ADOLPH KRAUSE.ADOLPH KRAUSE.ToList
ADOLPH KRAUSE.ToList
As Mr. Botha, with strange intuition, had predicted, there were dastardly traitors in that group of fifty men—Judas-Boers—who, under the pretence of seeking an opportunity of joining the burgher forces, had persuaded Delport to allow them to accompany him. Thathewas innocent in this black crime of hideous treachery, no one who knew him ever had a doubt.
At the appointed place the two men met. Farther on they were joined by the wounded German and his comrades; still farther, beyond the boundary of the town, under a cluster of trees, well known to them as a secret trysting-place, the large party had assembled one by one and was awaiting the arrival of its leaders.
The latter, seeing in the distance a group of moving figures which they took to be their friends, walked boldly and serenely forward—to find themselves a moment later in a most deadly trap!
The conflict must have been a desperate one!
He who played so brave a part in it, Krause, the only armed man on his side, shot down his opponents one by one, until they closed on him, and then, overpowered by the fearful odds and battered beyond recognition by heavy blows from the butt-ends of their guns, he was at last pinioned to the ground by his infuriated captors.
Three men were taken, Krause, Venter (a mere boy, the son of a widow in Pretoria), and one other—who must be nameless here.
Of the rest some fled into the open veld, while others, hopelessly ignorant of their surroundings or of the route to take, wisely returned to town under cover of the darkness of the night.
With one exception. Fritz W., the wounded German, lost his way and was unable to go back to town before the curfew-bell, the hour at which every resident was supposed to be indoors.
Finding himself near a small camp of soldiers in the vicinity of the Pretoria West Station, he cautiously crept into one of the tents, where he found a solitary soldier, sound asleep. Without a moment's hesitation, he stretched himself down on the ground beside him, thinking over the tragic events of that awful Sunday evening and dozing off at intervals, from sheer exhaustion of mind and body.
During the night another soldier, evidently returning from duty as guard or outpost, entered the tent and lay beside him on the other side.
So he spent the night between two British soldiers, and with the first approach of dawn he cautiously and stealthily extricated himself from his perilous position and made his way to town.
Three or four days after the perfidious betrayal of the Secret Service men the Committee was staggered with the tidings of the execution of their comrades, Krause and Venter, in the prison-yard of the old Pretoria jail.
The third, the nameless one, had, it was said, saved himself by turning King's evidence.
Of their last days on earth nothing will ever be known, but those of us blessed or cursed with the divine and cruel gift of imagination see in our mind's eye two men in prison-cells in solitary confinement, one a broken-hearted husband, the other the beloved son of a widowed mother.
Wounded and suffering they lie on their last bed of pain. Friendless and alone they await the untimely end of their brief but glorious career. Longing, with all the weakness of the human heart, for one last look of love, one reassuring clasp from a tender woman's hand, they prepare themselves to meet the death they have faced so often and so manfully in their heroic struggle for liberty and independence.
Fear? Despair?
No—a thousand times, No!
Could there have been fear or despair in the hearts of those two men, with the knowledge beating in their brains that they held their lives in their own hands, that one word from them of information against their fellow-workers could avert their doom, and that they, and they alone, could save themselves at the sacrifice of honour and fidelity?
How in the end they met their fate we do not know—we can but dimly guess.
The painful task of acquainting Mrs. Krause with the fate of her husband fell to the lot of Mr. Botha and Mr. Hocke.
As she would probably be destitute, the two men decided to collect a sum of money before approaching her with their evil tidings, and this they had todo by stealth, in order not to bring suspicion on themselves.
They were successful in obtaining over £34 for the bereaved wife in a very short time, from friends and sympathisers as poor as they themselves, and later, from the same source, in the same unostentatious way, a far larger amount was collected in order to send the widow to her relatives in Germany.
These details, mundane though they may appear after the stirring acts of heroism described above, are significant of greater things—self-sacrificing generosity, unswerving loyalty, and a compassionate desire to atone, in some practical and helpful way, for their share in the disaster brought on innocent and helpless womanhood.
