Events moved quickly in those days.
The conspirators had hardly had time to recover from the shock of the recent arrests, they were just beginning to wonder what would happen if their unsuspecting friends from commando walked into the pitfalls prepared for them, racking their brains for plans to avert such a catastrophe, when the very thing they feared took place.
Instead of the familiar figure of Willie Botha coming up the garden path with news, Mrs. Malan drove up with Jannie Joubert's fiancée, Miss Malan.
Their appearance at Harmony brought all that had happened most forcibly to the minds of the stricken inmates, filling them with the sense of acute loss; and when they heard what their visitors had to tell, four women more forlorn would have been hard to find.
In short sentences Mrs. Malan told how four young men, all ignorant of the fate of their fellows in town, had tried to come in from the High Veld, bearing with them dispatches from Captain Naudé to the President and to the Committee of spies in town.
These men had gone to and fro for months without a single encounter with outpost or guard, but on thisoccasion, when they reached the wire enclosure, they were unexpectedly met by a storm of bullets.
One of them, as he stooped to get through the fence, felt the hot air of a bullet passing under his nose.
He hastily gave the order to retreat over the "koppies" and across the railway line, thus entering Pretoria on the opposite side.
When they met again, before entering the town, one of them was missing!
Young Els had disappeared, and no one knew whether he had been shot or taken, or whether he had fallen into some hole and perhaps been so severely injured that he could not follow them. His comrades were in deep distress. To go back and search for him was impossible, so they entered the town at the utmost peril of their lives. Torn and bleeding, they slunk through the streets of Pretoria, avoiding the light of the electric lamps, and concealing themselves behind trees at the sight of every man in khaki, until they reached Mrs. Malan's house.
Their guardian angels must have kept them from going to Mrs. Joubert's house, as usual, that night.
Imagine their surprise and horror when they heard of the betrayal of the Committee, for the warning sent out to Skurveberg did not reach them, they having come from the High Veld.
The news of Jannie's arrest and of Mrs. Joubert's house having been searched, and now being so closely watched that they could not possibly take shelter there, came as a crushing blow.
True to her word, Mrs. Malan determined to shelter them that night, but the house being too dangerous a hiding-place, they were stowed away in Mr. DavidMalan's waggon-house, closely packed in one small waggon, and there they still lay when the van Warmelos heard of their arrival.
From the bosom of her dress Miss Malan produced the dispatches and a number of private letters.
The dispatch to the President Hansie offered to send by the first opportunity, without telling her friends that it would go by the very next mail per White Envelope. This was a secret she naturally could not divulge to her most trusted fellow-workers, although she could guarantee that the work would be carried out, and they had enough confidence in her to leave the matter in her hands.
The letter from the Captain to the Committee was left at Harmony to be read and destroyed. Needless to say, Hansie, with her mania for collecting war-curios, made a full copy of both letter and dispatch in lemon-juice before regretfully consigning them to the flames. It was hard to destroy original documents for which such risks had been run!
What was most disconcerting was to hear that the authorities, evidently aware that the men had come through in spite of having been fired upon, were searching for them in town. It was imperative that they should leave that day, or at least as soon as night fell, for the risk they ran was very great.
Hansie promised to think of some way of helping them to escape safely, and said she would see them in the afternoon.
The feeling of responsibility on her young shoulders was very great. There was no one to turn to, no man to whom this dangerous mission could be entrusted, except one, her young friend, F.
She thought of him and wondered whether she could confide to him a scheme which had been slowly forming in her mind.
That afternoon she was on the point of leaving for Mrs. Malan's house, with a packet of letters and newspapers, when two lady callers arrived at Harmony brimming with the news that the town was in a great state of excitement. Armed soldiers were patrolling the streets, men were stopped to show their residential passes, and every cab and carriage was held up for inspection.
The general opinion was that there were spies in town, for the lower part of the town and west of Market Street were cut off by a patrol, while a systematic search of the private houses was being carried on.
Hansie chafed at the delay, listening with impatience to their excited talk, and wondering what they would say if they knew that she was on the point of going to those spies with the parcel in her hands.
By a happy coincidence, when the callers had taken their departure, another visitor arrived—F., the very man she wished to see.
