"When did you see General Botha last?" Mrs. van Warmelo inquired.
"About three weeks ago, and then he was looking well and brown. He told me of a narrow escape he had had. He was completely surrounded and barely got off with his life. His hat was left behind, also his Bible and hymn-books. Lord Kitchener, courteously, and with a touch of humour, returned the books to him with a boy's hat which had been found on the field, thinking evidently that it belonged to the General's little son, who was known to go everywhere with him; but General Botha sent the hat back to Lord Kitchener with a message to the effect that it was not his son's, but had belonged to his 'achter-ryder,' and thanking him for the books."[5]
"Tell us some of your own escapes," Hansie begged, "I am sure you have had many."
"So many that I have forgotten them nearly all," he answered, "but one I shall never forget."
He then related how he and twenty of his men had once been pursued for four hours by about one thousand English. The bullets fell like hail about them, and he was keeping the saddle he rode on, as a curiosity, because of the many bullet holes in it. Once a bullet passed between his coat and shirt along his stomach, the shock taking his breath away. He was sure he had been mortally wounded, but could not stop to find out, and the very recollection of it still caused him to experience the sensation of coming into close contact with death.
[5]General Botha tells me that the hat which was returned to him by Lord Kitchener had first belonged to his little son, Louis, who had written his name in full, in blue pencil, on the inside of the crown, and had given it, when he had no more use for it, to his little native orderly.
[5]General Botha tells me that the hat which was returned to him by Lord Kitchener had first belonged to his little son, Louis, who had written his name in full, in blue pencil, on the inside of the crown, and had given it, when he had no more use for it, to his little native orderly.
The Captain's visit was not an unmixed joy. Some bitter revelations were made, much pathos mixed with the humours of the situation and tragic experiences related by all—but on these I shall merely touch, as unavoidable and necessary for the completion of my story.
After the treachery of their own people and the arming of the natives, nothing troubled the men so much as the fact that the fighting burghers were, in some parts of the country, suffering from sore gums and showing signs of scurvy, caused by an unchanging diet of meat and mealies. The spies wanted to communicate this to some good, trustworthy doctor and to get medicine for them to take out to the commandos, but Mrs. van Warmelo told them that no medicine in the world could cure that. What they wanted was a change of diet—fresh milk, vegetables, fruit, and an abundant supply of lime-juice, etc.
Sending out lime-juice would be as absurd as impossible, for it would be as a drop in the ocean of want—and as it was, the men were handicapped by the two bottles of good French brandy which they were taking out for medicinal purposes. These could not be thrown across with the other parcels,but would have to be carried on their persons as they wriggled through the barbed wires across the drift of the Aapies River.
In some districts, where the destruction of farms had not yet been completed, the commando found a sufficient supply of fresh fruit and vegetables and were in no immediate danger of the dread disease, but in the neighbourhood of the towns there was nothing more to be done in the way of devastation, and the only fresh food they got was what they took from the enemy. As an instance of the thoroughness of the system of destruction, Naudé related how he and his corps of hungry men had one day come upon a kraal containing the bodies of over 500 sheep in an advanced stage of decomposition, with their throats cut or their heads cleft in two by swords. Too far away from towns or camps to be driven to some place where they could have been kept for the use of starving and suffering humanity, they had been slaughtered and left to rot—anything to prevent their falling into the hands of the Boer commandos.
No provisions of any sort were left within their reach and they lived entirely on what they took by main force from the enemy.
A precarious existence indeed!
Not to know from day to day where the next meal would come from and with appetites sharpened by the healthy, roving, outdoor life they led, no wonder these men uttered imprecations on the heads of those responsible for the systematic devastation of the country and wholesale destruction of food.
The privilege too of stripping their prisoners of their clothes had its disadvantages, for in many casesthey swarmed with vermin and had to be boiled before they could be used, while a camp deserted by the English had to be approached warily and with the utmost caution on account of the vermin with which it frequently was infested.