That the inborn sense of humour of the Dutch South African race should have been stunted in its growth, if not completely crushed, by the horrors of the war, would be small cause for surprise to most people who have given the matter a thought. But to those of us acquainted with the facts, an entirely different and wholly comprehensible aspect of the case has been made manifest.
The blessed gift of humour is only sharpened by the hard realities of life, can never be appreciated to the full in the calm and shallow waters of prosperity.
Of this we had innumerable proofs during those tempestuous days, and certain it is that the memory of a harmless joke, enjoyed under circumstances of unusual stress and trouble, grows sweeter and is strengthened as the years go by.
For dry humour and keen enjoyment of the ludicrous, our friend Mr. W. Botha could not easily be surpassed; and I advise you, good reader, if you have the chance, to induce him to tell you the following story in his own words, and to watch the flicker of amusement in his eye.
Four of Captain Naudé's spies are in town again,resting, shopping, and exchanging items of war experiences with their friends and relatives.
Countless parcels have arrived from various stores of note in town, and four big bags, full to bursting, are arrayed against the wall for transportation "to the front" at 7 o'clock that night.
But what is this? Another bag? Impossible! There are but four men going out and each one has his load, quite as much as he can carry already.
What does it contain? A beautiful brand-new saddle, the property of an English officer, which Willie Els, son of the Committee member, has determined shall on no account be left behind.
Expostulations from the older men are all in vain.
The saddle, with the four other bags, is put into Delport's cab, which is waiting at the door, and, after many fond farewells, the young men drive off in the direction of the Pretoria Lunatic Asylum.
At this time there is no better spot for exit from the capital, but in order to reach it one point of extreme danger has to be passed—the point at which a British officer, with five-and-twenty mounted men, is stationed, in command of a searchlight apparatus for scouring the surrounding country.
The dangerous spot has been frequently passed in safety by these very spies.
To-night they pass again in unobserved security, but alas! when they have crossed the railway line, immediately opposite the asylum, where they are in the habit of alighting with their parcels, they find to their distress that, try as they will, they cannot carry more than the four bags allotted to them in the first instance.
The bag containing the precious saddle must go back to town.
Oh, the pity of it!
The critical spot must be passed again, and, as ill-luck would have it, the British officer hails the passing cab and is about to get in, when his eye falls on the bag.
"What is this?" he asks the driver.
No concealment possible now!
"A saddle, sir."
"A saddle! Whose, and where are you taking it?"
"From Mr. Botha to Mr. Els in town. On my way I was stopped and asked to take some passengers to the asylum, which I have just done. I was going to Mr. Botha when you stopped me."
The officer looks doubtful, feels the bag all over and, taking a notebook from his pocket, enters all the details of this most suspicious-looking affair, the number of the cab, the name and address of the driver, the names and full addresses of the two men who have been mentioned.
Then he gets in and peremptorily orders the cabman to drive to such-and-such an hotel in the centre of the town.
With a throb of relief Delport deposits his fare at the hotel and, whipping up his horses, drives at the utmost speed to Mr. Els' house, to warn him of the danger he is in.
Mr. and Mrs. Botha have just retired for the night, when they are aroused by a hurried knock at the front door. They admit two girls, one of them the daughter of Mrs. Els, the other a sister to Mrs. Naudé, both extremely agitated.
Miss Els speaks first:
"Oom Willie, you must please come to our house at once. My father is very ill."
Oom Willie's heart sinks into his slippers.
This, the long-expected sign that their game is up, has come at last.
He hastens to the home of his friend.
When he learns the truth the case does not seem so hopeless after all and he feels his courage returning.
"We must think of some plan with which to meet the police when they come. Quick! There is not a moment to lose. They may be here at any minute."
In an incredibly short time the officer's new saddle is buried in a bag of coal, which is again sewn up and thrown into the back-yard, while an old and worthless saddle is produced, Heaven only knows from where, cut up into pieces and placed in a large basin of water on the dining-room table.
"Now, Oom Gerrie," Mr. Botha says, as soon as he can find his breath, "you are a shoemaker by trade, and this old saddle has been sent to you by me to make shoes for my children."
