A TERRIBLE LETTER.
Then succeeded a period of waiting and heart-breaking expectation,
which Brenda, in common with many of her fellow-countrymen, bore with
quiet heroism. Glencoe, Elandslaagte, Rietfontein were fought, and
victory crowned the British arms; but the triumphs were only achieved
at a bitter cost.
The eyes of the world were eagerly fixed on this first example of
modern warfare since the Franco-German campaign; and the military
experts of Europe were anxious to learn how the use of scientific
weapons of terrible destructive force would affect the warfare of the
future. It was soon seen that battles would resolve themselves into
artillery duels, since no human beings could stand up against the hail
of shot and shell hurled incessantly from repeating machines such as
the Mauser, Nordenfelt and Maxim. That the British troops should brave
the fury of this death-storm proved to the onlooking world how
brightly the valor for their sires burned in their hearts. Even the
grudging critics of the Continent could not withhold their tribute of
admiration at this matchless daring.
Mr. Scarse had taken a small house, and Brenda lived with him. They
had been very happy together since their reconciliation--as happy, at
least, as they could be while Harold was at the front. He was with
Buller, who, sheltered behind the Tugela River, had not yet commenced
to move. How eagerly Brenda scanned the papers through those days of
suspense! Wilfred had gone out as a war correspondent, and when his
brilliant letters appeared, with what delight she read them over and
over again. Mr. Scarse still denounced the war as an unjust one, and
unnecessary to boot, and said so in public when he could. Seeing it
was useless to attempt to alter her father's views, Brenda never
mentioned the subject; and so they got on very well together.
Occasionally there came a letter from Harold; then Brenda was happy
for the day, for he always wrote full of hope and courage.
Lady Jenny Malet still lingered in England. She had let her Curzon
Street house and was staying at a quiet hotel. Knowing, as she did,
that Van Zwieten was not wholly crushed, she did not feel inclined to
leave the country until she felt tolerably certain that Harold was
safe from him. His box she kept in her own possession and showed to no
one. Only in the event of Van Zwieten playing the traitor in Natal
would she produce them. For no other reason would she smirch the
memory of her husband. She had arranged with Wilfred that, if the spy
were found in the British camp, information should be sent to her at
once. Then she would see the authorities, and he should be dealt with
according to martial law. She explained this to Brenda.
"Wilfred is with Harold," she said, "and he will look after him. Van
Zwieten knows that on the first sign of his breaking his promise I
shall not spare him."
"But how will that affect him out there?" the girl asked dolefully.
"It won't affect him if he is openly on the side of the enemy; but if
he is spying in the British camps he will be taken and shot. I don't
think he can be with General Buller or Wilfred would have denounced
him. He is probably at the Modder."
"But he may be with the enemy?"
"He may be. I have heard nothing of him since he left London. He went
over to the Continent--so Wilfred found out--and sailed in a German
liner for Delagoa Bay. Yes, he might be with the Boer forces, but I
doubt it."
"Why do you doubt it?"
"My dear, Van Zwieten can do no harm to your husband except by
treachery. Of course he might shoot him, or have him shot in open
battle; but, after all, there would not be the same amount of
certainty about that as there would be if he were to get rid of him by
underhand means."
"It is terrible!" cried Brenda, wringing her hands. "I don't mind
Harold fighting as a soldier should--all the other men are doing the
same--but to have a private enemy like Van Zwieten is dreadful."
"I don't think he will find it so easy to do Harold any harm. After
all, Brenda, your husband is no fool, and he is on his guard."
"I do wish I could go out to the front."
"With what object? You could do nothing to protect him, and he would
only worry about you. Better stay at home, my dear, and try to possess
your soul in patience. It is hard, I know; but remember you are not
the only one."