English prisoners were set free (what could the Boers do with them otherwise?), but the traitors caught with them red-handed were shot without mercy—and it was Naudé's duty, as Captain of the Secret Service, to see that these executions were carried out. This was to him the hardest task of all.
"His fallen brothers" he called them, and voice and eye when he spoke of them betrayed compassionate horror and wrath unspeakable.
Armed natives met the same fate, and in a few words he described to his shuddering listeners how it was done, how he informed the doomed man of his fate, how the prisoner pleaded for mercy and offered to join the Boer ranks, how he prayed in despair when he found no mercy, no relenting, how he covered his face or folded his arms, how the shots rang out and he fell down dead.
Scenes such as these were witnessed without number, but the execution of a "fallen brother," when the details were arranged, took place some distance apart, beyond the vision of the burghers who had captured him.
But it was when the subject of the Concentration Camps was broached that the darkest gloom settled over Harmony.
Captain Naudé had a young wife and two children in one of the Camps in Natal, and Mrs. Malan had procured, as a surprise for him, snapshots of his dearones taken in the Camp. When they were placed in his hands he gazed on them for a long time in silence, finally muttering under his breath, "For this the English must die!" and from that moment he was moody and silent.
His thirst for information on the condition of the Irene Camp, as Hansie had found it, was insatiable, and hours were spent in discussing the subject and its probable effect on the duration of the war.
"What do the men think of the Concentration Camps?" Hansie asked. "Will they give in for the sake of the women and children?"
"No," was the emphatic answer—"never. We all feel that our first duty is to fight until our independence is assured.Weare not responsible for the fate of our women and children, and they let no opportunity pass of urging us to be brave and steadfast in the fulfilment of our duty to our country. Our spies come from the Camps continually with messages of encouragement and hope; but that the mortality among them is more bitter to bear than anything else, you can understand...."
There was a long pause, and then, the Captain continued gloomily:
"I did not recognise my wife on that photo—she has become an old, old woman.... Sometimes on commando we actually enjoy ourselves. You must not think that it is all hardship and trouble! I gave a concert, quite a good one, on the President's birthday, and occasionally, when we come to a farm where there are still some girls left, we take them out riding and driving."
As the afternoon wore on, an extreme nervousness came over all at Harmony, a feeling of tense anxiety which no words can describe, and was betrayed in a restless flitting through the house, arranging something here, peering through the blinds at the camp of the Military Mounted Police.
Unconsciously voices were lowered and final instructions given in hushed tones.
Only a few hours remained of the Captain's visit to Harmony and much had still to be arranged.
The tension was broken by the arrival of Mrs. Malan, with large parcels containing the articles of clothing, etc., ordered by Naudé—hats, boots, riding-suits, soap, matches, salt, and a number of the small necessities of life. This gave the women something to do, for everything had to be sorted and made up into smaller parcels as compactly as possible, while Naudé donned a surprising quantity of clothing and disposed of various articles about his person.
In the excitement of the moment Captain Naudé, while he was dressing, must have forgotten to take off a waistcoat lent to him by Mrs. van Warmelo and clearly marked D.S. van Warmelo.
This caused her a great deal of anxiety for some days after the departure of the spies.
Had Naudé reached the commandos in safety or had he fallen into the hands of the enemy with the tell-tale waistcoat on?
They wondered and speculated, but as the days went by and no startling reports convulsed the town, they once again settled down—not to the same old sense of security as far as they were personally concerned, but to the comforting conviction that all was well with their friends.
Their own fate—but this is coming presently.
Mrs. Malan did not stay long, and there were fortunately no unexpected visitors that afternoon—except, strange to say, the English colonel who had all but ceased his visits and was on this occasion entertained by Hansie and her mother in turn.
His presence gave a great sense of security!
