Besides Flippie, there were two other permanent members on the domestic staff—a gigantic native named Paulus, and a young Zulu who went by thename of "Gentleman Jim" on account of his dandified appearance and the aristocratic "drawl" affected by him. American darkies say, "Dere's some folk dat is slow but shua, and some dar is dat'sjes' slow!" Well, Gentleman Jim was "jes' slow." He was the only one on the premises who steadfastly refused to speak one word of Dutch, although he perfectly understood everything said to him.
The result was that the dialogues carried on between mistresses and servant were in Dutch on one side and in English on the other, it being one of the rules at Harmony to address all natives either in their own tongue or in Dutch, never in English.
I may say here that even at the present time it is customary with many Dutch South Africans to employ no English-speaking natives, but rather to engage the "raw" material, i.e. those speaking neither Dutch nor English, because they are, in nine cases out of ten, still unspoilt by civilisation and have lost none of the awe and respect with which they, in their native state, regard the white man.
Gentleman Jim was the only exception ever known at Harmony, and there was no lack of respect inhismanner; on the contrary, the flourish with which he took off his hat and his slow and dignified, "Good morning, little missie," were well worth seeing and a constant source of amusement to all.
Paulus, that magnificent specimen of manhood in its natural state, was by no means the least remarkable of the trio, and there was something tragic too about his rugged personality.
He had been taken by the English in theneighbourhood of Pretoria and brought into town on the false suspicion of having been employed by the Boers as a spy.
There being nothing found against him in proof of this, he was set free in town and allowed to seek employment, but, though he pleaded hard, he could not obtain permission to return to his home, where wife and children had been left in complete uncertainty as to his fate.
This native was a converted heathen, semi-civilised, but with the noblest instincts within him developed on natural lines to a remarkable degree. I have often longed to meet the missionary in whose hands the moulding of this rare product of nature had been carried out with so much success. Patience, faith, devotion, and an awe amounting to veneration for his white mistresses were among the most striking qualities Paulus possessed.
There were hundreds of his stamp on the farms all over the country, natives brought up by the Dutch farmers and trained as useful servants in their homes and in the fields, but it was rare indeed for one of them to find his way into the towns. Fate had been unkind in separating him from his dear ones for so many months, and Paulus went through days of melancholy and despair.
One day, when Hansie heard him sigh more heavily than usual, she asked:
"Are you thinking of your wife and children, Paulus?"
"Oh yes, Nonnie, I am always thinking of them, but I was thinking also how sad it was to forget all my learning. I was getting on so well with myreading and writing, and now I find it so hard to go on by myself."
"Oh, if that is all, Paulus," Hansie said cheerfully, "I can help you a lot. Bring me your books this evening and let me hear you read."
The poor fellow's look of gratitude was touching to behold. He needed no second invitation, and appeared that evening in his Sunday suit, with a new shirt on, and his hands and face scrubbed with soap and water until they shone like polished ebony.
A Dutch Bible, a book of hymns and psalms, and a small spelling-book were all he possessed, but Hansie found him further advanced than she had expected, and wonderfully intelligent, and she soon added a few simple reading-books to his small store.
Now and then she instructed him for a short hour, and it was a pleasure to see the change which came over him within a few weeks. Learning became the joy of his life, and in his ambition to get on he forgot much of his anxiety and distress at the enforced separation from his wife and children.
One evening when Hansie had gone into the kitchen to look over his work, there was a sudden fumbling at the door and "Gentleman Jim" stumbled in with a campstool under one arm and a slate and Bible, an English one, under the other.
"Coming to learn too, little missie," he said, grinning from ear to ear and settling himself comfortably on the stool.
Paulus bent over his writing and said never a word. Hansie nodded uncomfortably.
That this self-invited pupil was unwelcome wasevident, but he himself seemed serenely unconscious of the fact.
There was no love lost between Paulus and "Gentleman Jim"—not that there had ever been an open rupture, but Paulus despised the dandified Zulu, and "Jim" looked down (figuratively speaking, for he was quite a foot shorter in stature) on Paulus's rugged simplicity.
They systematically ignored one another, and were only heard to exchange brief sentences, in English from Jim and in Dutch from Paulus, when necessity compelled them to address one another, for Jim could speak no Sesuto and Paulus knew neither Zulu nor English.
