AT THE FRONT.
Van Zwieten's sins had evidently made no difference in his fortunes.
He appeared to be flourishing like the proverbial green bay tree. He
was dressed in a smart riding suit, with long brown boots, and a
smasher hat of the approved Boer type. Quite unabashed at sight of
Brenda, he crossed the road with an impudent smile and held out his
hand. She shot one glance of indignation at him, and drew aside as
though to avoid contact with an unclean thing--a proceeding which
appeared to cause the man some shame, although he tried to assume an
air of unconcern and amusement.
"You won't shake hands with me, Mrs. Burton?" he said, quite jauntily.
"How dare you speak to me?" she said, drawing back. "I wonder you are
not ashamed to look me in the face after that trick about the letter."
"Ah! that was what the Boers call 'slim,'" he said, wincing,
nevertheless, at her open contempt for him. "All's fair in love and
war, you know, but your husband has been rather in advance of himself
on this occasion, and the plot has failed. Yes, you see I admit that
it is a plot, and I admit that it has failed."
"I have nothing to say to you," said Brenda, coldly, "except to tell
you that if you attempt to molest either my husband or myself further
I shall have you arrested as a spy."
He looked uneasily down the road and at the stern, set faces of the
passing soldiers. He knew that from such men as they he might expect
precious little mercy once the word spy had gone out against him,
followed by damning evidence of his complicity. Boer treachery had to
be avenged; there had been plenty of it about, and he did not fancy
being a scapegoat for others.
"My dear Mrs. Burton," he went on calmly, "I wonder you spare me at
all. Why not have me arrested now and have done with it? I am
completely in your power, am I not? You have but to raise your voice
and the thing would be done. Indeed, I am not at all sure that I
should reach the jail alive. They hate spies here, and it is true
they have good reason to. You may not have such a chance again, so cry
out upon me now and revenge yourself on me once and for all for my
crime--my crime of loving you."
"No, I will not," replied Brenda, firmly; "but I give you fair
warning, Mr. van Zwieten, that if you do not leave this place
immediately I shall at once inform the authorities about you. In
luring me to Pretoria you made one mistake; you thought I should come
unprepared. I did no such thing. I have ample evidence with me to
prove that in London your occupation was that of a spy. Lady Jenny
gave me the papers."
"I'm very much obliged to Lady Jenny, I'm sure," he said, with a bow.
"At Pretoria--for Oom Paul--you could hardly have brought credentials
calculated to speak more highly in my favor. He would be quick to
appreciate my services."
"Why did you wish me to come to Pretoria? You know I am married."
"Yes, I know you are married; but marriage can be severed as all else
is severed--by death," he said significantly. "If you had come to
Pretoria--but there is no need to talk about that," he broke off
impatiently. "I was duly informed that your husband was missing, but
he escaped before I could reach the Tugela and myself take him to
Pretoria, where he would have been completely in my power. I wrote the
letter thinking you would really find him there. But he escaped and
got your telegram--the one you sent to Wilfred Burton. I followed him
down here, and learned how he intended to intercept the _Kaiser
Fritz_. You see I am well informed, Mrs. Burton."
Brenda was astonished at the extent of the man's knowledge and the
dogged fierceness with which he seemed to follow her and Harold. She
wondered if it would not be wise to have so dangerous an enemy
arrested at once. But the thought of Lady Jenny and the shame which it
would bring upon her through the deeds of her late husband--which Van
Zwieten would assuredly reveal in such a contingency--prevented her
from deciding upon so severe a course. Later on she had reason
bitterly to regret that she had not acted upon her first impulse. Had
she done so it would have saved both her husband and herself endless
trouble. Van Zwieten half guessed what was in her mind, but he made no
move, and seemed quite content to abide by her decision. There was
even a smile on his face as he looked at her. Villain as he was, his
courage was undeniable. The pity was that such a virtue should not
have been linked to others. But then that was the man all over. He was
a belated Conrad the Corsair. "A man of one virtue and ten thousand
crimes." Yet another virtue might be added. He loved Brenda, and he
loved her honestly.
"I see you know your business as a spy, Mr. van Zwieten," she said
coldly. "But all your work is thrown away. If you succeeded in
killing my husband, as you seem anxious to do, I should kill myself!"
Van Zwieten turned a shade paler. For once he was moved out of his
attitude of sneering insolence. "No, no," he said hoarsely, "do not
think of such a thing! I won't harm your husband, on my honor----"
"Your honor! The honor of a spy?"
