CHAPTER XIV
JOHN TO THE RESCUE
The important domestic events described in the last chapter took placeon December 7, 1880, and for the next twelve days or so everything wentas happily at Mooifontein as things should go under the circumstances.Every day Silas Croft beamed with an enlarged geniality in hissatisfaction at the turn that matters had taken, and every day Johnfound cause to congratulate himself more and more on the issue of hisbold venture towards matrimony. Now that he came to be on such intimateterms with his betrothed, he perceived a hundred charms and gracesin her nature which before he had never suspected. Bessie was like aflower: the more she basked in the light and warmth of her love the moreher character opened and unfolded, shedding perfumed sweetness aroundher and revealing unguessed charms. It is so with all women, and moreespecially with a woman of her stamp, whom Nature has made to love andbe loved as maid and wife and mother. Her undoubted personal beautyshared also in this development, her fair face taking a richer hue andher eyes an added depth and meaning. She was in every respect, save one,all that a man could desire in his wife, and even the exception wouldhave stood to her credit with many men. It was this: she was not anintellectual person, although certainly she possessed more than theordinary share of intelligence and work-a-day common sense. Now John wasa decidedly intellectual man, and, what is more, he highly appreciatedthat rare quality in the other sex. But, after all, when one is justengaged to a sweet and lovely woman, one does not think much about herintellect. Those reflections come afterwards.
And so they sauntered hand in hand through the sunny days and were happyexceedingly. Least of all did they allow the rumours which reached themfrom the great Boer gathering at Paarde Kraal to disturb their serenity.There had been so many of these reports of rebellion that folk werebeginning to regard them as a chronic state of affairs.
"Oh, the Boers!" said Bessie, with a pretty toss of her golden head, asthey were sitting one morning on the verandah. "I am sick to death ofhearing about the Boers and all their got-up talk. I know what it is;it is just an excuse for them to go away from their farms and wives andchildren and idle about at these great meetings, and drink 'square-face'with their mouths full of big words. You see what Jess says in herlast letter. People in Pretoria believe that it is all nonsense frombeginning to end, and I think they are perfectly right."
"By the way, Bessie," asked John, "have you written to Jess telling herof our engagement?"
"Oh yes, I wrote some days ago, but the letter only went yesterday. Shewill be pleased to hear about it. Dear old Jess, I wonder when she meansto come home again. She has been away long enough."
John made no answer, but went on smoking his pipe in silence, wonderingif Jess would be pleased. He did not understand her yet. She had goneaway just as he was beginning to understand her.
Presently he observed Jantje sneaking about between the orange-trees asthough he wished to call attention to himself. Had he not wanted to doso he would have moved from one to the other in such a way that nobodycould have seen him. His partial and desultory appearances indicatedthat he was on view.
"Come out of those trees, you little rascal, and stop slippingabout like a snake in a stone wall!" shouted John. "What is it youwant--wages?"
Thus adjured, Jantje advanced and sat down on the path, as usual in thefull glare of the sun.
"No, Baas," he said, "it is not wages. They are not due yet."
"What is it, then?"
"No, Baas, it is this. The Boers have declared war on the EnglishGovernment, and they have eaten up the _rooibaatjes_ at Bronker'sSpruit, near Middleburg. Joubert shot them all there the day beforeyesterday."
"What!" shouted John, letting his pipe fall in his astonishment. "Stop,though, that must be a lie. You say near Middleburg, the day beforeyesterday: that would be December 20. When did you hear this?"
"At daybreak, Baas. A Basutu told me."
"Then there is an end of it. The news could not have reached here inthirty-eight hours. What do you mean by coming to me with such a tale?"
The Hottentot smiled. "It is quite true, Baas. Bad news flies like abird," and he picked himself up and slipped off to his work.
Notwithstanding the apparent impossibility of the thing, John wasconsiderably disturbed, knowing the extraordinary speed with whichtidings do travel among Kafirs, more swiftly, indeed, than the fleetestmounted messenger can bear them. Leaving Bessie, who was also somewhatalarmed, he went in search of Silas Croft, and, finding him in thegarden, told him what Jantje had said. The old man did not know what tomake of the tale, but, remembering Frank Muller's threats, he shook hishead.