But he, too, was full of the excitement in town and did not notice the unusual anxiety in Hansie's manner.
"General Botha has come in 'to negotiate,'" he said. "The town is alive with soldiers, but there must be something else brewing at the same time, for every house is being searched, and a cordon has been drawn round some parts of the town. It is impossible for any one to get through from one place to another beyond Market Street."
Hansie's heart sank for a moment.
Then she said: "I have to go to town at once, F.; will you come with me? I have a great deal to tell you and we can talk as we go along. You remember you once said that I must come to you if ever I got into any trouble. Well, I am in serious trouble now—not for myself—but, tell me, have you your residential pass with you?"
He produced it.
She continued: "Then we are safe for the present. Let us sit in the Park while I tell you in what way I want you to help me."
They found a secluded spot under one of the trees in Burgher's Park, and there Hansie took him into her confidence, unfolding her plan to him.
"If, as you say, F., a cordon is being drawn around the houses that have already been searched, those three men may be cut off at any moment. They cannot wait where they are at present, no more can they show themselves on the streets without residential passes. If you can help me to borrow three passes for them, I myself will walk with them as far as the wire enclosure and bring the passes back to you."
F. whistled, called her "plucky," but thought the whole thing far too risky.
"You would all be taken near the wire fence," he said, "and what about the men who would be without their passes while you had them?"
"They must not show themselves," she said.
"And if they are found in their homes?"
"Oh!" she cried impatiently, "they must be willing to risk something too."
"Have you thought of any one?" he asked.
"Yes, I have thought of D. and G., if you will bring them to me. Fetch them, F. I'll go and tell the men to wait for the passes. You will find me at your gate."
"But then you would have only two passes, Hansie."
She looked earnestly into his eyes, and he turned away without a word.
He went off in one direction and Hansie in another, and when she reached Mrs. Malan's house she was told that the three men had decided to risk the dangers of the street and to leave immediately. In this they were impelled, not so much by the consideration of their own safety, as the thought of the perils to which they exposed the Malans by remaining in their house. When Hansie told them she was procuring residential passes for them, they held a short consultation and eventually decided to wait another half-hour. With passes in their pockets they would be comparatively safe.
Promising to come back immediately, Hansie rushed to F.'s rooms, where she met him coming through the gate with D. and G.
"F.," she whispered, "be quick. They are on the point of leaving."
He drew her aside and said: "I am very sorry, Hansie. The fellows refuse to lend you their passes."
"Refuse!" she echoed in miserable incredulity. "Refuse! oh Heaven, and this means life or death to those men! Theycannotappear on the streets to-night without passes."
"It is a great thing to ask, Hansie. You cannot blame them."
"F., I must once again remind you of your promise. Help me now. I am not pleading for myself."
He drew his residential pass from his pocket and placed it in her hand, motioning her to go. She gave him a quick look of gratitude, but returned the pass with the words, "No good to me unless I have three. Think of something else."
He called to the two other young fellows who were standing moodily apart and ordered them to think.
They thought. Perhaps they would have been standing there thinking still, if F. had not suddenly burst out with:
"Look here, you fellows, it is not safe to stand out here like this, and we are losing time. Let us go into my room and talk this thing over."
They walked rapidly towards the house, where a number of bachelors lived together, and reached the room unobserved.
F. drew the blinds, locked the door, and placed Hansie in an easy chair, while he and D. rummaged in a writing-table for some papers. G. sat on the bed with his long legs stretched out in front of him.
The two young men were whispering together, bending eagerly over some papers they had found.
"This one will do," Hansie heard F. say, "but it will take some time."
"Don't you think I ought to go and tell the men to wait?" she asked.
"No, better not be seen walking in and out here. We will make haste!"
Ah, why did Hansie not obey the warning voice within, and go?
For the next ten minutes nothing was said. The men cut and glued and typed without a word, and the result, when it was placed in Hansie's hands, was a document exceedingly well-planned and put together.
This was what she read:
Military Governor's Office,Pretoria.Special Passfor J.W. Venter, G. Vermaak, and L. Erasmus to be out until midnight, on Secret Service.Signed byMajor J. Weston,Assistant Military Governor.