Their antipathy to one another was so marked, in fact, that "Gentleman Jim" refused to have his meals with Paulus and had built a small kitchen apart for himself, under one of the big willows. On this occasion Hansie did not feel pleased at "Jim's" appearance either, for it was one thing to teach the self-contained and reverent Sesuto, and quite another to instruct the flippant "Gentleman Jim."
But Hansie did not know what to say and asked Jim to let her hear him read. He began laboriously, floundering hopelessly over the long words.
"Fruits, meatandrepentance,"[3]he read with painful uncertainty, when Hansie interrupted him with a laugh:
"That will do, Jim; you are wonderful, and you need not come again."
Other natives on the premises were of the shiftless,wandering type, changing hands continually, and many were the instances of their simplicity, not to say rank stupidity.
On one occasion a "raw" Kaffir, on being ordered to take a heavily laden wheelbarrow from one part of the garden to the other, was found half an hour later, still in the same place, vainly trying to place the wheelbarrow on his head!
I believe it was the same native who, when told to empty the contents of a waste-paper basket on a burning heap of rubbish in the garden, returned without the basket, and when asked what he had done with it, pointed, with an air of injured surprise, to its smouldering remains on the heap of rubbish.
Indeed, the patience of the housewife was often sorely tried. A relative of Mrs. van Warmelo's coming into the kitchen one morning, found one of these new "hands" before the stove in a sea of hot water, desperately trying to fill a small kettleby the spout, from a large one!
[2]Mÿn en dÿn.
[2]Mÿn en dÿn.
[3]"Fruits meet for repentance."
[3]"Fruits meet for repentance."
Thank God for the early rains!
After the long winter months, dry and dusty, terrific storms pass over the country, torrents of rain, lashing hailstones. The beautiful world is washed clean, and everywhere the moist brown earth gives promise of a plentiful supply of fresh young grass, which means food for the weary underfed horses on commando, and new life, new hopes to the men.
Only the middle of August and already the first summer rains are falling!
Thank God again!
The cruel strain of anxious thought for our heroes in the field can be relaxed for a moment, and we turn our energies with redoubled vigour and strengthened faith to the task at our hand. Heaven knows that we shall require all the courage we possess to face the impending disasters, of which the shadows have already fallen on our hearts.
One morning the disconcerting news reached Harmony that Mrs. Naudé's house had been surrounded by armed soldiers at break of day and that she had been taken away with her child, in a waggon, no one knew where.
The empty house was being closely watched.
Did the enemy really think that the sagacious Captain of the Secret Service would walk into the trap some fine evening, there to meet with certain destruction? Evidently, for the house was guarded night and day.
August 5th brought new sensation and fresh material for thought and conversation.
There had been a brief lull in the adventures, and all were of opinion that as long as this spell of vigilance lasted no spies would enter the town. It therefore came as a surprise when our little friend with the walking-stick was to be seen coming up the garden path of Harmony, wearing that air of happy mystery so familiar to his fellow-workers.
The spies had come at last, not the Captain himself, but his secretary, Mr. Greyling, with two other men named Nel and Els, on an important and extremely dangerous mission.
They had arrived too late to be brought out to Harmony, but they were staying with Mrs. Joubert, and, if they were successful in obtaining the help they required, their intention was to leave again that night.
At this point in the visitor's narrative, Hansie, who had been engaged in making butter, came in with an expectant look. Mr. Botha motioned her to draw nearer, and in hurried whispers, although there was no one in the room but themselves, told them that these men had been sent to procure a copy of the secret railway time-table, an official book containing full detailed information of the military trains, provision and ammunition—trains, infact, laden with clothing and everything required by the military. The women looked at one another and smiled at the audacity of the request. They had never heard of such a time-table and might as well have been asked to send the moon to the front.
But their visitor was very grave.
This was no child's play, but a very serious matter, for a great deal depended on the securing of that book.
The horses on commando were in a very poor condition after the hard winter, and the men had no clothes to speak of. So it was absolutely necessary that they should have their stock reinforced by the capture of some of the enemy's trains.
Mrs. van Warmelo promised to do her best, but gave her visitor little hope of success.
Soon after he left, a carriage drove up with Mrs. Joubert, her son "Jannie," and her married daughter, Mrs. Malan.