"If there is any truth in it, that villain Muller has a hand in it," hesaid. "I'll go to the house and see Jantje. Give me your arm, John."
He obeyed, and, on arriving at the top of the steep path, they perceivedthe stout figure of old Hans Coetzee, who had been John's host at theshooting-party, ambling along on his fat little pony.
"Ah," said Silas, "here is the man who will tell us if there is anythingin it all."
"Good-day, _Oom_ Coetzee, good-day!" he shouted out in his stentoriantones. "What news do you bring with you?"
The jolly-looking Boer rolled awkwardly off his pony before answering,and, throwing the reins over its head, came to meet them.
"_Allemachter_, _Oom_ Silas, it is bad news. You have heard of the_bymakaar_ at Paarde Kraal. Frank Muller wanted me to go, but I wouldnot, and now they have declared war on the British Government and senta proclamation to Lanyon. There will be fighting, _Oom_ Silas, the landwill run with blood, and the poor _rooibaatjes_ will be shot down likebuck."
"The poor Boers, you mean," growled John, who did not like to hear herMajesty's army talked of in terms of regretful pity.
_Oom_ Coetzee shook his head with the air of one who knew all about it,and then turned an attentive ear to Silas Croft's version of Jantje'sstory.
"_Allemachter!_" groaned Coetzee, "what did I tell you? The poor_rooibaatjes_ shot down like buck, and the land running with blood! Andnow that Frank Muller will draw me into it, and I shall have to go andshoot the poor _rooibaatjes_; and I can't miss, try as hard as I will, I_can't_ miss. And when we have shot them all I suppose that Burgerswill come back, and he is _kransick_ (mad). Yes, yes; Lanyon is bad, butBurgers is worse," and the comfortable old gentleman groaned aloud atthe troubles in which he foresaw he would be involved, and finally tookhis departure by a bridle-path over the mountain, saying that, asthings had turned out, he would not like it to be known that he had beencalling on an Englishman. "They might think that I was not loyal to the'land,'" he added in explanation; "the land which we Boers bought withour blood, and which we shall win back with our blood, whatever thepoor 'pack oxen' of _rooibaatjes_ try to do. Ah, those poor, poor_rooibaatjes_, one Boer will drive away twenty of them and make them runacross the veldt, if they can run in those great knapsacks of theirs,with the tin things hanging round them like the pots and kettles to thebed-plank of a waggon. What says the Holy Book? 'One thousand shall fleeat the rebuke of one, and at the rebuke of five shall ye flee,' at leastI think that is it. The dear Lord knew what was coming when He wrote it.He was thinking of the Boers and the poor _rooibaatjes_," and Coetzeedeparted, shaking his head sadly.
"I am glad that the old gentleman has made tracks," said John, "for ifhe had gone on much longer about the poor English soldiers he would havefled 'at the rebuke of one,' I can tell him."
"John," said Silas Croft suddenly, "you must go up to Pretoria and fetchJess. Mark my words, the Boers will besiege Pretoria, and if we don'tget her down at once she will be shut up there."
"Oh no," cried Bessie, in sudden alarm, "I cannot let John go."
"I am sorry to hear you talk like that, Bessie, when your sister is indanger," answered her uncle rather sternly; "but there, I dare say thatit is natural. I will go myself. Where is Jantje? I shall want the Capecart and the four grey horses."
"No, uncle dear, John shall go. I was not thinking what I was sayin
g. Itseemed--a little hard at first."
"Of course I must go," said John. "Don't fret, dear, I shall be back infive days. Those four horses can go sixty miles a day for that time, andmore. They are fat as butter, and there is lots of grass along the roadif I can't get forage for them. Besides, the cart will be nearly empty,so I can carry a muid of mealies and fifty bundles of forage. I willtake that Zulu boy, Mouti, with me. He does not know very much abouthorses, but he is a plucky fellow, and would stick by one at a pinch.One can't rely on Jantje; he is always sneaking off somewhere, and wouldbe sure to get drunk just as one wanted him."