Military Governor's Office,Pretoria.
Special Pass
for J.W. Venter, G. Vermaak, and L. Erasmus to be out until midnight, on Secret Service.
Signed byMajor J. Weston,Assistant Military Governor.
What puzzled her at first sight was the small official crown above, undoubtedly authentic, and the unmistakable signature of the Major below; but on closer inspection, she observed that the part containing the original letter had been cut away from the centre, the top part with the heading and the bottom part with the signature being pasted down on the blank page underneath.
On the middle part of the blank sheet the "Special Pass" was typed, and the whole when completed, with the date plainly typed underneath, looked like a single sheet of paper folded in three.
Hansie shook hands with them all, and asking G. to go to Harmony to reassure her mother, she sped on her way to Mrs. Malan's house.
F. called out after her, "If you come back this way, Hansie, I'll wait for you and see you home."
"All right, thank you," the answer came.
It was now past 6 o'clock and nearly dark. Every one else was at supper, and Hansie flew through the deserted streets with apprehension at her heart.
She was met at the gate by Mrs. Malan, wringing her hands and crying out:
"Oh, where have you been so long? Why did you not come sooner?They've gone!"
Then Hansie felt inclined to lie down and die.
Fortunately there was no time for that.
There was still something to be done, and, with the precious paper clasped to her heart, she could at least pursue the men. Perhaps she could overtake them before evil should befall them.
"What direction did they take, and how many of them are there?" she asked.
"Four," Mrs. Malan answered. "One has a residential pass. If they are held up, the other three will escape while he pretends to be searching for it. Go over the Sunnyside bridge and call 'Jasper' when you see four men——"
Without waiting to hear more, Hansie turned and ran, stopping only a moment at F.'s gate to call out his name. She did not wait to see whether he had heard, but ran again, and he, sauntering towards the gate a moment later on the look-out for her, saw her flying form just disappearing in the darkness.
"Something has evidently gone wrong," he muttered, and he, too, in his turn began to run, pursuing the figure of the girl as she sped after the Secret Service men.
She did not stop when he caught up with her,pulling her arm through his, but ran on, telling him in brief sentences what had happened.
Every few yards she called, "Jasper! Jasper!" in the vain hope that this might bring the fugitives forward, should they have concealed themselves behind the trees along the road.
Poor Hansie was becoming thoroughly exhausted, when suddenly, as they neared the Sunnyside bridge, four men under the electric light became plainly visible.
"You must run again, Hansie," F. said, and putting his arm around her, he literally carried her along.
Alas! the figures proved to be four Kaffirs comingtowardsthem, and, with a broken sob, Hansie realised that all their efforts were in vain.
It was no use running now.
Sunnyside was badly lit, and one could barely see two yards ahead, so the plotters walked slowly to Harmony, encouraging one another with the thought that the men must already be beyond the outskirts of the town.
"We have heard no shots, and that is a good sign," Hansie said, "for the men were armed, and in the event of a surprise they meant to fight for their lives."
As far as was known, no men were arrested that night.
The man who had escorted the spies through Sunnyside and over the railway line, the dauntless van der Westhuizen with the bandaged arm, had left them not far from the wire enclosure, and had then waited some time, listening for sounds of commotion.
As no shots had broken the stillness of the night, he had every reason to believe that they had escaped with their lives.
For some weeks there was a "lull in spies." But there was no lack of other sensations, for September 1901 will ever be remembered as one of the most trying months throughout the year of the war.
It reminded one of that September month before war was declared, when the air was filled with the sweet, penetrating odour of orange-blossoms and many hearts were torn with the agony of suspense and a feeling of impending disaster.
Again the orange trees were in full bloom, bringing back to one's senses the remembrance of past suffering, and the full realisation of present horror and unrest.
The great weeping-willows were showing their first mysterious tinge of pale yellowish green, and Hansie, watching them, wondered what developments would have taken place before those overhanging branches would be crowned with the full beauty of midsummer. September 1901 was a month of proclamations and peace negotiations, all of which "ended in smoke."