Hansie walked with Mrs. Malan to the gate, where her carriage was waiting for her, and the sergeant-major, slowly sauntering past and saluting to the girl as she gave the coachman her directions, little knew that the words spoken in Dutch were:
"You must be here at 7 to-night, and bring your residential pass without fail."
Van der Westhuizen, with the bandaged arm, was going to help to carry their parcels through the bush and escort the three men through the most dangerous parts of the town.
When all the preparations were complete there was an hour or two to spare before the other men, under cover of darkness, should join Naudé near the six willow trees at the foot of the orchard. That time was spent in making plans for the future.
"Promise me that you will never take in strangemen," Naudé said earnestly. "Do not even harbour any one who professes to come from me unless he gives a watchword. What shall our watchword be?"
They thought for a few moments, and then Mrs. van Warmelo said:
"'Appelkoos' [apricots], because you came to us in the apricot season!"
"So be it." This was agreed upon.
"And if anything should happen to us before you come again?" Hansie inquired. "By what sign will you know that we have been taken and that Harmony is a pitfall instead of a refuge?"
Again they pondered. This was indeed a serious problem, for in the event of an arrest they would not be allowed to see or communicate with any of their friends, and there would be no possible chance of sending out a warning.
After a great deal of discussion it was decided that they should use one of the posts of the enclosure dividing the upper part of Harmony, where the orchard was, from the lower, on which the vegetable gardens of the Italians were.
On one of the posts they would, if they had time to do so, fasten a small piece of plank, and this would serve as a warning to the men not to approach the house.
In case the enemy was not considerate enough to give them time to put up signs and signals, it was agreed to have this done at dead of night by one of the few remaining men in town, van der Westhuizen for instance, at the first news of their arrest.
This arrangement eased their minds of someanxiety, and the rest of the time was spent in quietly chatting about other matters.
"I suppose you cannot let my wife know that I have been here and am well?" Naudé asked.
"I am afraid not," Mrs. van Warmelo answered thoughtfully.
"We know no one in the Camp in which she is, and her correspondence will no doubt be closely watched, but we could write an ordinary, cheerful letter, urging her to be hopeful and strong."
"Thank you very much," he answered gratefully, "but do not use your own names on any account. Get other people to write, people less implicated than yourselves."
Towards 7 o'clock Hansie walked slowly down to the willows, the faithful Carlo by her side, wistfully looking into her face. Did he feel the suppressed agitation, the unrest in the air?
I do believe Carlo knew and felt every changing emotion in his young mistress, and sympathised or rejoiced accordingly.
There was no one in the garden.
Hansie waited ten minutes, twenty, half an hour, then she went back to the house.
There the form of the tall young man in his English officer's uniform, from which the traces of blood had been removed as well as possible, was to be seen walking to and fro in restless nervousness.
"Have the others not come yet?" he exclaimed impatiently. "Where can they be so late?"
"I think it is too light still for them to be abroad," Hansie answered; "you should have made the appointment for 8 o'clock."
"But then the moon will be up," he objected. "I hope they will be here soon."
Hansie once more walked to the six willows, and the next half-hour was spent in a restless pacing up and down between the orange trees of the avenue.
"Will they never come? Have they fallen into some unforeseen pitfall?
"At this, the most critical moment of our whole adventure, when all arrangements seem to have come to a smooth and successful termination, must our plans be frustrated, and a bloody encounter be the climax?"
Hansie walked boldly towards the Military Camp, whistling to Carlo and admonishing him thus audibly:
"Why can't you leave the kittens alone, Carlo?" Then more softly: "A peaceful serenity pervades the camp. Evidently nothing brewing here!"
With a lighter heart she went back to the house, but one glance at the face of the Captain was enough, and once more she sped down the garden-path to the ill-fated trysting-place.
As she neared the spot she heard no sound of life and her heart once more sank, but only for a moment. Suddenly she started violently. "What is this?"
The place seemed in a moment alive with silent figures. From the depths of the overhanging willow branches they emerged, one by one, and approached the tense form of the girl as she stood immovable, with straining eyes trying to distinguish the moving, silent figures in the darkness.