"Yes, yes, John, that's right, that's right," said the old man. "I willgo and see about having the horses got up and the wheels greased. Whereis the castor-oil, Bessie? There is nothing like castor-oil for thesepatent axles. You ought to be off in an hour. You had better sleep atLuck's to-night; you might get farther, but Luck's is a good place tostop, and they will look after you well there, and you an be off bythree in the morning, reaching Heidelberg by ten o'clock to-morrownight, and Pretoria by the next afternoon," and he bustled away to makethe necessary preparations.
"Oh, John," said Bessie, beginning to cry, "I don't like your going atall among all those wild Boers. You are an English officer, and if theyfind you out they will shoot you. You don't know what brutes some ofthem are when they think it safe to be so. Oh, John, John, I can'tendure your going."
"Cheer up, my dear," said John, "and for Heaven's sake stop crying, forI cannot bear it. I must go. Your uncle would never forgive me if I didnot, and, what is more, I should never forgive myself. There isnobody else to send, and we can't leave Jess to be shut up there inPretoria--for months perhaps. As for the risk, of course there is alittle risk, but I must take it. I am not afraid of risks--at least Iused not to be, but you have made a bit of a coward of me, Bessie dear.There, give me a kiss, old girl, and come and help me to pack my things.Please God I shall get back all right, and Jess with me, in a week fromnow."
Whereon Bessie, being a sensible and eminently practical young woman,dried her tears, and with a cheerful face, albeit her heart was heavyenough, set to work with a will to make every possible preparation.
The few clothes John was to take with him were packed in a Gladstonebag, the box fitted underneath the movable seat in the Cape cart wasfilled with the tinned provisions which are so much used in SouthAfrica, and all the other little arrangements, small in themselves, butof such infinite importance to the traveller in a wild country, wereduly attended to by her careful hands. Then came a hurried meal, andbefore it was swallowed the cart was at the door, with Jantje hanging asusual on to the heads of the two front horses, and the stalwart Zulu,or rather Swazi boy, Mouti, whose sole luggage appeared to consist of abundle of assegais and sticks wrapped up in a grass mat, and who, hot asit was, was enveloped in a vast military great-coat, lounging placidlyalongside.
"Good-bye, John, dear John," said Bessie, kissing him again and again,and striving to keep back the tears that, do what she could, wouldgather in her blue eyes. "Good-bye, my love."
"God bless you, dearest," he said simply, kissing her in answer;"good-bye, Mr. Croft. I hope to see you again in a week," and he wasin the cart and had gathered up the long and intricate-looking reins.Jantje let go the horses' heads and uttered a whoop. Mouti, giving upstar-gazing, suddenly became an animated being and scrambled into thecart with surprising alacrity; the horses sprang forward at a handgallop, and were soon hidden from Bessie's dim sight in a cloud of dust.Poor Bessie, it was a hard trial, and now that John had gone and hertears could not distress him, she went into her room and gave way tothem freely enough.
John reached Luck's, a curious establishment on the Pretoria road, suchas are to be met with in sparsely populated countries, combining thecharacteristics of an inn, a shop, and a farm-house. It was not an innand not a farm-house, strictly speaking, nor was it altogether a shop,although there was a "store" attached. If the traveller is anxious toobtain accommodation for man and beast at a place of this stamp he hasto proceed warily, so to say, lest he should be requested to move on. Hemust advance, hat in hand, and ask to be taken in as a favour, as many astiff-necked wanderer, accustomed to the obsequious attentions of "minehost," has learnt to his cost. There is no such dreadful autocratas your half-and-half innkeeper in South Africa, and then he is socompletely master of the situation. "If you don't like it, go andbe d--d to you," is his simple answer to the remonstrances of theinfuriated voyager. Then you must either knock under and look as thoughyou liked it, or trek on into the "unhostelled" wilderness. But on thisoccasion John fared well enough. To begin with, he knew the owners ofthe place, who were very civil people if approached in a humble spirit,and, furthermore, he found everybody in such a state of unpleasurableexcitement that they were only too glad to get another Englishman withwhom to talk over matters. Not that their information amounted to much,however. There was a rumour of the Bronker's Spruit disaster and otherrumours of the investment of Pretoria, and of the advance of largebodies of Boers to take possession of the pass over the Drakensberg,known as Laing's Nek, but there was no definite intelligence.