Their mission was the same as Mr. Botha's, the secret time-table, and Mr. Jannie, as he drew Hansie aside, urged her to do all in her power to procure a copy of this valuable book. The same ground was gone over, with the same result, "We can but try." That whole morning was spent in seeing different people, trusted friends, on the subject, and everywhere Hansie and her mother were met with the same objections. Most people had never heard of this time-table, and those who knew of its existence, were convinced that it would be quite impossible to get a sight of it, as it was in the hands of officials only.
The afternoon again was spent in roamingdisconsolately about the streets of Pretoria, weary and discouraged.
Suddenly Hansie exclaimed:
"Oh mamma, how stupid we have been! Why, we never thought of D. He is the only one who can help us. Let us go to him."
Mrs. van Warmelo's tired face beamed at her daughter.
"Of course, but I dare not go to him direct—that would be indiscreet indeed. Let us send some one for him."
"F.?" Hansie suggested.
"Yes, he would do."
They were walking rapidly to an office on Church Square, when they met the very man they were in search of.
"This is wonderful!" Hansie exclaimed. "We were just going to ask F. to call on you, as we have a great request to make."
Talking in rapid whispers, the trio walked across the Square. The man's face was inscrutable at first, but his curt and business-like way soon gave place to a look of thoughtful contemplation.
"This is about the most unheard-of request that has ever been made to me. I know the book exists, but I have never seen it—I shall have to think about this. When must you have it?"
"Before six o'clock this evening," Hansie answered.
"Will you leave me now?" he said. "I must think. If by any chance I am able to procure a copy, you will find it under your front door between 5 and 6 o'clock."
Well satisfied, the two ladies proceeded on their way home, when they were met by Consul Nieuwenhuis, who invited them to have tea with him at Frascati's.
Hansie looked at her mother.
"I think we have earned it—don't you?"
Mrs. van Warmelo nodded and laughed.
Arrived at Frascati's they found a regular gathering of the Consuls, gaily chatting while they partook of the good things set before them.
"Oh, mother!" Hansie said regretfully, when they had parted from their friends. "What a pity we could not tell them anything! How they would have enjoyed sharing our sensations! I can tear the very hair out of my head at having to keep all these adventures to myself!"
They then went to Mrs. Joubert's house to tell the spies that there was just a chance that one of the people they had seen that day would get the time-table for them.
Mrs. van Warmelo, with her usual prudent forethought, asked to see Mr. Greyling only, knowing that it was safer to deal with one man than with several, so she was shown into the drawing-room while he was being brought from some unknown back region, with much caution and bolting of doors and drawing of blinds. It was amusing, when he entered the room, to see him going straight up to Mrs. Joubert and shaking her heartily by the hand. As a matter of fact, these enterprising young men enjoyed her hospitality, slept under her roof, and partook of the food she secretly prepared for them without ever setting eyes on their hostess.
She was not supposed to know of their existence, and as she was close and silent as the grave, no one ever got anything in the way of information out of her.
It was good to see Mr. Greyling again.
He said that Captain Naudé was with General Botha near the Middelburg line and had been prevented from coming into town that month.
Very little fighting was being done on account of the poor condition of their horses after the severe winter. The men were in splendid health, and the same spirit of determination and courage which had always characterised them possessed them still.
Mr. Greyling and his comrades had come in under some difficulties. They had been escorted on horseback as far as Eerste Fabrieken on the North-east Railway, when they had nearly run into the enemy's lines. They altered their course and rode to Irene, hiding themselves and fastening their horses in a clump of thorn trees, where they remained until nightfall.
On their way to Pretoria in the darkness, Mr. Greyling's horse fell into a hole, throwing him out of the saddle, but his foot caught in the stirrup and he was dragged about forty yards, bruising his head and severely wrenching his ankle. Although by no means fit for the journey, he was determined to go back that night, because the friends who were waiting for him with his horse did so at the utmost risk of their lives. The best news he brought was that the Boers had retaken the Skurvebergen and that it was again the centre of the Secret Service. Three of the Boers had fallen there during the fight.
Although he fully appreciated the obstacles in the way of procuring a time-table, he said he felt he could hardly go back to the commandos without it. His instructions had been very explicit.
Whether she found the time-table at Harmony or not, Hansie promised to come back that evening, with the European and Colonial newspaper-cuttings, so eagerly sought after by the men on commando.