After General Botha's visit to Pretoria the Boers concentrated their forces around the capital, strong commandos under General Botha, de la Rey, Beyers, and Viljoen. It was said that there were quite 6,000 troops in town awaiting developments, and Hansie coming home one evening, surprised her mother by saying that "Khaki was in the deuce of a funk!"
Her mother remonstrated with her, expressing her strong disapproval of such language, but Hansie only laughed.
"I was told so in town, mother. The enemy seems to expect our people to sweep through the town, if only to release our prisoners. How I wish they would come and carry off some of our splendid men in the jail and Rest Camp!"
The fate of the Committee men had not yet been decided.
As they were kept in solitary confinement and naturally not allowed to hold communication with any of their friends, nothing was known at the time of the troubles undergone by them, and it was some years after the war before Hansie came into full possession of the facts.
Ten men in all had been taken that night, the fivemembers of the Committee and five other men in their service, and they were kept separate, not being allowed to see one another during the sixteen days of their imprisonment in the Pretoria jail.
Now, the remarkable part about this story is, that though nothing had been arranged between these men in the event of an arrest, no line of action agreed upon by them by which they could safely guard themselves and their friends, they one and all adopted the same policy under the severe cross-questioning to which they were subjected in their cells.
My readers must understand that trials under martial law are not necessarily conducted with the ordinary formalities of a court of justice; in fact, in the case of these men it cannot be said that there was a trial at all, for they were cross-questioned in their cells apart, and without witnesses.
They never saw the light of day except for a ten-minutes' exercise in the prison-yard every morning; and, on comparing notes afterwards, they found that they had been subjected to the same treatment undergone by the unfortunate men who had turned King's evidence and who had been the cause of their undoing. To some of them the death sentence was read at night, with a promise of pardon if they betrayed the names of their fellow-conspirators in town, and sometimes they were visited in their cells by officers who informed them that one or other of their fellow-prisoners had "given away the show."
"You may safely speak out now, for we know everything. So-and-so has turned King's evidence." But these brave men saw through the ruse, andsteadfastly refused to sell their honour for their lives. With one accord they answered, "So-and-so may have given you information, butIknow nothing."
They were subjected to severe treatment, half-starved, threatened, told that they were condemned to death, and then severely left alone with the sword hanging over their heads—to no avail. Not a word of information was wrung from them, no murmur of complaint crossed their lips.
This lasted sixteen days, and during that time they suffered intensely, the food being unfit for consumption and their surroundings filthy beyond words. As I have said before, there were among their number men physically unfit for hardships like these.
Mr. Willem Botha was one of them, and as the days dragged on, the headaches with which he was afflicted became more frequent and increased in violence.
He feared that he would lose his reason and, in losing it, betray all to his jailers, and he was consumed with anxiety for his wife.
After the first shock of his arrest, he was suddenly overwhelmed with the recollection that he had forgotten to destroy the slip of paper on which the message concerning the Boer traitor in the Free State had been conveyed to him through a prisoner in the Rest Camp. He tried to remember what he had done with it, but in vain. Each day found him torn with anxiety, searching his memory for the threads of recollection, broken in the stress of the last stirring events before his arrest. Suddenly one day it flashed across his mind that he had pushedthe slip of paper between the tattered leaves of an old hymn-book.
Bitterly he reproached himself with his unpardonable negligence. That slip of paper, containing injunctions to the Committee to convey information of such a serious character to the Boer leaders, would be sufficient proof against him and his fellows. No other evidence would be required to bring them to their death, if it had fallen into the hands of the enemy.
The unfortunate man, in his prison cell, prayed for deliverance, not only for himself, but for the trusty comrades who would be exposed to such deadly peril by this, his one act of indiscretion.
The weary days dragged on.
Suffering, not to be described by words, was the daily portion of this man.
His fellow-prisoners shared the same fate, with one exception.
Mr. Hattingh in his prison cell, who had been taken in his deacon's frock-coat that Sunday night, reaped the rewards of the sagacity he had displayed on the occasion of the visit to his house of the Judas-Boer.
There was a marked difference in the treatment he received at the hands of his jailers. He was not once condemned to death, and he was hardly cross-questioned during the entire term of his imprisonment—better food, kinder treatment being accorded him than to any of his fellows, as he found on comparing notes with them afterwards.