"The honor of a man who loves you!" he said with some dignity.
She shrugged her shoulders. She had not much belief in a love which
was so selfish in its aims and so unscrupulous in the carrying out of
them. But she would not argue further with him, she thought. The
conversation was taking a turn of a personal character highly
repugnant to her, and she moved away. "Well, Mr. van Zwieten, I have
warned you! If you don't leave British territory I shall inform the
authorities of your London career. Good-bye!"
"Good-bye," he said. He took off his hat with a grand bow as she left
him. Nor did he make any attempt to stay her; he knew already that she
was going to the front with her husband, and he had every intention of
following. That she would reveal his true character he did not for one
moment believe. There he had her in his power, for he would at once
make known Gilbert Malet's conduct, and that would mean shame and
trouble for Lady Jenny, from which Brenda was more than anxious to
shield her, as he well knew. She had been a good friend to the girl,
and had indirectly done a great deal to bring about the marriage. This
Dutchman had more knowledge of a woman's nature than most of his sex,
and he found it of no little service in the profession which he had
taken up.
Brenda found her husband impatiently awaiting her. He had made all
arrangements for the journey; and after a hasty meal they went down to
the station. She was in high spirits. With Harold beside her, and the
prospect of a novel and busy life in her capacity of nurse, she was
perfectly happy. And he, still more of a lover than a husband, thought
he had never seen her look more beautiful.
Concerning the journey there is very little to say. There was
considerable monotony about it. Some of the scenery was beautiful,
particularly when they got amongst the mountains, but for the most
part the plains extended on all sides, grey and dreary, the kopjes
humping themselves everywhere amongst the karoo bushes. The
dust-storms, too, were altogether disagreeable, and in spite of her
veil and cloak Brenda arrived at the camp in a very gritty condition,
and thoroughly worn out. Her husband saw the doctor at once and told
him of his wife's desire to nurse the wounded. Her offer was
gratefully accepted, for Brenda had had a certain amount of
professional experience which stood her in good stead now. So next day
she took up her quarters in the hospital and went to work in earnest.
Mr. Scarse, having been introduced to the authorities, amused himself
by wandering about the camp and enjoying the novelty of his
surroundings. To a home-staying man such as he, the round of daily
life at the front proved most amusing.
Indeed, father and daughter were equally delighted with this new
experience. Mrs. Burton proved herself a most capable nurse, and paid
every attention to those under her charge. Her husband chafed somewhat
at first. He did not like the idea of his wife doing such work; but
when he saw that she really enjoyed it, and that she was anxious to be
of use in her own way to those who were fighting for Queen and
country, he made no further opposition. Moreover, he had his own
duties to attend to, and upon the whole, husband and wife saw very
little of each other. The few moments they did have were therefore all
the sweeter. And the knowledge that Brenda was near him and safe from
the machinations of Van Zwieten was a supreme satisfaction to Harold.
He had yet to learn that the Dutchman was as active as ever, and bent
upon getting her into his power.
Since his failure to cross the Tugela, General Buller had been
reconstructing his plans, and was taking ample time over the
preparations. As he himself said, there should be no turning back this
time. The garrison at Ladysmith was holding out bravely; but the
messages showed that they were anxiously expecting relief. The
soldiers, held like hounds in a leash, were longing to get at the foe
and wipe out their first failure. But the days passed and no move was
made. On this side of the Tugela all was safe; but on the other the
Boers swarmed, although they kept at a safe distance from the British
position. To Brenda, the mere fact of living in a camp in time of war
was sufficiently exciting.
Shortly after their arrival, Captain Burton was ordered on patrol duty
to scour the neighboring country on this side of the Tugela. He said
good-bye to his wife and went off in high spirits. But it was with a
sinking heart that she watched him go off on this dangerous duty. The
arrival of Wilfred, however, served to cheer her somewhat.
As has been stated, young Burton was acting as war correspondent for
one of the London papers, and had been gathering information about the
country around. He had been absent, therefore, when his brother's
party arrived; but when he came back the first thing he did was to
look up Brenda at the hospital. She was struck at once by his healthy
appearance. He seemed less nervous and hysterical than he had been in
London, for the outdoor life and the vigorous exercise was telling
upon him. But his big black eyes flashed as feverishly as ever; nor
did they lose their restlessness when Brenda told him of her meeting
with Mr. van Zwieten at Durban. To Harold she had never mentioned it,
knowing too well his impulsive nature; but with his brother she felt
it was different. He already knew so much about the man that a little
information more or less did not matter. But he was inclined to blame
her for having shown the spy any mercy at all.