"You won't get into Pretoria," said one melancholy man, "so it's no usetrying. The Boers will just catch you and kill you, and there will bean end of it. You had better leave the girl to look after herself and goback to Mooifontein."
But this was not John's view of the matter. "Well," he answered, "at anyrate I'll have a try." Indeed, he had a sort of bull-dog nature abouthim which led him to believe that if he made up his mind to do a thing,he would do it somehow, unless he should be physically incapacitated bycircumstances beyond his own control. It is wonderful how far a moodof the kind will take a man. Indeed, it is the widespread possession ofthis sentiment that has made England what she is. Now it is beginningto die down and to be legislated out of our national character, and theresults are already commencing to appear in the incipient decay of ourpower. We cannot govern Ireland. It is beyond us; let Ireland have HomeRule! We cannot cope with our Imperial responsibilities; let them becast off: and so on. The Englishmen of fifty years ago did not talk inthis "weary Titan" strain.
Well, every nation becomes emasculated sooner or later, that seems to bethe universal fate; and it appears that it is our lot to be emasculated,not by the want of law but by a plethora thereof. This country was made,not by Governments, but for the most part in despite of them by theindependent efforts of generations of individuals. The tendency nowadaysis to merge the individual in the Government, and to limit or evenforcibly to destroy personal enterprise and responsibility. Everythingis to be legislated for or legislated against. As yet the system is onlyin its bud. When it blooms, if it is ever allowed to bloom, the Empirewill lose touch of its constituent atoms and become a vast soullessmachine, which will first get out of order, then break down, and, lastof all, break up. We owe more to sturdy, determined, unconvinceableEnglishmen like John Niel than we know, or, perhaps, should be willingto acknowledge in these enlightened days. "Long live the Caucus!" thatis the cry of the nineteenth century. But what will Englishmen cry inthe twentieth?[*]
[*] These words were written some ten years ago; but since then, with all gratitude be it said, a change has come over the spirit of the nation, or rather, the spirit of the nation has re-asserted itself. Though the "Little England" party still lingers, it exists upon the edge of its own grave. The dominance and responsibilities of our Empire are no longer a question of party politics, and among the Radicals of to-day we find some of the most ardent Imperialists. So may it ever be!--H. R. H. 1896.
John resumed his perilous journey more than an hour before dawn onthe following morning. Nobody was stirring, and as it was practicallyimpossible to arouse the slumbering Kafirs from the various holes andcorners where they were taking their rest--for a native hates the coldof the dawning--Mouti and he were obliged to harness the horses andinspan them without assistance--an awkward job in the dark. At last,however, everything was
ready, and, as the bill had been paid overnight,there was nothing to wait for, so they clambered into the cart and madea start. But before they had proceeded forty yards, however, John hearda voice calling to him to stop. He did so, and presently, holding alighted candle which burnt without a flicker in the still damp air, anddraped from head to foot in a dingy-looking blanket, appeared the maleCassandra of the previous evening.
He advanced slowly and with dignity, as became a prophet, and at lengthreached the side of the cart, where the sight of his illuminated figureand of the dirty blanket over his head nearly made the horses run away.
"What is it?" said John testily, for he was in no mood for delay.
"I thought I'd just get up to tell you," replied the draped form, "thatI am quite sure that I was right, and that the Boers will shoot you. Ishould not like you to say afterwards that I have not warned you," andhe held up the candle so that the light fell on John's face, and gazedat it in fond farewell.
"Curse it all," said John in a fury, "if that was all you had to say youmight have kept in bed," and he brought down his lash on the wheelersand away they went with a bound, putting out the prophet's candle andnearly knocking the prophet himself backwards into the _sluit_.