The white dress of a woman fluttering among the leaves reassured her.
"What is this?" she whispered. "Who are you? Why are you here?"
One of the men came forward.
"Venter and Brenckmann," he said softly, "come for the Captain."
"Yes, yes," Hansie said hurriedly. "I know. We have waited for you more than an hour. But these people? Who are they?"
"Our friends and relatives come to see us off," came the unexpected reply.
Hansie was silent, trying to hide her indignation, her rising resentment, as another and yet another form cautiously emerged from behind the foliage.
"Do you know," she said at last, "that you are not only exposing us to great danger by coming here at a time like this, but that you are making it a thousand times more difficult for the Captain to depart unobserved? How could you be so indiscreet?"
"These people are all trustworthy," one of the men volunteered.
"I have no doubt of it." Hansie extended her hands cordially to them. "But you must all go now as quietly as you came. Say good-bye and go, please, before I go to call the Captain."
She turned away with a lump in her throat, for no sounds broke the stillness of the night save those of stifled sobs and murmured caresses.
"Fare thee well. God be with you!"
There was Brenckmann with his three sisters, there was Venter with one sister and a sweetheart, and there was the sweetheart of one of Brenckmann's sisters, to say nothing of the other relatives and friends whom I have been unable to place.
Some distance from the scene, and unobserved by all save one, was the figure of the ever-cautious and discreet van der Westhuizen, guarding the parcels which had previously been conveyed there, lurking among the trees.
Swiftly and silently Hansie sped up to the house to meet the Captain, just as he, unable to bear the suspense any longer, had made up his mind to set out on his perilous expedition alone and was cautiously emerging from the bath-room door, concealing himself under the vineyard as he went.
"They are there, Captain," she said in a quick and lowered voice, "waiting for you under the willows. Lower down near the bush van der Westhuizen is also waiting. He will distribute the parcels when you come. I think everything is in order and the coast clear. The military camp is quiet, the sergeant-major is in his 'tin villa.' Good-bye, Captain. God bless you."
The man removed his helmet and stood before her in the pale light of the rising moon. His face was very white.
"I shall never be able to thank you. God keep you. Good-bye, good-bye." He clasped her hand and was gone, as silent as the shadows into which he disappeared.
When Hansie rejoined her mother a few minutes later no word was said on either side. The extreme tension was over, the reaction had set in, and they could not trust themselves to speak, but set to work at once, firmly and decently removing every trace in the house of confusion and disorder.
In the room vacated by Captain Naudé they foundthe snapshots of his wife and children taken in the Concentration Camp.
Mrs. van Warmelo held them up to her daughter's view with a significant look.
"I am not surprised that he would not take them with him," she said.
Hansie was one of those unfortunate women who cannot cry, but I believe she cried that night when the awful strain was over, the house quiet and deserted, and the feeling of "nothing to do but wait" creeping over her.
She and her mother lay for hours listening for sounds of commotion in the suburb, following in spirit the brave men on their route to the free veld, so perilous and insecure, watching and praying for their safety.
At last Hansie fell into a heavy, unrefreshing sleep, from which she was roused in the early dawn by her mother's voice, hurried and extremely agitated.
"Hansie, Hansie, come here quick!"
"Where, mother? Where are you?"
"In the dining-room! Come at once, come and look!"
Hansie sprang out of bed, alarmed and now thoroughly roused, and ran into the dining-room, where she found her mother concealing herself behind the lace curtains and cautiously looking out of the window to the Military Camp.
She half turned as her daughter approached and said in a whisper: "Don't show yourself. Look,Hansie, we have been betrayed. Our house is suspected. See how it is being watched."
Hansie looked and looked again. There was no doubt of it.