"What could I do?" expostulated Brenda in dismay. "You know that if I
had had him arrested he would have revenged himself by telling all he
knew of Mr. Malet's life, and then think how terrible it would have
been for Lady Jenny!"
"She must take her chance," he said gloomily. "She must be prepared to
suffer all for her country. Van Zwieten will pick up all sorts of
knowledge at Durban, and he may be able then to hamper our plans!"
"I don't think he will stay there, Wilfred. I told him that if he did
not leave I would give information to the authorities. He daren't face
that! And I don't think he will be very long in following us here!"
she added with a flush of anger. "He will follow us everywhere. I
should not be surprised if he were across the river now in the hope of
taking me prisoner when the camp is moved."
"Directly the advance begins, Brenda, you must get back to Durban. It
will never do for you to remain here. There's going to be some pretty
hard fighting."
"Yes; but not here. I shall be perfectly safe behind the British
lines."
"Perhaps; I hope so." Wilfred looked gloomy and bit his nails
abstractedly, a habit with him when he was annoyed. "I tell you what
it is, Brenda," he burst out. "I'm very doubtful about the wisdom of
this advance. Buller's idea is, I believe, to cross the Tugela and try
and pierce the Boer centre. I'm afraid he won't succeed."
"Oh, Wilfred! Have you no more faith in the British soldiers than
that?"
"I have every faith in the rank and file--yes, and in many of the
junior officers, but I confess candidly that I don't feel altogether
the same amount of trust in our leaders. The mere fact of this
advance having been decided upon goes to prove to me that they don't
know their business! The country between this and Ladysmith is
precipitous--I know nothing like it outside Switzerland or the
Rockies--and it seems to me to be a mad thing to lead an army over it
with heavy transport and all that unless that army is in overwhelming
superiority to the opposing force--which we know it isn't. The whole
place is strongly fortified, and the positions that will have to be
stormed are almost impregnable. These Boers know only too well what
they are about. They have chosen their ground well. Mark my words,
there will be great loss of life if not a great disaster. It is
throwing away lives to attempt campaigning in this district."
"But Ladysmith must be relieved!"
"I know; but it will never be relieved in this way. Even the valor of
the British soldier is powerless against the hail of bullets which
will rain down on him from these natural fortresses, and ten to one he
won't see a single Boer to shoot at in return. They are devilish
clever at keeping out of sight; of course, I am only a civilian and
don't intend to set my opinion against that of the professional
soldier; but there is such a thing as common sense, and we have not
had enough of it about in the conduct of this campaign."
Brenda was impressed in spite of herself. "What do you think ought to
be done, Wilfred?"
"Fall back on Durban and reconstruct the plan of campaign. Buller's
original idea of invading the Free State was by far the best. If we
took the capital we should cut the rabbits off from their burrows, and
ten to one the Free Staters would be disheartened. Then again, in that
country we should have had more open fighting, and man[oe]uvring would
have been child's play to what it is here. It is sheer madness hurling
line after line against these impregnable fortresses. Even if they are
taken it can only be at terrible loss. Believe me, Buller's original
plan was the best--the only one. But I hear he was overruled. But you
can take my word for it--if Buller makes this move there will be a
terrible disaster."
Brenda seemed disturbed at this view of things. She could not believe
that a soldier of General Buller's experience could be capable of so
grave an error of judgment. And yet, as Wilfred put it, this advance
did seem to be of an unduly hazardous nature. But there again, Wilfred
was always so pessimistic. He was not the man to look at anything
hopefully when he could do the opposite. The men themselves were all
full of confidence, she knew, and were looking forward to relieving
their gallant comrades in Ladysmith within a very short time now.
Wilfred must be wrong, she argued; it was more than likely that the
General had some information up his sleeve that no one knew anything
about. At all events, she was not going to look on the black side of
things. Thus she comforted herself somewhat.
Harold returned from his patrolling, but only for a short while. Again
and again he was sent out, sometimes into the enemy's country, and he
was in the saddle from morning till night. Brenda saw but little of
him, and had to put up with his continued absence as best she could.