"But you have not got any! and I have never made a shoe in my life!"
"Well, then, for my nieces and nephews. Never mind about your ignorance. When any one comes in, remember you are just on the point of beginning your work. I shall send you an old last when I get home."
A pocket-knife, a hammer, and a few nails scattered on the table complete the shoemaker's outfit, and there he sits, with trembling hands and spectacles on nose, far into the night, for does he not expect thedreaded knock at his front door before the dawn of another day?
Next morning Oom Willie raps smartly at the door and walks in unceremoniously, to find Oom Gerrie just about to begin his work, as with shaking hand he adjusts his spectacles.
"How is trade this morning?" he asks, with a jolly laugh, as he settles himself on a chair to watch his friend's discomfiture. But Oom Gerrie is not pleased at all. The trade is getting on Oom Gerrie's nerves, and he takes no part in the hilarity around him.
Two days pass, three, four, and no English officer appears, no search is made for contraband of war in Oom Gerrie's house; but every time the door is opened or a footstep heard on the verandah, Oom Gerrie may be found with one hand plunged in a basin of water, while with the other he adjusts his spectacles.
Poor Oom Gerrie!
He gives up his trade in despair at last, for after all it does not pay, but as long as the old man lives he will be forced to listen to the question:
"How is the boot-making trade?"
The events about to be recorded in this chapter have just reminded me of an incident which took place immediately after the occupation of the capital.
An old Kaffir, who had been with the English just before Pretoria was taken, told Mrs. van Warmelo that three Boer men had ridden out on bicycles to the English lines, and held consultation with them—traitors evidently, in secret understanding with the enemy, to whom they took information of some sort.
The old Kaffir wound up his remarks by saying:
"Missis, you are bitten by your own dogs."
How true this was, was soon to be brought home to us in the most forcible way; but before we go on to the next developments in our story I must not forget to tell you, good reader, that the three spies from whom Hansie parted on the evening of August 15th had quite an escape as they left the town.
They were driven in a cab, with their numerous parcels, as far as the wire enclosure, by a friend who always escorted them through the most dangerous parts of the town.
This friend, a young Mr. van der Westhuizen, played an important but unobtrusive rôle in the history of the men with whom we are concerned.
When Hansie met him first he was in the Pretoria hospital with a badly wounded arm, of which some of the muscles had been completely severed. As he never recovered the entire use of that arm, he was detained in Pretoria with other men unable to escape, and, carrying his left arm in a sling, he was made use of by the Secret Committee and by Mrs. Joubert, who employed him as her coachman.
He carried a residential pass, which he produced on every imaginable occasion, and was able to render untold services to the spies by conveying them with their parcels to the wire fence. But on this occasion they nearly got into serious trouble, for, just as the cab was nearing the enclosure, a searchlight from one of the forts was turned full on them. In consternation, one of the men ordered the driver to turn to the left, another to the right, but with great presence of mind he ignored them both, and drove straight on, thus disarming a group of soldiers, standing near, of any suspicions they might have had at seeing a cab so near the fence at night.
Fortunately, the light was soon turned in another direction.
The spies descended with their parcels, and were shortly in the deep furrow along which they had to creep to reach the wire fence, cautiously wending their way to friends and liberty, when some one came running after them, shouting to them to stop.
It was van der Westhuizen with a parcel they had left in the cab.
In this way the three men left the town with the railway time-table, not to come in again until September 10th.
My readers will remember the five men who were cut off from their refuge in the Skurvebergen some time back, and one of whom Mrs. van Warmelo had refused to harbour.
I shall not name them, for I do not feel myself justified in damning the reputation of the Boer traitors for ever by publishing their names, but the events I am about to relate cannot be excluded without changing the entire character of this story.
These men had been concealed by other friends, and when the scare was over they escaped from Pretoria to the commandos. They had nearly been forgotten when news reached the capital of their capture by the enemy, five of them in all, and of their imprisonment in jail.
While their life hung in the balance a time of nervous dread, not to be forgotten, was passed through, for they would either be shot as spies or they could save themselves by betraying their friends.