It was quite evident that he was the only man about whose guilt the enemy was in a certain amount of doubt.
His family, too, was privileged, his wife being allowed a few days' grace to sell her household goods before she was conveyed to a camp with her children, while the families of the other men were instantly removed and their homes taken into possession by the English.
If the enemy had only known it, Mr. Hattingh, who was known for his uprightness and moral integrity, had no intention of perjuring himself in the witness-box, but had fully made up his mind to confess his complicity and to face his death like a man and a patriot.
There is no doubt that this brave man would have been endowed with the required courage to uphold his word when the hour came, but it is equally certain that no word of accusation in evidence against his fellow-conspirators would have been wrung from his lips.
When at the end of the sixteen days no proof of their guilt had been found, their captors, recognising and appreciating their staunch fidelity and unswerving loyalty, removed them from their cells in the dreary jail to the Rest Camp, where they were able to enjoy the privileges of the ordinary prisoners of war, and refreshing intercourse with their brothers from the field.
But before they were admitted to the Rest Camp they were brought one by one into the presence of a British officer, who pompously read their sentence to them.
How the other men passed through their interview with him I do not know, but Mr. Hattingh's story, told in his own words, runs thus:
After a few questions had been put, the British officer said to him:
"You have been found guilty of high treason, but Lord Kitchener has been kind enough to commute your sentence to banishment as prisoner of war."
"But how could you find me guilty?" Mr. Hattingh asked. "I have never been tried."
"Be silent," the officer commanded sternly. "You have nothing to say."
Mr. Hattingh says he was only too glad to "be silent," and betook himself to the Rest Camp with alacrity.
During the weeks of their imprisonment in the jail those at Harmony were not living in a bed of roses.
Of Willie Botha's loyalty they never had a doubt, but the other men were unknown to them, and they knew that all were aware of the part played by them in the Secret Service. And even if they were not betrayed by one of the prisoners, it was a mystery that they had not been betrayedwiththem.
Many of their friends, the families of the men in jail, had been sent to Camps or across the border, and no one was more surprised at finding themselves still in Pretoria than Mrs. van Warmelo and her daughter.
They felt the strain, the uncertainty of their position keenly, and throughout those weeks they were obliged to conceal from their good friends, the Consuls and their families, the danger to which they were exposed and the intense anxiety with which they were filled, not only on their own account, but for those brave men in the Pretoria jail.
Towards the end of September, when the prisonershad been removed to the Rest Camp, a baby-girl was born in Willie Botha's house.
The mother had been left undisturbed in her home, a consideration for which she and all who were concerned for her were devoutly grateful, and now she had passed through the portals of Gethsemane and the wide gates of Eden, in the bitter-sweet experiences of motherhood.
The news of the birth of a daughter was duly conveyed to Willie Botha in the Rest Camp, with a request to the authorities to allow him to visit his wife and see his child before leaving South Africa's shores for Bermuda.
Permission was granted for a two-hours' visit.
An armed soldier escorted him to his home and sat outside, under the verandah, drinking coffee and enjoying the good things with which he had been provided, while, inside, his prisoner, speechless with emotion, knelt beside the mother's bed, showering kisses on the tiny feet of his infant daughter.
When the first greetings were over Mr. Botha said:
"Wife, what became of that old hymn-book which was standing on the shelf in the dining-room?"
"I don't know," she answered; "I suppose it was taken away by Elliot with all the other books and papers."
"Elliot!" he muttered between his teeth.
"Elliot, betrayer of friends, and Judas-Boer!"
This man had been intimately known to them all, had, in fact, for many months lived with his wife and family, as guest and friend, under the hospitable roof of Mr. and Mrs. Hattingh, at whose hands they received innumerable acts of love and kindness.
Elliot was the man by whom the members of the Secret Committee were arrested that Sunday night.
Verily it can be said of him—
"For it was not an enemy that reproached me; then I could have borne it; neither was it he that hated me that did magnify himself against me; then I would have hid myself from him. But it was thou, a man my equal, my guide, and my acquaintance. We took sweet counsel together, and walked unto the house of God in company."