The sergeant was in excited conversation with a man on horseback, well known to Hansie by sight as a detective in plain clothes. Here and there the soldiers were grouped around other private detectives, on horseback and on foot, talking and gesticulating and pointing to the house in wild excitement. What struck Hansie as almost ludicrous, even at that moment, was theunbounded astonishmentbetrayed by them.
Their looks and gestures spoke as plainly as the plainest words: "Can it be possible? Has that been going on under our noses? And pray, how long?"
"There is no doubt about it. We and our house have been betrayed. But cheer up, mother; forewarned is forearmed. Oh, silly fools, to give away their game like that!"
"They have not seen us yet, Hansie. They think we are asleep."
"Even so, the servants are about. Oh, mother!"
"Go and get dressed, Hansie, and let us behave exactly the same as usual. All we can do now is to see that we do not betray that weknowwe have been betrayed. How do you think this has come about?"
"The crowd under the willows last night?"
"Gentleman Jim?"
"Flippie?"
They looked at one another inquiringly and slowly shook their heads.
Good reader, after more than ten years, when they talk about this period of their lives, they still look inquiringly at one another and slowly shake their heads.
Who could it have been? How did it come about?
When Hansie went out into the garden an hour or so later to gather roses for the table, Harmony was flooded with the exquisite morning sun, the birds were twittering and bickering among themselves, and Carlo sprang up to meet her, barking an affectionate "good morning," as he playfully capered round his mistress.
As she stooped down to pat him she glanced through her hair to the camp, where some of the men were bending over their camp-fires and others were rubbing down and feeding their horses.
Will you believe it? At the first sight of the girl every man dropped his work, stood up straight and stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment as if he had never seen her before. They even got together again in little groups of twos and threes and began talking rapidly to one another. Their amazement, their consternation was so obvious that Hansie found it difficult to pretend that she saw nothing unusual in their behaviour, and when she joined her mother at the breakfast-table and told her what a commotion her appearance had created, Mrs. van Warmelo said: "It is the same with me. Wherever I show myself under the verandahs or in the garden, I am met with stares that can only be described as thunderstruck."
"And that, after all the months they have spentwithin earshot of all that went on at Harmony! Why, mother, those men have never lifted their heads when we have passed them for a year and more, they had got so used to us, but now——!"
She went on more seriously:
"We can never be thankful enough that you found this out in time. The members of the Committee must be warned not to come to Harmony, but we must invite lots of other people. Let us give a few fruit parties and musical evenings for the young people, and above all, let us invite the Consuls and their families." Hansie was feeling hopeful, buoyed up by the unlooked-for privilege of having been put on her guard, but Mrs. van Warmelo was silent and depressed.
"I am thinking about the spies," she said at last. "How can we ever harbour them here again? How can we let them know that Harmony is being watched? How shall we get through the anxiety and suspense when we begin to expect them again? Naudé's last words to me were, 'We shall be with you four weeks from now, when the moon is young again.'"
Hansie looked thoughtful, but brightened up again immediately.
"We have always the sign on the gatepost to fall back on, you know, mother dear, but I hope it won't be necessary to put that up. In the meantime let us watch developments. We have nothing to be anxious aboutyet, and when the time comes we shall know what to do. Just think how terrible it would have been if this had happened yesterday while Naudé was in the house!"
But poor Mrs. van Warmelo could not shake off her gloom, and Hansie, who, strange to say, was usually most hopeful and strong in the presence of depressed folk, but pessimistic and downhearted when others were most bright, sighed for once and allowed herself to be cast down by her mother's forebodings.
They realised that an anxious time was before them, their worst fear being that Naudé and his companions had been captured the previous night and that some time would probably elapse before they knew with any certainty what his fate had been.
That they were safe in his hands they never doubted for a moment, but there were too many others, practically unknown to them, concerned in this enterprise, and every conspirator more added to the list made their own position less secure.
"I think I must go to Mrs. Joubert this afternoon, mother, to see if I can get hold of van der Westhuizen. Perhaps he can throw some light on the subject. At any rate he will be able to tell us whether he parted from Naudé under favourable conditions last night."