Brenda took the advice, and strove to calm herself by constant
occupation. She made every sort of comfort she could think of for her
husband, and sent him everything that might by the remotest chance be
useful to him. This was her great solace, and her father, seeing how
it cheered her, gave her every encouragement. But it was a terrible
time. Every day brought some fresh sorrow. The Belmont and Graspan
victories cheered the nation somewhat; but a period of gloom
succeeded, and news came of Gatacre's reverse and the failure of
Buller to cross the Tugela. It was then that the suspense became
almost too much for Mrs. Burton, for Harold was in the thick of the
fighting, and on the very scene of the disasters.
But the long-expected blow fell in due time, and, as usual, when least
anticipated.
One morning Mr. Scarse came down first to breakfast, and, as usual,
eagerly scanned the papers. When his daughter entered the room she saw
at once that something dreadful had happened.
"What is it, father?" she asked, and held out her hand for the _Daily
Mail_.
"Nothing, my dear--nothing!" was his answer. But he kept the paper in
his hand. "Only the usual disasters. Oh, this unholy war!"
"Harold--oh, father, tell me the truth--he is wounded--dead! Oh,
Harold, Harold!"
"No, no," cried her father, with eagerness, "he is not wounded."
"Then he is killed!" shrieked Brenda.
"Not at all; if he were I should tell you."
She snatched the paper from his hand and spread it out; but tears
blinded her, and she could not read a word. "For God's sake, tell me
the worst!" was her cry. "Is my darling--is Harold----"
"He is missing!" Mr. Scarse said roughly. "Don't look like that,
Brenda. He may have been taken prisoner, and then he would be all
right."
"Missing!" echoed the poor young wife. "Oh, poor Harold, pray God he
is not dead!"
"Of course he's not. His name would be amongst the killed if he were.
He is missing--that is all. He was taken prisoner, no doubt, at the
passage of the Tugela. Hope for the best, Brenda."
"Van Zwieten," she said faintly. "I hope this is none of his work."
"Not it. If he had been in the neighborhood Wilfred would have let us
know. This is only one of the ordinary chances of war. You should be
thankful, my dear, that he isn't on the list of killed or wounded. The
chances are that he is a prisoner, and in safety."
"I hope so! I hope so! But, father, let us go down to the War Office!"
"The War Office will know no more than is in this paper."
"I want to make certain of that. Come, father."
"My dear child, you have eaten nothing. You must have some breakfast
first."
"I can't eat."
"You must. Bear yourself as an Englishwoman should, Brenda. Think how
many women there are at this moment mourning over the death of their
dearest. You, at least, have hope--it might have been far worse."
Brenda, agitated as she was, could not but admit the truth of this,
and she forced herself to eat. She would need all her strength to bear
up against this cruel blow. After all, as her father had very rightly
said, things were far from being as bad as they might have been. Her
husband's name might have been on the list of those killed or
dangerously wounded. As it was he was only missing. News of him might
come at any time. She reproached herself with ingratitude toward a
kind Providence. In a more cheerful frame of mind she finished her
breakfast and got ready to go down to the War Office with her father.
There she had an object-lesson in seeing the endurance of women whose
news was as bad as it could be. If her own trouble was hard to bear,
how infinitely harder was the lot of those whose dead lay on the
stricken field.
"Father! father!" she whispered, "I should not repine. I am so much
better off than these poor things!"
The news of the Tugela disaster had brought a large crowd to the War
Office, and a vast number of people had collected in the street. Men
and women were scanning the fatal lists, and many a heartrending sight
did the girl see as she stood there waiting for her father, who had
gone into the office to see if he could gain any definite news about
his son-in-law. Outside, a proud old lady sat waiting in her carriage.
She bore herself with dignity, but her face was ashen white. And as
Brenda stood there, she saw a girl come out and stagger into the
carriage. No word was spoken, but in a storm of weeping she threw
herself on the old lady's breast. And the older woman neither wept nor
cried out, but drove silently away with the distracted girl beside
her, and she was a woman who had given her country of the best she had
to offer--the life of her son.