The suspense was soon over.
One of them—the very one, in fact, who had been refused admittance to Harmony through Mrs. van Warmelo's prudence, turned King's evidence and, to save his own precious skin, revealed the names of the good friends who had sheltered him at their own peril.
Rumour said that two of the betrayed would be shot on the evidence he gave against them.
Not only the names of his friends in town did he betray, but he also told the authorities how and when and where the spies came in, the names of the men who worked with him on commando, and the families who harboured them in town.
More than eighty people were incriminated.
On every side whole families were arrested, the men being put into jail, while their women and children were sent away to Concentration Camps.
My readers must understand that this was an entirely different set of people, not known to those at Harmony, and with whom they had had no dealings. It was no credit to Hansie that she and her mother were not on the list of the betrayed. She remembered with humility and shame her unreasonable fit of temper when her mother refused to harbour the traitor, and determined to give ear to her wise counsel in future.
They and their friends were in no way affected by his treachery, except in so far that it cast a gloom over them and made them realise that the Boers would not be able to hold out much longer against the machinations of these traitors of their own flesh and blood. Another matter for grave concern was the thought that Captain Naudé might attempt to pass through his usual route, not knowing that the enemy had been informed of it, and run straight into the traps prepared for him.
How to get out a warning to the Skurvebergen in time was the problem before them now.
Hansie spent the next few days in flying about on her bicycle to find out if any one in the "inner circle" had been arrested.
Thank God, no. Mr. Willem Botha was at home, the Jouberts were still in undisturbed security, all the other members of the Secret Committee were safe.
They congratulated themselves and one another on their escape, and Mr. Botha, visiting at Harmonya few days later, once more impressed on them the danger of coming into contact with any spies other than those they knew and trusted.
And again he warned them to keep no papers in the house—"for," he continued, "we must always bear in mind that we can never be sure we have not been betrayed. Our names may be on the black list already, and the enemy may only be waiting to catch us red-handed. No one is safe, and no one ought tofeelsafe."
There was a moment's pause, and then he went on, with evident reluctance: "I have good reason for warning you again. I do not wish to alarm you, but only last night, as I was walking in the moonlight with my wife, we passed a man I know well, with a girl on his arm. The moon was shining very brightly, and, as they passed me, I distinctly heard him say, 'This man has also been given away.'"
Hansie felt a thrill of acute anxiety for her friend. The two women looked at one another.
They tried to console themselves with the thought that the man might have mistaken Mr. Botha for some one else. There was nothing to do but wait, but the suspense and uncertainty were very hard to bear, and long were the discussions over every imaginable possibility.
They knew that the traitor was acquainted with the Captain of the Secret Service and his private secretary Mr. Greyling. Did he also know the names of the members of the Committee? Did Greyling confide the secret of the time-table to him? These young men were reckless. Death was their daily bread, and caution was a thing unknown to them.
Wonderful developments could be expected within the next few days.
The lowering clouds of adversity gathered closely, surely, mercilessly, around our friends.
Clasp that hand again, and once again, in mute farewell. Look deep into those steadfast eyes. It may be for the last time for many long, relentless years; it may be for the last time—on earth!
It was only a few days after the van Warmelos had parted from Mr. Botha that Mr. J. Joubert arrived at Harmony with the tidings that four men had again entered the town that night. One of them was a lad of nineteen, young Erasmus, whose parents had been killed by lightning when he was a child, and to whom Mrs. Joubert had been a second mother.
When he arrived at their home that night they were very angry with him, and demanded what he meant by coming into the very heart of danger.
He meekly answered that he had merely come to see how they were all getting on, and to spend a few days at home, casually remarking that there was a dearth of horse-shoe nails on commando, and that he had been ordered to bring some out.
He and his comrades knew nothing of the recent betrayal, and it was their good fortune that they had used an entirely different route, coming through Skinner's Court. They had not seen a single guard.
Besides the horse-shoe nails, there was the usual demand for clothing and European and Colonial newspapers.