Arrived at Harmony at about 5.15, Hansie could conceal her impatience no longer, but, running up the garden-path, she threw open the front door with a flourish, and behold, a small flat parcel on the floor, a book wrapped carelessly in a bit of white paper! The secret time-table!
She only had it in her hands for a moment, but one thing she will ever remember, the slate-coloured cover and the thick red letters heavily scored:
For the use of officers and officials only.
For the use of officers and officials only.
The excited women looked at it as if fascinated, turning the leaves over slowly and murmuring blessings onhishead.
"Look here," Mrs. van Warmelo whispered, "here we have the meanings of the different signals, and here the different engine-whistles are explained. Every 'toot' has a meaning, Hansie——" But Hansie had flown to her room to don her cycling dress, and was soon on her way, guarded by her faithful dog. On reaching her destination she was again shown into the drawing-room, but Mrs. Joubert came to her and asked in a whisper whether she would not like to go totheroom.
Need I say that she jumped at the suggestion?
Away with caution, to the winds with prudence and reflection! Was not the mother safe at Harmony and her wise counsels forgotten?
Hansie was led silently through mysterious corridors into the open back-yard, by a mute figure in black.
This figure pointed to a door and disappeared, and at the same time another figure rose from Hansie knew not where, and stood sentinel over the gate leading into the street.
She ran up the steps and rapped smartly at the door, turning the handle after a moment and walking in, to the evident consternation of the three young men inside. There was a general scuffle, followed by a laugh of relief, when her figure became visible through the heavy clouds of smoke which filled the room.
Mr. Greyling came forward to meet her and introduced the other men, who shook her hand until it ached.
It was quite evident that the sight of a young lady was a wonderful and most welcome thing to them.
Hansie took Mr. Greyling aside and handed him the packet with strict injunctions not to mention her name on commando, for it was a well-known fact that there were traitors in the field, who lost no opportunity of conveying information to the British. She did not tell him how the book had come into her possession, although his surprise and curiosity were plainly visible, and the worst that could have happened, had he fallen into the hands of the enemy and turned King's evidence, would have been the betrayal of her name.
The other men were clamouring for a hearing, soshe turned to them and inspected the huge brown-paper parcels containing clothing, etc., to which they drew her attention and which they were about to convey to the commandos.
One of them, with a look of comical despair, was shaking his head, while he counted the parcels on his fingers. The other showed Hansie how impossible it was for him to fasten his coat and waistcoat, for he had on three woollen shirts and three pairs of trousers, of different sizes. So had the other two, and Hansie could not refrain from expressing her amazement at their being so heavily laden on an expedition so perilous.
But, in high spirits, they laughed at her fears.
They had done the same thing before. One said it was his seventh visit, another said it was his third, and they so evidently enjoyed their adventures that one felt they were to be envied rather than pitied.
They parted in fun and high good-humour, but Hansie's heart was wrung with many a pang, and many a deep and earnest prayer for their protection was sent up by her that night.
"I wish you could have seen that room, mother," Hansie exclaimed as they sat in their cosy dining-room, discussing the events of the day. "It was filled with so much smoke that I could hardly breathe, and it was littered with papers and cups and plates. They wanted me to sit down and chat with them."
"I am surprised you did not," her mother retorted.
"Well, you see, I had no lamp and I was afraid I should be arrested, and besides, you would have been terrified to death, thinking I was in the hands of the English with that precious time-table."
Mr. Willem Bosch, a cripple, unable to take active work upon himself, acted as Secretary to the Committee, Mr. Els was old and infirm, and Mr. Botha, as we have heard, had been struck by lightning and was frequently prostrate with headaches of an intensely severe nature.
But for these infirmities these men would have been on commando with their brother burghers.
The wider circle of conspirators consisted of ten or twelve men and women, who carried out the instructions of the Committee, but in no case attended their meetings or conferred with them in the presence of the spies from the field.
Their work chiefly consisted in finding out men anxious to escape from town and ignorant of the way to go about it—an exceedingly difficult and dangerous task, with so many National Scouts and other traitors in their midst.
In order to protect themselves from the danger of being led into a trap, the following precautions were taken by the Committee and strictly carried out by their fellow-workers:
When a man was found anxious to join the Boers, he was instructed, under the most binding injunctionsto secrecy, to keep himself in readiness to depart at a given moment, on the shortest possible notice. The arrival of an escort from commando was then awaited.
