IN CAPTIVITY
After the excitement of that day and night came five days of
quiet--quiet at least for Captain and Mrs. Burton, held prisoners as
they were in a Boer house on the slope of a rocky hill sparsely
covered with grass. It was the homestead of a sheep farm and the
animals fed amongst the hills, and, when the seasons served, down on
the plain. The stone house was solidly built; it was of one storey,
with a roof of corrugated iron, and was comfortable enough after the
Dutch fashion, so that on the whole Brenda and her husband were not
unpleasantly situated. More over they were allowed to be together--a
privilege which they valued highly. Indeed, it was the sole thing
which rendered this captivity tolerable.
As it happened, Piet Bok was unable to send them to Pretoria as he had
wished. The Boers were now engaged with Buller's division, and
were falling back to a hill called Spion Kop, a name hardly known at
that time, but fated in two or three days to be spoken of all over the
world. Not a burgher could be spared to escort them to the capital,
but, strangely enough, a sufficient number were told off to
guard the farm house. Harold was somewhat suspicious of this
arrangement--suspicious that somehow Van Zwieten had had to do with
it; but he had no means of making certain. The Dutchman had never come
near them, but they feared him all the more now that he was out of
sight, and fully expected some fresh trouble. As he had warned Mrs.
Burton, he had not done with them yet.
Occasionally they were visited by Piet Bok, and the old man still
seemed as kindly disposed as ever, but as yet he could do nothing to
help them; so for five days they had to make the best of their irksome
captivity. Not even a book or a paper could they find. However,
putting aside the constant dread of Van Zwieten, they were not
unhappy. The house stood so high that there was a splendid view of a
large plain, and on the left a huddle of hills. Beyond these the
fighting was going on, and the prisoners could hear the boom of the
cannon and the shriek of shells. At times they could see the smoke of
the battle afar off. Harold hoped that the advance of the army would
bring them help at last, but the fighting was in a more westerly
direction, and the hoped-for help never came.
"If we could only escape, Brenda!" he said for the hundredth time. "It
is maddening to be shut up here and to listen to all that! We must
make one desperate attempt to get away. You are not afraid, I know?"
"I am not afraid," replied his wife, "but we must not be rash. We have
no weapons, no horses, no food. I don't see how we are to manage it."
"Nor do I, unless Piet Bok will help us. These men outside would give
us no quarter if we tried to get away. They are just dying to get rid
of us."
Brenda shuddered. "Harold, don't! It is terrible to think of. I feel
sure all will come right in the end."
"It won't if Van Zwieten can help it."
"He will have enough to do to look after himself. Harold, that man
will die!"
"How do you know? Do you mean a violent death, and that soon?"
"Yes, that is just what I do mean. My mother was a Highland woman, and
had what they call second-sight. I have not got it myself, I suppose,
because I am not a pure Celt. But I have enough of the seer in me to
have a presentiment about that man! I feel certain that he will die by
violence, and that shortly. I can't explain myself more clearly."
"One never can explain a feeling of that sort. You told this to Van
Zwieten himself?"
"Yes, and I frightened him. Perhaps that is why he has not been near
us."
"I should not have thought he was superstitious, Brenda; nor you
either, for that matter."
"I am not, as a rule," was her reply, "but I feel that what I say is
true. Van Zwieten will die!"
Harold, sturdy, stolid Englishman as he was, tried to argue her out of
this idea, but he gave it up as hopeless. She had made up her mind
that their enemy was a dead man, or would be dead within a few days.
Strange to say, it was on that very day that he paid them his first
visit. He looked as handsome and as burly as ever. Going by
appearances, he had a good many years of villainy before him yet.
He came up to the veranda and saluted Mrs. Burton with a low bow of
which she took no notice.
"You are surprised to see me?" he said, with his usual cool insolence.
"I cannot say that I am surprised at anything you do," was Harold's
disdainful reply. "But if you have come to make the same proposition
you made before, I warn you that I shall not listen to it so
patiently."
The Dutchman cast a quick glance at the slender figure of the
other man. "I am not afraid of you," he sneered; "you have no
weapons--neither sword nor revolver."
"I can use my fists even on such a big bully as you!"
"As you please. But I don't see much chance of delivering my message
until you moderate your tone."