Mrs. van Warmelo immediately made a parcel ofthe cuttings which she and her friends had been collecting for some time past, and wrote a tiny note to Mr. Greyling, warning him and his fellows against coming in through the usual way, which was now guarded, and informing him that his name had been betrayed. This note was hidden in a match-box with a double false bottom, covered with matches, and given to Erasmus to be handed to Greyling.
Since the revelations made, it was not safe to see the spies, nor was it known by whom the match-box had been sent.
After all, in spite of Mrs. Joubert's vexation with the reckless youth, she was thankful to know that some one was going out to Skurveberg with a warning to the Secret Service.
Erasmus had to leave without the horse-shoe nails, because, though J. Joubert hunted all over the town, he could not procure enough to send out.
The stores sold them only to the military and blacksmiths, and the latter were curious to know why he did not bring his horses to them to be shod.
Mother and daughter were there at 5.30 p.m., with their parcels, and at 6 p.m. the spies were to leave, Mrs. Malan and van der Westhuizen driving out with them as far as they could.
That was a real danger, compared with which all other risks were as nothing, to drive through the streets of Pretoria with spies, at a time when everyone was liable to be stopped to produce residential passes and to show permits for horses and carriages.
But, indeed, those women were not to be intimidated by anything!
We have now come to a morning into which manyevents of disastrous importance were crowded, the fateful September 9th. Before breakfast, an agitated girl, unknown at Harmony, arrived with the intelligence that Mr. Willem Botha had been arrested at 8 o'clock the night before.
No other names were mentioned then, but it was felt instinctively that the entire Secret Committee had been betrayed and arrested, and the news, when it reached Harmony during the course of the day, found mother and daughter to some extent prepared. The shock, nevertheless, was so great, so crushing, that it took them some time to recover sufficiently to form a plan of action.
Hansie hastily swallowed some food and was preparing to go to town, when her mother asked her what she meant to do, whether she had thought of anything, or if it was advisable to show herself at all just then.
"I don't know what I am going to doafterwards, mother," she said, "but I am going straight to Mrs. Botha now."
"Hansie!" exclaimed Mrs. van Warmelo in consternation, "you will do nothing of the kind. Their house will be watched, and you will be followed home. You can do nothing to help that poor woman now, and to be seen with her would be an unpardonable and unnecessary risk."
But Hansie had made up her mind, and nothing could persuade her that it was not her duty to stand by her friend in her hour of need. There was good reason, too, for her anxiety.
After thirteen years of happy, though childless married life, Mr. and Mrs. Botha's home was aboutto be blessed with an infant child, and it was the thought of the expectant mother's anguish and despair that took Hansie to her side.
"Well" (Mrs. van Warmelo was secretly pleased with her daughter's behaviour), "if you are determined to expose yourself to this danger, I think I had better begin to pack at once, for we shall certainly be sent away."
"All right, mother," Hansie laughed; "pack away, and I'll come home as soon as I can to help you."
She took tender leave of her mother, cheering her with hopeful words and whistling gaily to Carlo to come and protect her on her adventurous expedition.
No one could have been more surprised to see Hansie than Mrs. Botha. She stared as if she could not believe her eyes, and then fell sobbing on her young friend's shoulder.
"How could you risk it to come here?" she exclaimed.
"No one else has been near me, and I am deserted by all my friends since——" here she fell a-weeping again, and clung to Hansie for support.
As soon as she could speak, she gave an account of all that had taken place.
She and her husband were sitting under the verandah the night before, talking about the miserable business of the spy's infidelity and its disastrous results to so many people in town. Mr. Botha was just saying that, in the event of his arrest, his wife need have no fear of his betraying a friend, and that the English might shoot him, but they would not get a shred of information out of him, when twodetectives on bicycles rode up and dismounted at the steps.
Mrs. Botha just had time to whisper hurriedly to her husband that she would rather see him dead than have him come back to her a traitor, when the detectives, producing a warrant for his arrest, approached him.
He gave himself up quietly; there was nothing else for him to do. He was unarmed, for it was one of the first rules of the Committee and practically their only safeguard in the event of an arrest, to carry on their work without weapons of any sort.