The occasion of Willie Botha's visit having been made to serve at the same time as a christening, there were quiet, sacred rejoicings when the minister, who had in the meantime arrived, performed the ceremony.
As soon as the service was over Mr. Botha walked rapidly to the dining-room and glanced over the empty book-shelves. Nothing there!
He stood on tiptoe for a moment, surveying the topmost shelf, and was about to turn away disappointed, when his eye fell on the tattered psalm-book, lying unnoticed in a corner of the shelf.
He could hardly believe his eyes! He pounced on the book, turning over the pages in the greatest agitation and suspense.
The fateful slip of paper fell into his hands!
Triumphantly he marched back to his wife's bedroom and held the magic paper before her astonished eyes, telling her of the sleepless nights and days of suspense he had endured through it.
With unspeakable thankfulness in their hearts, they then and there reduced the fragment of paper to ashes, thanking God for His wonderful deliverance.
But the hour of parting was now at hand—and over this, good reader, we must draw the veil.
On their way back to the Rest Camp the armed escort, becoming confidential, positively assured his charge that peace would be proclaimed before October 10th. The "Powers" had intervened, he said, and the English were leaving the country!
He was an Irishman.
Not until it became positively known at Harmony, towards the middle of October, that the members of the Secret Committee had been sent away to Bermuda, did Mrs. van Warmelo and Hansie breathe freely again.
The suspense of five full weeks was over at last, a suspense not to be described, and never to be forgotten by those who endured it.
It did not seem possible to grasp the fact that those brave men had escaped with their lives, and Hansie, looking up at the stars that night, felt that she had learnt something of unspeakable value in the relief and gratitude with which that period of concentrated suffering had been followed.
Carlo looked up at the stars too, for he invariably followed his young mistress's gaze, but on this occasion, seeing nothing unusual in that vast expanse, he stood up on his hind legs before her and gave a short bark of inquiry.
"They have gone, Carlo," she said. "I know you won't believe it, but they have really gone, and if 'Gentleman Jim' knew anything about this, he would surely say, 'I 'spose their time hadn't come yet, little missie.' That's it, Carlo. Their time hadnot come yet. But they have left things in a fearful muddle, and we will have to work as we never worked before. The first thing to be done to-morrow morning will be——"
She stopped suddenly—not even to her faithful Carlo could she confide the secret plan which she had made for reorganising and re-establishing on a safer footing the Secret Service of the Boers in town.
She would form a new Committee, of five women this time, who would carry on the work on the same lines which had been adopted by the Secret Committee, and this plan, when she unfolded it to her mother that night, was received with warm approval.
The first and last meeting was held at Harmony on October 15th and was attended by Mrs. Malan, Mrs. Armstrong, Mrs. Honey, Mrs. van Warmelo, and Hansie, who was appointed secretary.
Bound together by the sacred oath of fidelity and secrecy, these five women vowed to serve their country and people, as an organised body of workers, as long as they had the power to do so.
On the occasion of his next visit to the capital Captain Naudé was to be informed of the formation of the new Committee, but for the rest its very existence was to be kept a dead secret.
Mrs. van Warmelo told the members that she was in a position to communicate with the President in Holland by every mail, and that the methods employed by her would be revealed to themafter the war. With this they expressed themselves satisfied, willingly leaving the matter of sending away dispatches from the field in Mrs. van Warmelo's capable hands.
It was felt that the greatest responsibility resting on them at the time was to have a suitable place of refuge ready to receive the Captain when next he entered the town.
There was no house free from suspicion since the arrest of the Committee, except—except—Harmony!
Harmony, surrounded as it was by British officers and their staffs, by British troops and Military Mounted Police—Harmony was at last chosen as the most suitable, the only spot in Pretoria in which the Captain of the Secret Service could be harboured with any degree of safety.
It was arranged that he would immediately be brought to Harmony when he came again, and in the meantime the Committee would be on the look-out for an opportunity to send a warning and instructions out to him not to approach the houses hitherto frequented by him.