"What is your message?" asked Brenda, speaking for the first time.
"I come to offer you freedom."
"On what conditions?"
"There are none. I love you still. If I had my way I would kill your
husband and marry you. But unfortunately," said Van Zwieten, with a
sneer, "I am amongst a very moral people. Piet Bok has told the Boer
generals about what they are pleased to call my wickedness, and I have
been informed that if I persist in my plans I may say good-bye to
all advancement amongst the godly Boers. Now I am a poor man, and
cannot afford to lose all I have gained. Ambition for me must be
stronger than love. So, Mrs. Burton, I give you up!"
"Thank God!" cried she, clasping her hands; adding, as an
afterthought, "If I could only believe you!"
"Oh, you can believe me," he said gloomily. "If I were only a rich
man--rich enough to give up my position here--I would never rest until
you were mine. But the choice lies now between you and my position. I
choose to lose you. From this moment you need have no fear of me. You
can go with your husband where you will. You do not love me--I know it
now--but him you do love--unworthy though he is----"
"That is a lie!" Captain Burton cried, starting up.
"Hush, Harold! Is it worth while arguing about? Let him go on. Well,
Mr. van Zwieten, you have come to tell us this. What else?"
"I have come to offer you my assistance to escape."
"Oh! That is what I hardly expected to hear you say. And you must
pardon me if I don't believe you."
"As you please," he said again. "But you can escape to-night if you
will. The men here now I shall take away with me shortly. Two horses
will be left behind--food is in the house; and here are a couple of
revolvers--one for you and one for Burton."
They took the weapons in silence. Could this be Van Zwieten? They did
not know him in this new _rôle_ of self-abnegation, and the suspicions
of both husband and wife were thoroughly aroused. But the revolvers
were good ones, and they were loaded. Could it be that he spoke truly
and that he was anxious now to retrieve his past, to give up his
plotting and spying and to live a virtuous life amongst the too-moral
Boers, who had indeed, perhaps, forced him to do this thing?
Still Brenda looked doubtfully at him, for compulsory righteousness
was somewhat hard to credit.
"I see you don't believe me," he said, after a pause. "Well, perhaps
you are right. It is rather late in the day for me to turn saint. But
you may be sure I should not do this unless I had some very strong
inducement. If you are taken to Pretoria you will only remain to vex
my eyes, and I want to get you out of sight. That is my reason for
giving you your freedom. To-night I will send a messenger who will
guide you to the British outposts. They are not so far off as you
think. Buller has advanced almost to Spion Kop, and he has taken
several of our positions. If he gets Spion Kop--and I understand
Warren intends to capture it if he can--he will have the key to our
position and will march on to Ladysmith. But"--he shrugged his
shoulders--"there is many a slip, you know. Well, I will go in and get
my men. Will you follow my messenger?"
"I can't say yet," Captain Burton said bluntly. "You speak fair
enough, but this may be a trick for all I know."
"How should I benefit by a trick?" Van Zwieten asked. "If I wanted to
kill you I could do it now, and no one would be the wiser. The Boers
here would shoot you with pleasure. But if I killed you and took Mrs.
Burton, why, then, good-bye to my chance of becoming President of the
Confederate States of South Africa. No, I will let you go; it suits me
better. Love, as I said, must yield to ambition. But if you do not
believe me, stay here. My messenger shall come at eight o'clock
to-night. Follow him or not as you please. Good-bye, Mrs. Burton. You
little know what it is to me to give you up; but you must say I afford
you every chance of being happy with your husband."
Brenda looked at him. She began to think he was acting in good faith
after all.
"I am not ungrateful," she said gently. "We will follow your
messenger. Good-bye," and she held out her hand to him.
Van Zwieten bent over it and kissed it. Then he drew himself up,
looked at Harold steadfastly and turned away in silence.
"Do you believe in him?" asked Brenda after a pause.
"I don't know. Upon my soul, I don't know. He is such a scoundrel. I
wonder you could let him kiss your hand, Brenda!"
"Craft must be met by craft," she replied in a whisper. "You silly
boy, you don't mean to say you are jealous of that? Can't you see that
I wanted to disarm his suspicions so that we might get away safely?"
"Then you don't believe in him?