She had, as it happened, plenty of work to distract her. She was an
excellent nurse, and did good service in the hospital, not sparing
herself in any way. Indeed, so constantly was she employed, that the
doctor insisted upon her taking a sufficient amount of exercise, and
strongly advised her to ride. This commended itself to her, for she
rode well and was never happier than when in the saddle. She managed
to obtain a habit from a colonial lady who was also in the camp. Her
husband managed to procure for her a capital little animal--one of
those active little ponies used by the Boers. And so she came to make
frequent excursions into the surrounding country.
"You must keep on this side of the river, Mrs. Burton," said the
doctor. "As long as you do that you are quite safe, even beyond the
camp lines. But don't cross the Tugela. Directly you do that you run
risks. I can't afford to lose my best nurse, you know."
Brenda looked at the sullen waters of the stream rolling through the
melancholy veldt, and laughed. "I should be a clever woman to cross
that river, doctor, even if I wanted to. You may depend upon my taking
every care of myself. I shall keep on the right side from sheer
inability to get on the wrong one."
But it was not often that Brenda was allowed to ride alone. She was
not the sort of woman to have to seek a cavalier. But as the time drew
near when the General intended to make his move, his juniors found
they had very little leisure, and she had perforce to ride alone. But
even so she had no fear, though her father worried a good deal about
her. But as she always returned safely, even he grew gradually
accustomed to see her go off unattended.
Every now and again there came upon her a feeling that she was being
watched. She would look round and see a Kaffir staring fixedly at her.
This happened on several days in succession. Yet she could not be sure
that it was always the same man. The natives were all so very much
alike to her that it was impossible to distinguish one from another.
However, this espionage was in nowise aggressive; on the contrary, if
espionage it were, it was done very skillfully. It might be even pure
fancy on her part, for ever since that meeting with Van Zwieten in
Durban her nerve was anything but steady. At all events, she decided
not to say anything to her husband about it lest he should forbid her
excursions altogether, and now that she had taken to riding again she
was very loth to give it up.
She wondered if it might be possible that Van Zwieten was about. It
was possible--just possible, but she thought not probable. He would
know that Wilfred was in the camp, and that he would have no
hesitation in denouncing him as a spy; and for that reason she did not
think he would be so foolish as to trust himself within the British
lines. At least so long as she kept on this side the Tugela he could
not molest her. He was no fool to risk his life in a mad attempt which
would mean certain failure. So she comforted herself. But the feeling
of being watched still remained with her.
At last the order to advance was given, and the men, tired of
inaction, joyfully obeyed. Harold had been absent two days on scout
duty this time across the river which Warren's brigade were preparing
to negotiate. He had been sent out with a small force to make a
reconnaissance in the enemy's country. She was beginning to feel
rather anxious for his return. Despondent and full of vague foreboding
as she was, she fancied that a ride would do her good, and she set out
as usual, somewhere about sundown. She intended to go only a short way
and return before it grew dark. The Kaffir who saddled her horse
watched her ride out of the camp and grinned evilly.
Behind the rugged mountains the sky was a fiery red, and was barred
with black clouds. The air was hot and sultry, and there was promise
of a storm in those heavy masses lying in the east. Under the crimson
glare the veldt looked grim and ominous. The kopies stood up like huge
gravestones; and where the grass failed, the sandy karoo, even more
barren, took its place. Here and there were farmhouses with red walls
and corrugated outbuildings, and the dull red light bathed the
lonesome scene as if in blood. The oppressive feeling in the air
recalled to Brenda's mind that memorable night at Chippingholt when
Malet had been done to death. Just such another storm was impending.
She began to feel nervous as the recollection came upon her and she
decided to return.
For some time her pony had been restive, tossing his head and champing
his bit. He was usually so quiet that she could not understand it, but
just then, as she had made up her mind to return, he grew even more
distressed and finally he bolted. She let him have his head and in
nowise lost hers. She would be able to pull him up after a few miles.
On he galloped, the bit between his teeth, raising the loose red sand,
and taking her further and further away from the camp; past kopjes,
past Kaffir huts, stone walls, sheep kraals, he tore. She made several
attempts to check him, but in vain. Suddenly he put his foot into a
hole, stumbled, and sent her flying over his head. She lay on the
ground half stunned. The pony, relieved of his burden, scampered off.
She was able to realize that she was there alone--on the karoo, far
from the camp, and with night just upon her.