CHAPTER XXVII
SILAS IS CONVINCED
At first Bessie was utterly prostrated by the blow that had fallen onher, but as time went on she revived a little, for hers was an elasticand a sanguine nature. Troubles sink into the souls of some like waterinto a sponge, and weight them down almost to the grave. From othersthey run off as the water does if poured upon marble, merely wetting thesurface.
Bessie belonged to neither of these classes, but was of a substancebetween the two--a healthy, happy-hearted woman, full of beauty andvigour, made to bloom in the sunshine, not to languish in the shadowof some old grief. Women of her stamp do not die of broken hearts orcondemn themselves to life-long celibacy as a sacrifice to the shade ofthe departed. If unfortunately No. 1 is removed, as a general rule theyshed many a tear and suffer many a pang, and after a decent intervalvery sensibly turn their attention to No. 2.
Still it was but a pale-faced, quiet Bessie who went to and fro aboutthe place after the visit of the one-eyed Kafir. All her irritabilityhad left her now; she no longer reproached her uncle because he haddespatched John to Pretoria. Indeed, on that very evening after the eviltidings came, he began to blame himself bitterly in her presence forhaving sent her lover away, when she stopped him.
"It is God's will, uncle," she said quietly. "You only did what it wasordained that you should do." Then she came and laid her sunny head uponthe old man's shoulder and cried a little, and said that they two wereall alone in the world now; and he comforted her in the best fashionthat he could. It was a curious thing that they neither of them thoughtmuch of Jess when they talked thus of being alone. Jess was an enigma, athing apart even from them. When she was there she was loved and allowedto go her own way, when she was not there she seemed to fade into outerdarkness. A veil came down between her and her belongings. Of coursethey were both very fond of her, but simple-natured people are apt toshrink from what they cannot understand, and these two were no exceptionto the rule. For instance, Bessie's affection for her sister was a poorthing compared to the deep and self-sacrificing, though often secretlove that her sister showered upon her. She loved her old uncle far moredearly than she loved Jess, and it must be owned that he returned herattachment with interest, and in those days of heavy trouble they drewnearer to each other than ever they were before.
But as time went on they began to hope again. No confirmation of John'sdeath reached them. Was it not possible then, after all, that the storywas an invention? They knew that Frank Muller was not a man to hesitateat a lie if he had a purpose to gain, and they could guess in this casewhat that purpose was. His furious passion for Bessie was no secret fromeither of them, and it occurred to them as possible that the tale ofJohn's death might have been invented to forward it. This was scarcelyprobable, it is true, but it might be so, and however cruel suspensemay be, it is at least less absolutely crushing than the dead weight ofcertainty.
One Sunday--it was just a week since the letter came--Bessie was sittingafter dinner on the verandah, when her quick ears caught what she tookto be the booming of heavy guns far away on the Drakensberg. She rose,and leaving the house, climbed the hill behind it. On reaching its topshe stood and looked at the great solemn stretch of mountains. Away, alittle to her right, was a square precipitous peak called Majuba, whichwas generally clothed in clouds. To-day, however, there was no mist, andit seemed to her that it was from the direction of this peak that thefaint rolling sounds came floating on the breeze. But she could seenothing; the mountain seemed as tenantless and devoid of life as on theday when it first towered up upon the face of things created. Presentlythe sounds died away, and she returned, thinking that she must have beendeceived by the echoes of some distant thunderstorm.
Next day they learnt from the natives that what she had heard was theroar of the big guns covering the flight of the British troops downthe precipitous sides of Majuba Mountain. After these tidings oldSilas Croft began to lose heart a little. The run of disaster wasso unrelieved that even his robust faith in the invincibility of theEnglish arms was shaken.
"It is very strange, Bessie," he said, "very strange; but, never mind,it is bound to come right at last. Our Government is not going to knockunder because it has suffered a few reverses."
Then followed a long four weeks of uncertainty. The air was thick withrumours, most of them brought by natives, and one or two by passingBoers, to which Silas Croft declined to pay any attention. Soon,however, it became abundantly clear that an armistice was concludedbetween the English and the Boers, but what were its terms or its objectthey were quite unable to decide. Silas Croft thought that the Boers,overawed by the advance of an overwhelming force, meant to give inwithout further fighting;[*] but Bessie shook her head.
[*] This is said on good authority to have been their intention had not Mr. Gladstone surprised them by his sudden surrender.--Author.
One day--it was the same on which John and Jess left Pretoria--a Kafirbrought the news that the armistice was at an end, that the English wereadvancing up to the Nek in thousands, and were going to force it on themorrow and relieve the garrisons--a piece of intelligence that broughtsome of the old light back to Bessie's eyes. As for her uncle, he wasjubilant.