"Oh, poor woman! poor woman!" wept Brenda.
There was a silence as of death in that crowded office, save for now
and again a low whisper or a stifled sob. And still the people came
and went and came again. Brenda waited with sinking heart. When would
her father come? Would he bring good news or bad? She braced herself
up to bear the worst.
"It is all right, Brenda," she heard him say at last--he had come up
behind her as she stood watching the crowd outside. "Harold is safe!"
"Oh, thank God for that!" she gasped, clinging to his arm. "He is not
wounded, is he?"
"No! He is a prisoner. He was out with a detachment of his men on
patrol duty, and the Boers captured the whole lot. I expect he will be
sent to Pretoria, so you need not be anxious now, my dear."
"I don't--I don't know," she cried feverishly. "If Van Zwieten is
there he won't escape so easily."
"Nonsense! Van Zwieten is not omnipotent, as you seem to think. Thank
God that your husband is safe, child, and don't go out to meet your
troubles."
"I do--I do. I am grateful. Oh, the poor women! The poor fatherless
children! Oh, father, what a terrible thing war is!"
"It is indeed," sighed Mr. Scarse. "I remember the Crimea and all the
misery it brought. That is why I was so anxious to avert this war. But
we are in the midst of it now and we must go through with it. At all
events, Brenda, your husband is safe. There will be no more fighting
for him."
"I'm sorry for that," she said, much to his surprise. "Harold will eat
his heart out now. I would rather he were fighting."
"You are not easy to please, my dear," said her father, drily. "So far
as his safety is concerned, he is in the best position. You need not
be afraid to look at the papers now."
"I am foolish, I know, father. But I wish he had not been taken. I
don't want him to be wrapped up in cotton wool while other men are
fighting."
"He would agree with you there. However, you must look upon it as the
fortune of war. He will have to stay where he is till peace is
proclaimed, and God knows when that will be in the present temper of
this misguided nation. Come home now."
So home they went and did their best to take a cheerful view of
things. It was a sad Christmas for Brenda, and for hundreds of other
women who had suffered far more severely than she had done. To hear of
"peace and goodwill" was like mockery in her ears. She knew that the
war was a just one; that it had been forced upon England by the
ambition of an obstinate old man and that in going through with this
terrible business the country was fulfilling, as ever, her appointed
mission of civilization. But even so, it was terrible to open the
papers and read sad tales of grief and disaster. Hundreds of young
lives--the flower of British manhood--were being sacrificed to the
horrible Moloch of war; and the end was not yet in sight.
Toward the end of December the nation had been somewhat cheered by the
news of General French's victory at Colesberg, but the year ended in
gloom and sorrow and the wailing of Rachel for her children. And on
the Continent the enemies of freedom and honest government rejoiced at
the blows an enlightened Government was receiving. Truly, in those
dark hours, Britannia was the Niobe of nations. But she set her teeth
and fought on.
No letter had come from Wilfred about his brother's disappearance;
neither did he mention it in the columns of the paper of which he was
correspondent. The first news which Mrs. Burton received, other than
from the War Office, was a letter which arrived one morning with the
Transvaal postmark. In fear and trembling she opened it, thinking it
contained an announcement from some kind soul in Pretoria that Harold
was dead. To her astonishment and horror it proved to be from Van
Zwieten, and was addressed to her, "care of" Mrs. St. Leger. She
opened it, and was found later on by the parlor-maid in a dead faint.
The first thing she did on regaining consciousness was to read it
again. As she got to the end, she heard her father's step. In a tremor
of excitement she ran to him.
"Oh, father, look at this it is from Van Zwieten--written from
Pretoria."