They did not have long to wait, as two or three times a week, without fail, a small escort of armed men was to be found at a certain spot in the vicinity of the capital, while one of their number was sent into town to inform the Committee of the fact.
The fugitive was then instructed to walk slowly in a certain street, from one point to another at a given hour. Here he was met by a man unknown to him, usually one of the four, who signed to him to follow him.
He was not allowed to speak to or follow his leader too closely. It was not known to him beforehand whether his destination lay north, south, east, or west. He had but to follow and to find himself, as darkness fell, in the hands of the armed burghers.
The men in town were unarmed. It was one of the first rules of the Committee that no spy entering the town should carry arms of any description, this rule having been made to safeguard them from death in the event of their being taken by the enemy.
Too often was this precaution disregarded by young and hot-headed spies, who took the risk upon themselves, preferring death to falling into the hands of the English.
Captain Naudé's case was recognised by the Committee as an exception when once it became known to them that a heavy price had been set on his head.
Incidentally I may remark here that this sum was known, during the early part of the war, to be £500and that it was gradually increased to £1,500, as the Captain became more notorious for the daring nature of his enterprises. He was told by an English officer; after the war, that the British had spent over £9,000 in the vain attempt to capture him. This statement may, or may not, have been correct, but certain it is that nothing was left undone to put an end to his activities, numbers of men and women being employed, under liberal payment, to trap him when he visited Pretoria.
In the field, too, his life was known to be even more precarious than in town, for many were the hirelings surrounding him, watching their chances to capture him and hand him, dead or living, into the power of his foes.
It was therefore an understood thing that Captain Naudé should at all times be armed, heavily armed, in the field and when he came to town.
Not so the Secret Committee. What might be his only safeguard would, in the event of their arrest, prove to be their undoing, and this they fully realised as they remonstrated, not once, but many times, with the young spies who worked for them.
The violation of this rule, which they wished to see enforced so rigorously, was sometimes followed by most terrible consequences.
That this brave band of earnest men should have continued their work so long, beset, as they were, with a thousand dangers and difficulties, is a marvel indeed. With so much treachery in the air, it is a wonder to us still that they were able to carry out their daring enterprise with so much success and to escape detection for so long.
But they were prudent and cautious, they knew and trusted one another, and they observed, with conscientious thoroughness, the unwritten motto of the Committee:
"Think quickly, act firmly, calmly, prudently, without fear. Speak as little as possible."
Terrible were the experiences of some of the men on their secret visits to the town.
Captain Naudé, arriving one night at the house of his friend Mr. Hattingh (the spies naturally did not take shelter in their own homes), was informed that his mother lay dangerously ill in her house close by. It was feared that she would not recover. In the shadows which enveloped her she seemed to have forgotten all about the war, and her only cry was for him, her son.
What was he to do? His mother was surrounded by nurses, and the house was filled with relatives and friends.
As Captain of the Secret Service, his name was too well known. He could not show himself at such a time, when he had every reason to believe that the enemy was watching him with extra vigilance.
The next news, while he was still in hopeless deliberation, was that his mother had passed away.
It needs a strong man's most powerful self-control to "act firmly, calmly, prudently," at such a time, and yet even then he restrained the impulse to go to her.
Of what avail to kiss that icy brow?
Next day, from his hiding-place behind the window curtain, he watched his mother's funeral procession, passing by.
His comrade, Johannes Coetzee, nicknamed Baden-Powell, the man who had left the town with him on his second expedition, once had a miraculous escape from death.
He was leaving for commando with a bag containing clothes, a number of Mauser cartridges which the Committee in town had collected by degrees, when he was taken prisoner by the enemy just as he was nearing the wire enclosure.
He was immediately taken to the Commandant, who examined the bundle containing the contraband articles, and ordered him to be escorted to another Department. Of his guilt, proof positive had been found, but this fact was not conveyed to the armed soldier who was about to escort him to his doom.
On their way, he knew not where, Coetzee pleaded with the guard to release him.
"I have been taken under false pretences," he said. "I am innocent, an employee at the Lunatic Asylum. If you will escort me over the railway line, I will pay you."
"How much money have you?" the man asked.
Coetzee took some silver from his pocket, counted it and said:
"I have only thirteen shillings."