For many weeks no spies belonging to his set came into town. No war news of any description reached his friends, except one day the information, conveyed we know not how, of the safe arrival at the Skurvebergen of young Els, the spy who had been fired upon and was missing from his companions on that eventful September 12th. That this news gave his relatives and friends great joy and relief after the intense anxiety gone through on his account, my readers will readily understand.
The discovery of the White Envelope was not always a source of unmixed satisfaction.
One of them, containing news of the betrayal and arrest of the Committee, and sent to Alphenin the ordinary way, failed to reach its destination. This caused the senders so much anxiety that for some time they did not dare risk the sending of another. The letter might have fallen into the hands of the censors and the secret be discovered by them, in which event they were probably waiting quietly to catch up further information.
It may have been only a coincidence, but at this time the plotters at Harmony observed that the censorship ontheirpost had been withdrawn altogether.
They knew only too well what this meant! And their hearts sank when they thought of the White Envelope!
It meant, good reader, that there was a most disquieting increase in the vigilance of the censor; it meant that their letters were openedby steam, to throw them off their guard, and to encourage them to write with greater frankness to their absent friends.
Mother and daughter felt the hair rising on their heads when they thought of one of their precious White Envelopes being subjected to a treatment ofsteamby the censor, and of his exultation on beholding the result.
As the days went by, their dread of him and his evil machinations increased, for hardly a letter reached them that did not betray traces of his handiwork—or unhandiwork, for he was not always judicious in the quantity of glue used by him in reclosing the envelopes. He should have been a little more economical in the use of Government property if he really wished to hoodwink his enemies,and he would have saved Mrs. van Warmelo the trouble of damping the envelopes afterwards where they stuck, on the inside, to the letters.
While the steaming process was being carried on at the General Post Office, no White Envelopes were taken to the censor, but they were posted at Johannesburg by friends, and in this way the distant correspondents were warned of danger, until it became evident that the steam-censorship had been withdrawn and the old reassuring order of things been established once more.
A week or two later another White Envelope from Holland reached Harmony in safety, by which it was known that the secret was still undiscovered, but the fate of the missing envelope remained a mystery to the end, and was a constant reminder and warning to the conspirators to be careful in the use of their priceless secret.
I am sure the Post Office officials had plenty to do during the war, but there is no doubt that their labours were considerably lightened by the "smugglers" who chose to dispense with the services of the censors entirely. And then we must not forget the activities of the spies and of their fellow-workers in town.
Quite a large private postal service was carried on by them, as we all know, and every week, before the entry into Pretoria became so difficult and dangerous, hundreds of letters were carried backwards and forwards, to and from the commandos.
One man in town was in the habit of receiving great batches of these smuggled letters, which he distributed to the various addresses, until one dayhe was very nearly caught. He had just received a packet of communications "from the front" and had opened it on his writing-table in his quiet study, when the doors were opened unceremoniously and some officials entered with a warrant to search his house. Carpets were taken up, walls were tapped, furniture was overturned and examined, books were removed from their shelves and every cranny inspected with the greatest thoroughness, but the pile of letters lying open on his writing-table, over which they had found him bending when they entered the room, was passed over without so much as a glance.
This may sound a bit unreal, unlikely, but there are similar cases on record, which we know to be true beyond a doubt, and one of these I must relate, because it so closely concerned our friends at Harmony and so very nearly proved to be their undoing. They did not know it at the time, but were told by Mrs. Cloete, after the war, that she had sent all their uncensored, their "smuggled" letters, to her friend at Capetown, Mrs. Koopmans de Wet, with instructions to read and return them to her as soon as possible, which Mrs. Koopmans had done, with the alarming news that her house had been thoroughly searched for documents while the pile of letters was lying open on her writing-table.
The authorities must have been "struck blind," she had said, for though they had overhauled the place and had taken away with them every suspicious-looking document, they had passed and repassed the papers on her table without a word and with nothing more than a superficial glance.
This information had alarmed Mrs. Cloete so much that she had immediately packed every incriminating letter and all her White Envelopes into a tin, which she secretly buried, with the help of her German nurse, under one of the trees at Alphen.
And there they, or what is left of them after ten years, still lie, for the spot has never again been found, although every effort was made to do so.