"Do that," Mrs. van Warmelo answered, "if you can make sure beforehand of not being watched. Don't go to that house if you have any reason to think you are being followed. We are on the black list now, but that makes it all the more necessary for us to protect our friends."
"Yes, mother; but the Jouberts have been under suspicion so long and have so successfully escaped detection that I am sure their names have long since been removed from the black list."
"Don't be too sure. Jannie's transportation was not a sign of the cessation of hostilities. The enemyis not asleep, but merely slumbering, as far as they are concerned—that is, if this thing" (waving her hand over Harmony) "has not roused him completely."
All day long, and in fact for many days after, an unusual commotion was apparent in the Military Camp.
Detectives could be seen coming and going, little groups of soldiers clustered together, and even "Judas-Boers" made their appearance on the lower portion of Harmony, examining the ground and following the tracks made by the spies in their escape from the town.
Beyond that the van Warmelos could not follow their investigations, and whether they found conclusive evidence in the marks made by the men at the closely barbed and netted drift, under the railway bridge, will never be known, but there was reason to believe that the last remaining route of the spies had been discovered. Brave hearts sank at the thought of their probable fate when they tried that route again.
But, thank God! the birds had flown—for the time at least.
That afternoon, when Hansie cycled to Mrs. Joubert's house, the streets were quiet and practically deserted. She was quite sure that no one followed her, for she dropped her handkerchief once and had suddenly to turn and pick it up.
Carlo was some way ahead of her and did not notice the interruption until she was on her bicycle again, when he came tearing back to find out what had happened, furious with himself for having missed the smallest piece of excitement. After that he did not leave her side again, but trotted quietly along,watching her every moment from the corner of his eye.
When Hansie entered the house in Visagie Street, Carlo stretched himself as usual beside her bicycle, ostensibly to sleep, but in reality on guard and alert with every nerve in his quick body. Hansie was thankful to find van der Westhuizen in; in fact, he was expecting her and wished to see her, but did not think it advisable to go to Harmony.
"Tell me all about last night," she said. "Tell me everything, and then I have something to tell you too."
"Well," he said, and the inscrutable face was for once turned to her in frank confidence, "after we left Harmony last night things did not go as smoothly as we expected. It was all right as long as we were in the bush, and we were able to get our heavy parcels through safely, but when we came to the drift we found it strongly guarded. We retreated at once without a sound and lay down in the thick shrubs to wait. The men were nervous and impatient, and after a little while Brenckmann borrowed my residential pass from me and walked on ahead to see if the coast were clear.
"He soon came back and said it was impossible to get through.
"After a short consultation, Naudé advised me to come home. They would stay in the bush and wait until the moon went down, he said. I hated leaving them in such a plight, but Naudé insisted, and I only came away when he said he thought there would be more chance for them to get through unobserved if they were fewer in number. How theymanaged without residential passes and handicapped by those parcels, I do not know."
"God only knows how theydomanage," Hansie answered sombrely. "Well, I have nothing good to relate either."
She told him in a few words what had happened at Harmony, and the steadfast face opposite her, so calm and strong, grew more grave as she proceeded.
"This is very serious," he said at last; "then the fact of their being in town, and the route they had taken, must have been known to the enemy yesterday. That is why we found the drift guarded. But do not be downcast. I am sure they got through unharmed, for there has been no commotion of any sort in town. I always know when prisoners have been taken. We must be thankful they were not discovered in your house."
Hansie nodded, and the quiet voice went on:
"You are in no danger now——"
But the girl broke in impetuously:
"Oh, that does not trouble me at all, but I would give my life to know that those men were with General Botha now. I am only anxious about them."
"I am not," he answered. "The Captain is a man of vast experience. This was not his first visit to Pretoria. Venter has been five times in Pretoria and nine times in Johannesburg under the same conditions. Brenckmann, too, can speak of unique experiences—but I can bet you anything thathewill never come in again."
