide," etc., etc.
"Late apricots from the garden of the ruined Convent, and peaches from its
west wall, gathered in the dead of night by Sister Cleophee and Sister
Tobias," "Gold Pen" goes on to say, "were greatly appreciated by the
guests, each of whom brought his or her own bread."
A most villainous kind of bannock of unleavened mealie-meal and crushed
oats, calculated to try the strongest teeth and trouble the toughest
digestion, "Gold Pen" might have added. But the game was to make believe
you rather enjoyed it than otherwise. If you had no teeth and no
digestion, you were allowed a pint and a half of sowens porridge instead;
and thus helped your portion of exhausted cavalry mount or your bit of
tough mule-meat down. And so you went on like your neighbours, playing the
game, while your eyes grew larger and your girth less, and your cheekbones
more in evidence with every day that dawned.
Cheekbones have a strange, unnatural effect when they appear in childish
faces. There was a child in a rusty double perambulator that had been a
stylish baby-carriage only a little while ago, whose wizened face and
shrunken hands were pitiable to see. He was wheeled by a sallow woman,
with hollow, grey-blue eyes--a woman whose black alpaca gown hung loosely
on her wasted figure, and whose shabby, crape-trimmed hat was pinned on
anyhow. Siege confinement and siege terrors, siege smells and siege diet,
had made strange havoc of the plump comeliness of a matronly lady who once
rustled in purple satin befitting a Mayor's wife. She had lost one of her
children through diphtheria, and she knew, unless a miracle happened, that
she would also lose the boy.
Only look at him! She told you in that dull, toneless voice of hers how
sturdy he had been, how strong and masterful--how pretty, too, with his
plume of fair hair tumbling into his big, shining, grey eyes! The eyes
were bigger than ever now, but the light and the life had sunk out of
them, and his round face was pinched, and the colour of old wax. And the
arm that hung idly over the side of the little carriage was withered and
shrunken--the hand of an old man, and not of a child. The other, under the
light shawl that tucked him in, hugged something that bulged under the
coverlet.
"His father can't bear to look at him," the Mayor's wife said, glancing at
the Mayor's carefully-averted back. "And I'm sure it's no wonder. He just
lies like this, day and night, and doesn't want to move, or answer when
you speak to him, and he won't eat. The food is dreadful, but still he
might try, just to comfort his mother----"
"I does twy," piped Hammy weakly, "and ven my tummy shuts, and it isn't no
use twying any more."
The Mother-Superior brought a gaily-coloured little china cup of that rare
luxury, new milk, and bent over him, saying cheerfully, as she held it to
the colourless mouth, "Not always, Hammy. Taste this."
"No, fank you." He turned his head away, tightly shutting his eyes.
"It's real milk, Hammy, not condensed," the soft voice pleaded. He shook
his head again, and knit his childish brows.
"I saided it wasn't no use. My tummy just shuts."
"I think I would not bother him any more just now," Saxham interposed,
noting the droop of the piteous, flaccid mouth, and feeling the flutter of
the uneven pulse. The Mayor's wife broke into helpless sobbing. The
Mother-Superior drew her swiftly out of the sick child's hearing and
sight. And a shadow fell upon the thin light coverlet, and a crisp,
decided voice said:
"Then Hammy's tummy is a mutinous soldier, and must be taught to obey the
Word of Command."
"Mister Colonel ..." The dull, childish eyes grew a very little brighter,
and the claw-like hand went up in shaky salute to the limp plume of fair
hair, not glistening and silky now, but dull and unkempt, that fell over
the broad, darkly-veined waxen forehead.--"It is Mister Colonel.... And I
haven't seen you for ever an' ever so long. An' Berta's deaded, an',
an'----" The whisper was almost inaudible.... "Vere's something I did so
want to tell!" The hidden arm came from under the coverings "It's about
my Winocewus, vis beast what you gived me, ever so long ago." He displayed
the treasured toy.
"You shall tell me about Berta and the rhinoceros when I have told you
something. A Certain Person can come out of this vehicle, I suppose,
Saxham? It will make no difference, in the long-run, to a Certain Person's
health?"
"Why, nothing in Heaven or upon earth will make any difference at this
juncture," returned Saxham, speaking in the same tone, "unless a Certain
Person can be roused to the necessary pitch of desiring food. To
administer it forcibly would, in my opinion, be worse than useless."
The Certain Person was lifted out of his cramped quarters by vigorous but
gentle hands. The Colonel Commanding sat down with him upon a camp-stool,
and as the wasted legs dangled irresponsibly from his supporting knees,
and the hot head rolled helplessly against the row of coloured bits of
medal-ribbon that were sewn on the left breast of the khaki jacket, he
began to talk, holding the limp little body with a kind, sustaining arm.
"You've seen how my men obey me, Hammy? Well, your brain and your eyes,
your arms and legs, and hands and feet, as well as your tummy, are your
soldiers. And it's mutiny if they refuse to carry out the Officer's
orders. And you're the Officer, you know."
"Am I ve Officer, weally?"
Interest was quickening in the heavy eyes.