The house was thoroughly searched for spies and all books and papers were taken away, but, thanks to Mr. Botha's prudence and foresight, not a single incriminating document was found.
The remembrance of this was a source of great comfort to his wife, for, without proofs, his life was safe, although he would probably be sent as prisoner of war to one of the distant islands.
Mrs. Botha was a brave and true woman. She did not think of herself at all, but she was so much concerned for Hansie's safety that she urged her to go home at once and not to come again. The first part of her injunctions Hansie obeyed, but she refused to promise not to be seen at that house again.
It was being closely watched, there was no doubt of that, and on getting into a cab she soon became aware of being followed by two men on bicycles.
This was rather exciting, and Hansie actually enjoyed the chase. Instead of urging her cabby to whip up his horses, she gave him instructions to go as slowly as possible, well knowing that it would bemore difficult for any one on a bicycle to follow a crawling cab unnoticed than to pursue a more swiftly moving vehicle.
When she reached Harmony and paid her fare she saw, out of the corner of her eye, that the men dismounted before the War Office.
"Were you followed home?" was her mother's first question.
"Yes, indeed," she replied, laughing; "they are near our gate at this very moment, and I can just imagine them going to the sergeant-major presently, asking questions about the people living here. And I am quite sure his answer will be, 'Bless you, no. Those two ladies are quiet and well-behaved, and you don't suppose they could be carrying on any ofthatbusiness under my very nose!'"
Hansie's diaries had all been removed to an office in town and placed in asafesafe. All safes werenot"safe" in those days, but this one belonged to a man who was known as a model of good behaviour throughout the war. White envelopes, diaries, copies of official dispatches from the field, all had been removed from Harmony, except the "White Diary" which lay open on her writing-table, and to which we owe a detailed account of the stirring events of September 1901.
What it naturally did not contain was accurate information of the arrest of the other Committee members and their subsequent experiences.
Trusted friends were beyond her reach, and she had to content herself with what information she could gather from men "about the town," but this information, verified by what she was told by the menconcerned long after the war was over, will give the reader a fair idea of the events of this period.
Not only Mr. Botha, but all the members of the Secret Committee had been arrested that night, and two days later the staggering tidings came of Mr. Jannie Joubert's removal to the Rest Camp, where "political prisoners" were detained.
Now indeed fears of a speedy raid on Harmony were justified.
Their fellow-conspirators were all in the hand of the enemy, and although they trusted them implicitly, and knew there was no one amongst them base enough to betray his friends, they had no reason to think that the people who had betrayed the others would spare them.
One revelation after the other was made that day, and Hansie learnt from some one, who said he was in possession of all the facts, that, despicable though the treacherous spy's behaviour had been, he was not responsible for the exposure of the Secret Service Committee.
Alas, no! the appearance of another traitor in our midst has to be recorded here.
One of the young spies in the service of the Committee had been taken by the enemy, how and where I am not at liberty to say, but there were circumstances connected with his capture, and facts known to the enemy of the hazardous part he had played on previous occasions, which made it clear from the beginning that he would be convicted.
Some one who was allowed to visit him regularly in his cell told me that he stood his trial bravely and steadfastly refused to betray a single name tosave himself. Threats and persuasions were of no avail.
On Saturday night in his cell his death sentence was read to him.
The execution was to take place on Sunday morning at 6 o'clock, he was told.
Incidentally his jailers informed him that there was still a chance for him if he would give the authorities the names of some of the people in town who were in communication with the Boers in the field.
He was then left to his pleasant reflections.
Reader, we must not be too harsh in our judgment of him. He was only a boy, not yet twenty years of age, and we shall never know what anguish of mind he endured that night.
When day broke he was in no way fit for the harrowing scene awaiting him. His father, his sister, and his fiancée were admitted to his cell at the fateful hour that morning, to take their last leave of him.
They clung to him, sobbing, wailing, and imploring him to give the names of his fellow-conspirators. What arguments were brought to bear upon him we shall never know.
He yielded, and in that God-forsaken cell on Sunday morning he gave the names required of him, the five members of the Secret Committee and other names familiar to us all, Jannie Joubert, Franz Smit, Liebenberg, etc.