"Why not?"
"Oh, he had an awful time here. There are khakis and handsuppers living all round his house, to someof whom he is well known by sight. It was found necessary to conceal him, and for three days and two nights the poor boy was stowed away in a tiny attic, just under the corrugated-iron roof and hardly large enough to hold a man. There he lay in the suffocating heat of those endless days, only coming out at night for a few hours like the bats and owls. No, he won't trouble us again!"
Before she left she told him what had been arranged about a sign on the gatepost and asked van der Westhuizen to warn her friends of the "inner circle" that Harmony was no longer a safe place to visit, begging them to keep this information to themselves, "because," she added, "the enemy must not know that we know." Later on she hoped to see him again when the time approached for Naudé to come again, but she advised him not to visit Harmony unnecessarily, as much would depend on him in the event of a raid on Harmony and the transportation of its inhabitants to other regions.
I can only say in conclusion of this chapter that the friends of the "inner circle," Mrs. Malan, Mrs. Joubert, Mrs. Armstrong, Mrs. Honey, and a few others, bravely scorned the idea of avoiding Harmony.
"Why should we not come?" Mrs. Armstrong asked, with her cheerful, ever-ready laugh; "don't other people come here still?"
"Oh yes, but——"
"Then why not we? The more the better, say I! Surely we cannotallbe arrested and sent away!"
It was the peacefullest, decentest raid I ever heard of, and it would be difficult to think of anything with a termination more tame and commonplace.
But we have not got there yet.
The events which led up to it must be got over first as briefly as possible, and then we go on to what was called a formal declaration of war between the inmates of the Military Camp and the two principal actors at Harmony.
After the van Warmelos had discovered on December 20th, through the enemy's rank stupidity, that they had been found out, a regular game of hide-and-seek began to be played in and around their beautiful garden.
The curious thing about this game was that it was only carried on under cover of darkness and intense silence, a silence which could almost be felt, and which became so uncanny as time went on that the women found it quite insupportable and had no peace by night or by day until the day on which, a month later, the enemy took the initiative and made what may be called an attack in front. There was only one noisy actor in the game, which was played for four solid weeks before the crash came, and as many after,and that was Carlo, but, although his feelings found relief in constant growlings and furious barkings, I do believe even his nerves suffered under the constant strain, for he became more and more irritable and restless as time went on.
That dog gave a lot of trouble in those days and was a source of great anxiety, as my reader will see presently.
The fruit season was at its height. The garden, heavily laden with the burden of luscious fruits and blooming flowers, was a scene of beauty and riotous luxury impossible to describe; and as the different fruit trees bloomed and bore their rich harvest in rapid succession, each after its kind—apricots, figs, pears, plums, apples, peaches, and, last but not least, the noble vine with its great bunches of purple and white—Hansie and her mother revelled in the wealth of Nature's extravagance from morn till eve.
Mrs. van Warmelo, an energetic and tireless gardener, spent all her time amongst the fruit, while indoors the task of putting up in jars for winter use fell mainly on Hansie's shoulders.
Nothing was allowed to run to waste, and that year was always remembered as an exceptionally fine fruit season.
It was nothing for Mrs. van Warmelo to have 100 lb. of grapes cut before breakfast and have them conveyed to the early market, and even then the vines bore no trace of having been robbed or tampered with.
The soldiers, too, got their share, and the sergeant-major's small basket was often filled—for were they not on the best of terms with one another?
But when the shades of night fell over the land, andsilence settled on the birds and beasts and flowers, the sense of careless freedom and security deserted our heroines entirely.
Unseen eyes watched them from behind the leaves, and they knew that the very trees under which they sat had ears, straining to catch up their every conversation.
The Military Police—unknown to the women, as they thought—were guarding them and their property from intruders, and this was known by Carlo's incessant growlings and his furious, sudden fits of barking whenever he came upon some midnight prowler hidden under the trees.