"You're the Officer. And I'm the Colonel in Command. And when I say to
you, 'Lieutenant Hammy, drink this milk,' why, you'll pass along the order
to Sergeant Brain and Corporal Eyes and Privates Hands and Mouth and
Tummy, and see that they carry it out. Where is----? Ah! thank you, ma'am;
that was what I wanted."
For the Mother-Superior had deftly put the gaily-coloured little china cup
into the lean, brown, outstretched hand, and, seeing what was coming, the
Lieutenant shed an unsoldierly tear and raised a feeble whimper.
"Please, no, Mister Colonel! My tummy----"
"Private Tummy is a shirker, who doesn't want to do his duty. But it's
your duty as his Commanding Officer to show him that it must be done. And
that's the game we're playing. You'll employ tact before you have recourse
to stringent measures. Not make the fellow dogged or furious by angry
words or threats. When it's necessary to shoot, shoot straight. But,
first, you give the order."
"Oughtn't ve officer to have a wevolver?"
"Wait a second, and you shall have mine."
The deft fingers twirled out and pocketed the cartridge-packed chambers,
and put the harmless weapon into the childish hands.
"It's veway heavy," Hammy said dolefully, as the shining Army Smith &
Wesson wobbled in his feeble clutches, then wavered and sank ingloriously
down upon his lap.
"If you had drunk the milk you might have found it lighter. Suppose we try
now. Attention!"
--"'Tention!" piped Hammy.
"Hands, catch hold. Mouth, do your duty. And if Private Tummy disobeys,
he'll have to take the consequences."
"Please, what are ve confequences?"
"Drink down the milk, and then I'll tell you."
The gay little china cup was slowly emptied. Hammy blinked eyes that were
already growing sleepy, and sucked the moustache of white from his
upper-lip with relish, remarking:
"I dwinked it all, and my tummy never shut. Now tell me what are ve
confequences?"
"A mother without a son, for one thing." The keen, hawk-eyes were gentle.
"But drink plenty of milk and eat plenty of bread and porridge and minced
meat, and you'll live to see the Relief marching into Gueldersdorp one
fine morning, boy."
"Unless I get deaded like Berta. And that weminds me what I wanted to tell
so bad." The lips began to quiver, and the eyes brimmed. "Soldiers mustn't
cwy, must vey?"
"Not while there's work to be done, Hammy. Would you like to wait now and
tell me another day?" For the little round head was nodding against the
row of medal-ribbons stitched on the khaki jacket, and the big round eyes
kept open with difficulty.
"No, please. It's about the beasts--my beasts what you gived me.
Winocewus, an' Lion, an' Tawantula, an' Tsetse, an' Black Bee--just like
a weal Bee, only not so sharp at ve end.... Don't you wemember, Mister
Colonel?"
"Of course I remember. The toy beasts I brought down from Rhodesia and
gave to a little boy."
"I was the boy. And--you saided I was to let Berta have her share wof dem.
And I did let her play wif all ve ovvers. But Winocewus had to be tooked
such care wof for fear of bweaking his horn--an' Berta was such a little
fing, vat--vat----"
"That you wouldn't let her play with Rhinoceros. And you think it wasn't
quite fair, or quite kind, and now you're sorry?"
Hammy sniffed dolorously, and two large tears splashed down.
"I'm sowwy. An' I fought if I was deaded too, like Berta, I could go an'
tell her I never meaned to be gweedy. An' I wouldn't eat my bweakfust, nor
my dinner, nor nothing--and at last my tummy shut, and I didn't want
nuffing more."
The Mother-Superior and the Colonel Commanding exchanged a glance over the
little round head before the man's voice answered the child.
"That wouldn't have made Bertha happy. She might have thought you a little
coward for running away and leaving your mother and all the other ladies
behind, shut up in Gueldersdorp. For an officer and a gentleman must go on
living and fighting while he has anything left to fight for, Hammy.
Remember that."
"Yes, Mister Colonel...." The drowsy eyes closed, the little head nodded
off into slumber against the kind, strong shoulder. The Mother-Superior
wheeled the perambulator near, and the Colonel, rising, laid the now
soundly-sleeping boy back upon his cushions.
"What mysteries children are!" he said, as the Mother replaced the light
covering, screening the sleeping face with tender, careful hands from sun
and flies. "Imagine remorse for an act of selfishness leading a boy of six
to such a determination--and a normal, healthy boy, if ever I met one."
"He has been living for some time under abnormal conditions," the Mother
said softly, looking at the quiet rise and fall of the light shawl
covering. "He will take a turn for the better now."
"And forget his trouble and its cause." The Chief's observant glance had
lighted on Rhinoceros, lying upside down in a little clump of flowering
sword-grass, into which he had been whisked as the Mother shook out the
little shawl. "I think," he said, and pocketed the horned one, "that this
gentleman had better go into the fire."
"Perhaps. And yet it would be a continual reminder to conquer selfishness
in great as in little things." She smiled, meeting the keen hazel eyes
with her great pure grey ones.
"If you think so, I will leave it."
"I will not take the responsibility of advising you to. You have already
shown more tact than I can lay claim to in dealing with children. And that
has been the business of the greater part of my life, remember."