Ah, if he had been executed that day, how his memory would have been revered by his friends and respected by his foes! But what was he now?—a traitor, oh God! a traitor to his land and people!
And a coward too, base and craven-hearted, shielding his miserable life with dishonour and treachery.
That the enemy would not have shot him in any case, because of his youth, makes no difference to the blackness of his deed, except perhaps to add to the bitterness of his remorse when afterwards he was apprised of this fact.[4]
The death sentence was commuted, and instead he was sentenced to several years' hard labour; he was, in fact, still "doing time" in Pretoria and Johannesburg two years after peace had been declared.
Of the women who were the cause of his downfall I can only say that they were never in any way connected with the "Petticoat Commando."
When the news of Jannie Joubert's arrest became known, Mrs. van Warmelo positively forbade her daughter to go to Mrs. Joubert's house.
There was nothing to be done, and although they had every reason to believe that their names were on the list of the betrayed, nothing could be gained by exposing themselves to unnecessary danger.
It was told Hansie, the day after the last sweeping arrests had been made, that Mrs. Joubert's carriage had been standing before the Military Governor's office for some time.
This information brought the reality of the situation vividly to her mind.
What was the old lady doing there? Pleading for her son? Was there no way of helping her? These questions preyed on Hansie's mind, until sheobtained permission from her mother to visit Mr. Jannie's sister, Mrs. Malan.
Mrs. Malan was in bed with influenza, she said, but it was quite evident that acute distress of mind had a large share in her indisposition.
On Sunday night, after the fateful morning of the last betrayal, the Jouberts were surprised by a visit from the Provost-Marshal himself, accompanied by another officer.
They asked permission to search the house for the ammunition which they knew to be concealed there. Ammunition! Jannie said he knew of none, except a boxful of cartridges standing in the loft. They had been found lying about the house and were stowed away when the English had taken possession of Pretoria. He took the officers up to the loft and showed them the box, but they were not satisfied, and ordered him to appear before the Provost-Marshal the next day, to give a satisfactory explanation.
A search was also made for documents, but nothing was found except an old heliographic chart which his father, Commandant-General Joubert, had used long ago in Kaffir wars.
Jannie Joubert went the following day to give an account of himself, and the next thing his mother heard was that he had been arrested and removed to the Rest Camp. (ArrestCamp, some people called it!)
He was very independent and refused to take the oath of neutrality, which, strange to say, he had hitherto avoided, and it would certainly not have been to his taste had he known that his mother had been to the Military Governor to intercede for him.
The result of that interview was not satisfactory. He would only be released on signing parole.
This, Mrs. Malan thought, he would certainly refuse to do.
"We were treated with marked kindness," she continued, "and this may be taken as proof that the English are not aware of therealfacts."
The two women laughed in mutual understanding of their conspiracies.
"Still this leniency may be only a blind, Hansie. It is painful not to knowhow muchthe enemy knows."
"What will you do if Captain Naudé and Mr. Greyling come in to-night?" Hansie asked.
"Shelter them, of course!" was the undaunted reply.
That night as Hansie lay on her sleepless pillow, she felt as if all the batteries of the gold mines were thumping on her heart.
Mrs. Malan's last words to her rang continually in her ears:
"Willie Botha will be executed without a doubt."
But before day dawned Hansie's heart was at rest and she slept, for she had solved the problem in her mind.
She would go to General Maxwell and plead with him for the life of her friend.
He was human and tender-hearted, that she knew, and she would tell him how an innocent young life hung in the balance, how the lives of both mother and child would be imperilled if such a cruel fate befell the father. If her pleadings were of no avail, shewould offer to give, in exchange for his life, the name of one well known to her as a dangerous enemy to the English.
And when she had made sure of his release, hers would be the name she would reveal.
During the dark days which followed Hansie found her strong support in the thought of this resolve.
[4]The writer was misinformed on this point. After the age of fourteen, boys are liable to be executed.
[4]The writer was misinformed on this point. After the age of fourteen, boys are liable to be executed.