I am sure the good dog never understood Hansie's apathy on this point.
After all he did to warn her of foul play, to have his efforts rewarded with a scolding or a careless "Do be quiet, Carlo. The kitty is only catching moths," seemed unjust and quite unlike his mistress's usual ready sympathy.
In time he got used to finding strangers in the privacy of his domain and only showed his dissatisfaction with an occasional low growl or a vicious snarl.
Perhaps "Gentleman Jim" was not so bad after all, or perhaps he was only stupid, because a few days after the flight of our friends he came to Mrs. van Warmelo with the information, given with an amused smile and more drawl than usual, that "the officer had promised him plenty money" if he ever caught a Boer on the premises or in the garden, and that in future a strict watch would be held over the property and an extra vigilance preserved whenever the dog barked.
What more proof could be wanted after that?Now they knew exactly how the land lay, and in their hearts they thanked their simple servant and still more simple foe, for the confirmation of their suspicions.
As the weeks went by and the time for the Captain's next visit drew near, Mrs. van Warmelo again and again urged the necessity of putting up the danger-signal (a small block of wood, which was kept ready with a nail through it, lying hidden behind the post), only to be met with an obstinate refusal from her daughter.
"How can you be so reckless and foolhardy, Hansie?" her mother would exclaim. "We know that the men may come in any night, and we know that the house and grounds are being watched, and yet you want me to let our friends run right into the trap, without lifting a finger to save them! It would be an unpardonable thing, and I do believe you are only longing to have the excitement of harbouring spies again!"
Hansie laughed.
"Perhaps that is it! But think of the disappointment of the men to be turned back at our very doors after having come so far through untold dangers! Depend upon it they will not come in again for nothing. They went through too much last time, and there will be work of some importance for us all to do if they come in again, you may be sure of that. No, dear mother, let us risk it, I beg of you. We are still in the house, and Naudé is no chicken. He will reach us in spite of guards and fences, and——"
"Be followed right up to the house and be taken here like a rat in a trap," Mrs. van Warmelo continued gloomily.
"I am not so sure," Hansie exclaimed, as cheerfully as her sinking heart allowed, when this horrible picture rose before her.
"You know what our experience has been of English vigilance and English sagacity; now, if they had some of Carlo's intelligence we would have some reason to be anxious."
The danger-signal was not put up, but that things would have ended exactly as Mrs. van Warmelo predicted I now have not a shadow of doubt.
The spies would have glided into the house in the false security occasioned by the absence of the danger-signal, they would have been watched and followed to the very doors by the hidden foe, the house would have been surrounded and stormed by armed men, and a fierce, an unspeakably horrible encounter would have ended in death and destruction—if they had come. But they were prevented on commando from keeping their appointment that month—and at the very time when they expected to be safely housed under Harmony's hospitable roof, the place was surrounded, an entry forced and every corner of the house searched for spies.
It happened "like so," and we must now turn our attention for a moment to a matter of small importance in order to understand why Hansie was from home at a critical time, and how she missed the keen enjoyment of being present at the "raid."
For some weeks the advisability of leaving home on a pleasure trip had been discussed. While the moon was on the wane their friends from commando would not be likely to pay them a visit, but Mrs. van Warmelo, who never had much inclination to leaveher little paradise, persuaded Hansie to go to Johannesburg for a few days alone to a dear young friend, newly wed, who had repeatedly begged her to come.
They hoped that such an attitude of innocent pleasure-making on their part would avert some of the suspicion which rested on their heads and cause a part, at least, of the surveillance to be withdrawn from Harmony.
Hansie hoped to be back home before the appearance of the new moon, the time appointed for Naudé's next visit, and it was red-tape, nothing but red-tape, through which she was undone.
So many difficulties were placed in the way of her obtaining the necessary permits that by the time she got away she should have been on her return journey.
Let us see what her diary says.