"No; he has some scheme in his head. Hush, it's not safe to talk about
it now--when he's gone. Meanwhile, let him think we accept his offer."
It would really seem as though Van Zwieten were acting
straightforwardly for the first time in his life. The Boers who had
been guarding the place got their rifles, saddled the horses, and,
headed by Van Zwieten, took themselves off down the mountain-side, and
were shortly afterward to be seen riding across the veldt in a
northerly direction. Captain Burton, still suspicious, could not
believe in his good fortune. With Brenda he proceeded to explore the
house. It was empty. They searched the orchard, the sheep kraals, the
Kaffir huts--in fact, the whole domain, but they could find no trace
of a single soul. No weapons had been left, but they had the
revolvers. In the stable were two horses already saddled. Harold
pointed this out to his wife.
"Ready, you see, for the journey!" said he. "Van Zwieten is evidently
very sure that we shall accept his offer."
"Well, we'll not disappoint him so far as the horses are concerned,"
replied Brenda; "but as to waiting for his messenger, I don't think
we'll do that."
"Why, Brenda, what do you mean? We don't know an inch of the country."
"Probably this messenger of Van Zwieten's will know it rather too well
for our liking. I don't trust the arrangement in the least. Believe
me, dear, he will only lead us into some trap and we shall be
prisoners again."
"I don't see that Van Zwieten need have given himself the trouble to
do that--we were his prisoners already."
"I can't see through it at present either. But, nevertheless, I'm sure
there's something at the back of his ostensible generosity."
Captain Burton was at a loss how to interpret it. On the whole, he was
inclined to trust to his wife's instinct. He had no sort of premise on
which to argue against it.
So they had something to eat and decided to leave at sundown. Beyond
the hills they knew the British were engaging the enemy, so if they
made due west they had every hope of coming up with the outposts of
the advancing column. There was, of course, always the chance that
they might not get even so far safely, but that they preferred to risk
rather than trust in Mr. van Zwieten.
Their horses were wiry little animals enough, and, if put to it, could
show a very pretty pace. They fed and watered them now preparatory to
their start. On the whole they were sanguine.
Then came a surprise. As they were making their own meal they heard
from outside a voice hailing them in English. Harold rushed to the
door and returned shortly with Piet Bok. The old man looked anxious,
and hurried forward to shake Brenda by the hand.
"Thank the dear Lord you are safe," he said with emotion. "I feared it
might be otherwise--that you had fallen into that man's snare."
"Then it was a snare!" cried Brenda, at this confirmation of her own
feelings. "Tell us, Mynheer Bok, what was his plan?"
"Ach! is it not to tell it you and save you from it I am here?" He
rubbed his hands. "I will show Van Zwieten that others can be slim as
he. Beloved Lord, he is the seed of Satan, that man."
"He took away the guards, but he has left us the two revolvers and a
couple of mounts all ready saddled."
"Quite so; and he is to send a messenger soon, is he not, to lead you
to the British camp?"
"Yes, yes."
"Believe him not. That messenger will not lead you to your camp, but
to an ambuscade of Boers headed by Van Zwieten himself. Then your
husband here will be shot and you will be carried off."
"The scoundrel! The double-dyed villain! But why all this, mynheer? We
were in his power already."
"No, you were not. You must understand that I have power with the
burghers; yes, and I told them your story, and they were amazed at the
wickedness of this man, and he was told to go out from amongst us lest
the dear Lord should send evil on the host. Then he said he would
desist from his wicked schemes and send you on to Pretoria to be dealt
with by the President. But I overheard his conversation with the
messenger whom he intends to send to you, and I know his plan. You are
to be carried off, as I have told you, and in durance vile kept until
the war is over. Your husband will be shot, probably by Van Zwieten
himself. But of all this he will say not a word to the burghers, and
thus he will maintain his place amongst them. You see why he does not
act openly?
"I see," said Brenda, her color rising. "Now what are we to do?"
"Come with me at once," said Piet Bok. "I will lead you by another
route to your outposts, and so shall we thwart this son of the pit.
But you must come at once, there is not a moment to lose."
"But the messenger?"
"Of course we do not wait for him. It would mean death to you or to
him."
"Right you are, then; let's get off straight away. It's getting dark
already."