"That will do," his guard replied, and conducted him in safety to the asylum, in the vicinity of which he found his tethered horse, still waiting for his return, the soldier himself holding his horse and assisting him to mount with the bag containing the ammunition.
Disregard for wise counsel from older men, head-strong self-will, and a sheer indifference to death and danger were the causes of much disaster in those days.
On the other hand, recklessness and the very disregard for death mentioned above brought more than one man safely through the fierce fires of adversity, as we shall see in the tragic and stirring events to be recorded in this and the next chapter.
One there was amongst the spies, noted for his extraordinary bravery, a hero of the rarest type, of whom we can only speak with bated breath and thrilling hearts. In the brief record of his heroic life—and still more heroic death—we have a rich inheritance.
Adolph Krause was his name, a man still young, a married man. He was a German by birth, but a full burgher of the State for which he sacrificed his noble life.
The first time Krause had left the capital he had been escorted out, with eight other Germans, by Mr. Willem Botha, while Captain Naudé conducted seven or eight young Boers to the freedom of the veld.
There had been no adventures then.
Subsequently, in and out he came and went, with the greatest regularity, and as often as twice a week he would leave the town with large numbers of Boers and Germans, eager to join the burgher forces in the field. His services became more and more valuable.
One evening when, after two days' rest in town, he was again preparing to depart for the commandos, his friend Willem Botha called to escort him through the town, as had been previously arranged.
Mr. Botha's house was in Proes Street between van der Walt and Market Streets, while not far away his trusted friend and confederate Mr. Hocke lived,a man who rendered such innumerable services to the Boers that his name must not be forgotten here.
These two men met at Mr. Krause's house and found him ready to depart.
Although a man of slender build, he had now attained to such gigantic proportions that his friends could scarce believe their eyes, and, incredible as it may seem, the following is a full and accurate description of what he had about his person that memorable night:
Two pairs of trousers; two shirts; two full Mauser bandoliers over his shoulders and crossed over his breast; a woollen jersey; a thick coat; a long Mauser gun thrust into one trouser-leg; a German revolver belonging to Mr. Hocke; his own revolver, and a bag of about two feet in length, containing Mauser ammunition, which had been buried by Mrs. Botha and was now going "to the front"; boots, soap, washing soda, cotton, and a number of other small articles, which had been ordered by the women on commando—that unknown band of heroic women, fleeing north, south, east, and west with their men, for whom they cooked and sewed and prayed throughout the long years of the war.
Krause had been "shopping" in town for these brave sisters in the field, and I am sure his thoughts that night were not of fear for the perils he was about to face, but of satisfaction and pleasurable anticipation of the joy his arrival at commando would occasion the women at the front.
Would that one of their undaunted band could be induced to give the world a record of their unique and altogether wonderful experiences of the war!
Mr. Krause's slight form was now twice, perhaps nearly thrice its usual size, and his friends, when they looked at him, laughed in incredulous amazement.
"Oh, man, what would I not give to possess a photo of you as you are dressed to-night!" Mr. Botha exclaimed between his fits of laughter.
It was now 7 o'clock and nearly dark.
The two guards, walking up and down the street on their accustomed beat, had just withdrawn; 7 o'clock was their dinner hour, this the plotters knew.
In a moment, Krause, with the bag over his shoulder and one leg of necessity held very straight, limped out into the open street, "Oom Willie" (Botha) following and crossing to the other side.
Close to a street lamp, at the corner of Market Street, Krause suddenly saw a soldier walking on ahead, upon which he immediately turned down into Market Street, with the evident intention of pursuing his way along Vermeulen Street. This his friend quite understood as, ever on the opposite side of the street, he watched and followed Krause in his course.
Again a soldier appears on the scene, this time walkingtowardsthem in Vermeulen Street. No time to turn back now; forward, boldly forward—the fugitive has been observed.
Under one of the lamps the watcher on the other side sees to his horror that one of the bandoliers has pushed its way up to the neck and is showing plainly above the collar of the coat.
The British guard observes this too, for he turns under the lamp and watches the retreating form intently. Just a moment, and he raises his whistle to his lips, giving forth the shrill alarm.