He looked at her full, and said:
"I may possess and employ tact when dealing with men and with children,
possibly. But not long ago I was guilty of--and have since bitterly
reproached myself for, I beg you to believe me! a gross and lamentable
blunder as regards a woman----"
She put out her fine hand with a quick, protesting gesture, as if she
would have begged him to say no more. He went on:
"She is a lady whom you intimately know, and whom I have, like everyone
else in this town, learned to esteem highly and to profoundly respect. For
the terrible shock and the deep pain I must have given that lady in
breaking to her ignorantly and hastily the news of the death of a friend
who was dear to me, and infinitely dearer to--another with whom she is
acquainted--I humbly entreat her pardon."
He had not known her eyes were of so deep a purple-grey as to be nearly
black. Perhaps they seemed so by contrast with the absolute whiteness of
her face. The eyes winced, and the mouth contracted as she entreated,
voicelessly:
"I beg you, say no more!"
"I have but little more to say," he returned. "I will only add that if at
any time you wished in kindness to make me forget what I did that day,
you would apply to me in some difficulty, honour me with some confidence,
trust me in any unforeseen emergency in which I might be of use to you. Or
to--anyone who is dear to you, and in whom for the sake of old
associations and old ties I might even otherwise be deeply interested."
He had spoken with intention, and now his deliberate glance dropped to the
level of the strip of sandy shore beside the river, where the giant
Convent kettle boiled upon a disproportionately little fire, and Sister
Hilda-Antony presided in the Reverend Mother's place at the
trestle-supported tray where the Britannia-metal teapot brooded, as doth
the large domestic hen, over an immense family of cups and saucers. Busy
as ants, the other Sisters hurried backwards and forwards, attending to
the wants of their guests, who sat about on rocks and boulders, or with
due precautions taken against puff-adders and tarantulas, lay upon the
grass of the high bank in the shade of the fern and bush. And as vivid by
contrast with their black-robed, white-wimpled figures, as a slender
dragon-fly among a bevy of homely gnats, the graceful, prettily-clad
figure of Lynette showed, as she shared the Sister's hospitable labours.
She had her share of girlish vanity. She had put on a plain tailor-made
skirt of fine dark green cloth, short enough to show the dainty little
brown buckled shoes that she specially affected, and a thin white silk
shirt and knitted croquet-jacket of white wool. A scarlet leather belt
girt her slender waist, and a silver chatelaine jingled a gay tune at her
side, and about her white slim throat was a band of scarlet velvet, and
her wide-brimmed straw hat had a knot of purple and white clematis in it,
and a broad, vivid, emerald-green wing-quill thrust under the knot. And
the hair under the green-plumed hat gleamed bronze in the sunshine that
filtered through the thick foliage of the blue gum-trees that grew on
either bank of the river, and stretched their branches out to clasp across
the stream, like hands. She was too pale and too thin, and her eyes were
feverishly bright, but she looked happy, carrying her tray of steaming
teacups in spite of Beauvayse's anxious attempts to relieve her of the
burden, and the Chaplain's diffident entreaties that she should entrust
it to him. Their voices, mingled in gay argument, were borne by a warm
puff of spice-scented air to the ears of the elder people, standing in the
shade of the trees at the summit of the high, sloping bank, with the rusty
perambulator between them.
"I thank you," the Mother said, in her full, round tones. The eyes of
both, travelling back from that delicate, slight young figure, had met
once more. "Believing that you speak in perfect sincerity, I thank you,
and shall not hesitate to call upon you, should the need arise."
Her voice was very calm, and her discreet glance told nothing. He would
not have been a man of woman born if he had not been a little piqued. He
said, with an air of changing the subject:
"Miss Mildare strikes me as a very beautiful girl."
"Is she not?"
Her eyes grew tender, and her whole face was irradiated by the splendour
of her smile. She looked down the bushed and grass-covered slope to where
Lynette, all the guests supplied, had thrown herself down to rest on a
stone under a tree. She had taken off her hat, and her hair was flecked
with sunshine as she leaned her head back with a little air of lassitude
and weariness against the scarred bark. But in spite of weariness she was
smiling and content. The rest was delicious, the peaceful quiet
enchanting, the air sweet after the fetid odours of the town; and it was
sweet, too, whenever she glanced at the Reverend Julius Fraithorn, who was
lying at her feet, or Beauvayse, who fanned her alternately with a leafy
branch and the tea-tray, to behold her own beauty reflected in the
admiring eyes of two young and handsome men.
The Mother had never seen her thus before. She had been absent from the
scenes of Lynette's little social triumphs. Now a great tenderness swelled
in her bosom, and a great pity gripped her throat, and wrung the bitter,
slow tears into her eyes.
"She is happy," she whispered in her heart. "She has forgotten just for a
little while, and her kingdom of womanhood is hers, unspoiled, and the
present moment is sweet, and the future she has no thought of. My poor,
poor love! Let her go on forgetting, even if it is only for a day."
His voice beside her made her start. He was still speaking of Lynette.
"Her type is unusual--amongst Colonials."