Mr. Scarse was astonished. The Dutchman was the last person in the
world from whom he expected to hear. But the cool insolence of the man
seemed to be beyond all bounds. Putting on his glasses he read the
letter. Brenda sat beside him, trying to control her excitement. And
this was what he read:
"DEAR MRS. BURTON,--Your husband has been taken prisoner by our
burghers, and is now in Pretoria, and more or less in my charge. I
write to you to say that unless you come out to me here, at once, I
will have your husband shot as a spy. There is plenty of evidence to
allow of this being done. I hope, therefore, that you will save his
life by obeying my orders. If not, you may expect to hear of his
death. You know I never speak vainly.--Yours with all love,
"WALDO VAN ZWIETEN."
"Father!" cried Brenda, when he had finished reading this cold-blooded
letter, "what is to be done? My poor boy!"
"It is a trick to get you out there and into his power," said Mr.
Scarse, in a tone of decision. "I don't believe he can do it--no, not
for one moment."
"But I am quite sure he can. You know how vindictive he is. Oh, how
can we save Harold?"
"By seeing the authorities. I will get a request sent out to Kruger;
he is a God-fearing man and would not permit this atrocity."
"It will do no good," the girl said, shaking her head sadly. "No,
father, I dare say if such a request were cabled to the President he
would do his best; but Van Zwieten would try and kill Harold in the
meantime, and if he succeeded--as he would succeed--he would say it
was an accident."
"I believe he is capable of anything. But what else is to be done? You
cannot obey this insolent demand!"
"I must--to save Harold!"
"Go out to Pretoria?--impossible!"
"I don't see that," she said fervently. "I can go to Delagoa Bay by
some German ship--the German ships go there, don't they?--and from
there I can take the train to Pretoria. It is quite simple. Then I
will see Van Zwieten and trick him into letting Harold be under some
one else's care for a time. Then I shall speak to the President and
tell him all. I am sure he will help me, and I shall be able to take
Harold away. Then Van Zwieten won't have a chance of shooting him, as
he would have if a cable were sent. Leave the matter to me, father. I
am a woman, and Van Zwieten is in love with me. I can blind him and
trick him."
Her father looked at her in astonishment. She had evidently made up
her mind to go out and get the better of the Dutchman, as she said.
"It is a mad scheme, Brenda!"
"It is the only scheme I can think of by which I can save my husband."
"But, Brenda, listen to reason. Think what a scoundrel Van Zwieten
is!"
"All the more reason that I should save Harold from him."
"He might insist, as a condition of you husband's safety, that you and
he be divorced. These things can be arranged, you know. And then he
would marry you himself. He is capable of making the most impossible
demands."
"I dare say. I know he is capable of any villainy. But you leave the
matter to me, father, and I will think of some scheme by which I can
get the better of him. One thing is certain--I must go at once to
Pretoria."
"But, Brenda, you cannot travel alone."
"Lady Jenny will come with me. If she will not, then I shall go alone.
Do you think I care for appearances when Harold is in danger of his
life? I will plead with Kruger--with his wife--I am sure they will
help me."
"H'm! Remember, Kruger is not omnipotent, and Van Zwieten is powerful.
The President may not care to offend him. Besides, you can see for
yourself, from this letter, that the man is still in love with you.
Once he got you into his power he would stick at nothing that would
make you a free woman."
"In that case I would die with Harold. But I don't believe the Boers
are so uncivilized. Kruger will help me--I feel sure of it. You say he
is a good man."
"He is," Mr. Scarse said. He was one of the few people who had fallen
into this error. "Yes, if anything can be done, Kruger is the man who
will do it."
"Then, dear father, will you make inquiries for me about a German
ship? I want to go as soon as possible."
"Not alone, Brenda--not alone," said her father. "I will go with you.
Yes, child, I will myself see the President. He knows how I have
advocated his views in this country, and he will not refuse me this.
We will go together."
She threw her arms round his neck. "Darling father," she murmured,
"how good you are. Yes, we will go, and save my darling from that
wicked man. Lady Jenny outwitted him, so I will do the same. Oh, how
astonished Harold will be to see me at Pretoria!"