"Ach, yes! that is well. Come along, then."
Their trust in the old man was implicit. He had always proved a friend
hitherto. The sun was setting in floods of gold over the mountain-tops
as they rode down the path which descended to the veldt. Heavy rains
had rendered the ground sodden. Piet Bok headed for a point in the
hills where he said there was a pass other than the one in which Van
Zwieten was waiting. Unluckily, as they started across the veldt, they
saw a horseman coming toward them at full speed.
"The messenger!" cried Brenda. "What are we to do now, mynheer?"
The old man unslung his gun. "Kill him," he said quietly, "else he
will ride on and tell Van Zwieten. If he sees me with you he will
guess the truth. It is well known in laager that I am the enemy of Van
Zwieten."
"Must he really be killed?" asked Brenda, with a shudder. It was
terrible to her that this man should be shot in cold blood.
"It is his life or mine, dear," said her husband, pulling out his
revolver to be ready if Piet Bok should fail.
But the approaching Boer was not going to trust himself at close
quarters. He circled round them and held out a white flag in token of
friendship. Harold laughed grimly as he recognized the old trick. Piet
Bok sighted, and fired. But the fellow flung himself flat down on his
horse's neck and the shot missed him.
He rode off with a defiant whoop. A big Dutch oath escaped from the
lips of Piet Bok, and he caught Brenda's horse by the bridle.
"We must ride for it," he said. "The man recognized me, and you too.
He will hasten back to Van Zwieten, and they will be after us in no
time. We must make for the hills."
"How can I thank you, Bok?" said Harold, gratefully.
"Almighty, that is right! you spared my boy Hans."
By this time the messenger was a mere speck on the horizon. He was
riding like the wind to take this news to his chief.
The three fugitives made a straight line for the pass, urging their
horses to their best. The sun had dropped behind the mountains and the
shadows were gathering fast on the veldt. For several hours they tore
on until they reached the mouth of the pass. There they pulled up to
give themselves and their animals breath.
"I think we can count ourselves safe now," said Piet Bok, wiping his
brow. "But we must push on through the pass. At the other side let us
hope we shall come up with your men."
The track was narrow and winding and full of mud, which fouled the
horses and made the climbing doubly hard. It was quite dark there, but
Piet knew every inch of the path, and rode on ahead fearless and
confident. In about an hour they emerged. There were the lights of the
British camp twinkling a mile and a half away.
As they commenced the descent they heard a shot ring out, and Brenda
gave a cry of dismay. Piet Bok had fallen from his saddle.
"Ride, ride for your lives!" cried the old man. "He has come round by
the other pass."
And so it was. Van Zwieten, instead of following at their rear, had
pushed through the other pass and had cut them off. But he had made
one mistake. He had allowed them to get out of the pass on to the
higher ground instead of cutting them off from the camp. As shot
followed shot, Harold caught Brenda's horse by the bridle. Headlong
they tore down toward the plain.
The light, or rather the dark, was all against the pursuers. They gave
up firing and made to overtake them. But the sound of the muskets had
already been heard in the camp, and they could hear the bugles ringing
out. Whether the brave old Boer who had saved them was dead or not
they did not know. It was beyond their power to aid him. They urged
their horses on and on, for in their speed lay the only hope of
escape.
"Courage, Brenda!" cried Harold. "Stick to it; they've heard the
firing in camp."
"I will, dear--I will."
Then her husband looked round, and an exclamation of mingled relief
and triumph came from him. They had given up the chase.
"They've had enough of it, hurrah!" he cried.
They were now within a short distance of the camp, and could hear the
commands being given consequent on what evidently had been taken for
the commencement of a surprise on the part of the Boers. Those behind
them had turned and fled now in the opposite direction--all of them
save Van Zwieten.
He stood up and fired twice. But his shot fell wide. Then Harold
turned and tried what his revolver would do at that range. Van
Zwieten's arm fell useless. Then he galloped off, none too soon, for a
squadron of mounted infantry came on the scene just at the moment.
"What's all this?" shouted the captain in command.
"We have escaped!" shouted Harold--"Burton and Mrs. Burton."
"What, is it you, old man?" cried a friendly voice--a voice they knew
well.
For the fourth time Brenda had escaped her enemy.