The game is up. Mr. Botha, unarmed, can be of no assistance to his friend, who now must fight his way alone from death and danger. The Mauser gun, which has been impeding his every movement, is whipped out of the trouser-leg as he flies, weapon conspicuously in hand, through the well-lit streets of Pretoria, until, making a sudden dive, he disappears between the wires of a fence, into the seclusion of a peaceful private garden. There is no time to think. He rushes through the garden from one side to another, out into the next street, and so on; block after block he takes, until he finds himself alone in a quiet street, far from the scene of danger, and while his enemies are surrounding and searching the block into which he first had disappeared, he is many miles away, plodding weary and heavy-laden to friends and liberty.
Only half satisfied as to his comrade's escape, Mr. Botha returned home in sore distress that night to watch and await developments, and it was not until Krause surprised him later with another and wholly unexpected visit that he learnt the sequel and happy ending of that memorable flight.
Uninterrupted communication had once more been established between the conspirators, and all was going well.
So it seemed!
But the Prince of Darkness was at work. And with him an accursed band of Judas-Boers.
How can I tell the tale? How force into the background of my mind and soul the unspeakable horror with which all my being is filled when I contemplate this aspect of the war, in order to collect my thoughts sufficiently to find the words I need?
That week the town was full of spies.
Captain Naudé had come in on Thursday night and was to leave again on Saturday night. Another spy, young Delport, a brave and reckless youth, was also in the capital, "recruiting" men to take out with him to commando.
That Saturday night, as Mr. Botha was on the point of leaving his home for the Captain's place of refuge, from where he had to "see him off," as arranged, Mrs. Krause arrived at his house in some agitation and said that her husband had just come in and wished to see Mr. Botha. Krause was suffering from an exceedingly painful whitlow in the thumbof his left hand, she said, and he had come to see a doctor and to have the whitlow cut. She implored Mr. Botha and his neighbour Mr. Hocke to come without delay, and to be present when the operation had to be performed.
With all the speed he could Mr. Botha hurried to the house in which Captain Naudé was waiting, explained the case of Krause to him and took a warm and hearty leave, kneeling with him for a few moments first, as was his wont, in earnest prayer to God for the protection of the traveller.
He then called for Mr. Hocke, and the two men hurried to Mr. Krause's house in Prinsloo Street, where they found the doctor (a man initiated in all the mysteries of Boer espionage and a trusted friend) on the point of performing the small, though painful operation.
When it was over, Mr. Botha, prompted Heaven only knows by what foreshadowing of disaster, gave his friend a serious lecture on the dangers of his recklessness.
"How can you go about the town so much in broad daylight, whenever you come in?" he asked. "Always on that bicycle of yours! Surely you must know that you expose yourself to untold dangers!"
"Oh, I could not always stay indoors! The house is far too close," the patient exclaimed, nursing his lacerated thumb.
Mr. Botha urged him to leave on Sunday night, not to remain longer than was necessary, and to take with him a young German, who had been wounded and was now convalescent, after having been concealed and nursed for many months by trusty friends in town.
And another warning he impressed upon him with unusual earnestness:
"Whatever you do, Krause, don't associate yourself with the party leaving under young Delport's guidance. I fear that there is something terribly wrong. He is going out with far too large a number, fifty men in all, he told me yesterday, and something warns me that amongst the men there are detectives on the English side. Delport is young and very reckless, and the thought of the great number going out with him this time has made me more anxious than I can say."
Krause produced his revolver from an inside pocket, and declared that before he surrendered himself a prisoner more than one British soldier would be killed or wounded by him.
With a heavy heart and many sad forebodings, Mr. Botha left him. For he remembered, with increasing anxiety, a visit he had had from Delport, when the latter had asked for his assistance in getting his men—fifty, as he had said—safely through the town.
Mr. Botha had refused at the time, pretending that he had never taken part in such proceedings, and warning the young man that the game he was about to play was hazardous in the extreme.
"If youmustgo out with those men, leave on Monday night, when the others have escaped in safety," was his last advice to Delport.
Unfortunately, Fate decreed that Krause and Delport should meet accidentally on Sunday morning, the day after Mr. Botha's warning to Krause.
Together the two men, flinging caution to the winds,or perhaps in their enthusiasm entirely forgetting the wise counsel of their friend, laid their heads together, and agreed to meet at a certain point that night, Krause with the wounded German and two or three of his most faithful friends, and Delport with his party of fifty men.