"The tide is going to turn, at last, my love," he said, "and we shallhave our innings. Well, it is time we should, after all the disgrace,loss and agony of mind we have gone through. Upon my word, for the lasttwo months I have been ashamed to call myself an Englishman. However,there is an end of it now. I knew that they would never give in anddesert us," and the old man straightened his crooked back andslapped his chest, looking as proud and gallant as though he werefive-and-twenty instead of seventy years of age.
The rest of that day passed without any further news, and so did thefollowing two days, but on the third, which was March 23, the stormbroke.
About eleven o'clock in the forenoon Bessie was employed upon herhousehold duties as usual, or rather she had just finished them. Heruncle had returned from his usual after-breakfast round upon the farm,and was standing in the sitting-room, his broad felt hat in one hand anda red pocket-handkerchief in the other, with which he was polishing hisbald head, while he chattered to Bessie through the open door.
"No news of the advance, Bessie dear?"
"No, uncle," she replied with a sigh, her blue eyes filling with tears,for she was thinking of one of whom there was also no news.
"Well, never mind. These things take a little time, especially withour soldiers, who move so slowly. I dare say that there was some delaywaiting for guns or ammunition or something. I expect that we shall hearby to-night----"
"De Booren, Baas, de Booren!" (the Boers, master, the Boers) he shouted."The Boers are coming with a waggon, twenty of them or more, with FrankMuller at their head on his black horse, and Hans Coetzee, and theone-eyed Basutu wizard with him. I was hiding behind a tree at the endof the avenue, and I saw them riding over the rise. They are going totake the place;" and, without waiting to give any further explanations,he slipped through the house and hid himself up somewhere out of the wayat the back, for Jantje, like most Hottentots, was a sad coward.
The old man stopped rubbing his head and stared at Bessie, who stoodpale and trembling in the doorway. Just then he heard the patter ofrunning feet on the drive outside, and looked out of the window. It wascaused by the passing of some half-dozen Kafirs who were working on theplace, and who, on catching sight of the Boers, had promptly thrown downtheir tools and were flying to the hills. Even as they passed a shot wasfired somewhere from the direction of the avenue, and the last of theKafirs, a lad of about twelve, suddenly threw up his hands and pitchedforward on to his face, with a bullet between his shoulder-blades.
Bessie heard the shout of "Good shot, good shot!" the brutal laughterthat greeted his fall, and the tramping of the horses as they came upthe drive.
"Oh, uncle!" she said, "what shall we do?"
The old man made no answer at the moment, but going to a rack upon thewall, he reached
down a Wesley-Richards falling-block rifle that hungthere. Then he sat down in a wooden armchair that faced the Frenchwindow opening on to the verandah, and beckoned to her to come to him.
"We will meet them so," he said. "They shall see that we are not afraidof them. Don't be frightened, dear, they will not dare to harm us; theywill be afraid of the consequences of harming English people."
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the cavalcade began toappear in front of the window, led, as Jantje had said, by Frank Mulleron his black horse, accompanied by Hans Coetzee on the fat pony, and thevillainous-looking Hendrik, mounted on a nondescript sort of animal, andcarrying a gun and an assegai in his hand. Behind these were a body ofabout fifteen or sixteen armed men, among whom Silas Croft recognisedmost of his neighbours, by whose side he had lived for years in peaceand amity.
Opposite the house they stopped and began looking about. They could notsee into the room at once, on account of the bright light outside andthe shadow within.
"I fancy you will find the birds flown, nephew," said the fat voice ofHans Coetzee. "They have got warning of your little visit."
"They cannot be far off," answered Muller. "I have had them watched, andknow that they have not left the place. Get down, uncle, and look in thehouse, and you too, Hendrik."
The Kafir obeyed with alacrity, tumbling out of his saddle with all thegrace of a sack of coals, but the Boer hesitated.
"Uncle Silas is an angry man," he ventured; "he might shoot if he foundme poking about his house."
"Don't answer me!" thundered Muller; "get down and do as I bid you!"
"Ah, what a devil of a man!" murmured the unfortunate Hans as he hurriedto obey.
Meanwhile, Hendrik the one-eyed had jumped upon the verandah and waspeering through the windows.
"Here they are, Baas; here they are!" he sung out; "the old cock and thepullet too!" and he gave a kick to the window, which, being unlatched,swung wide, revealing the old man sitting in his wooden armchair, hisrifle on his knees, and holding by the hand his fair-haired niece, whowas standing at his side. Frank Muller dismounted and came on to theverandah, and behind him crowded a dozen or more of his followers.
"What is it that you want, Frank Muller, that you come to my house withall these armed men?" asked Silas Croft from his chair.
"I call upon you, Silas Croft, to surrender to take your trial as aland betrayer and a rebel against the Republic," was the answer. "I amsorry," he added, with a bow towards Bessie, on whom his eyes had beenfixed all the time, "to be obliged to take you prisoner in the presenceof a lady, but my duty gives me no choice."
"I do not know what you mean," said the old man. "I am a subject ofQueen Victoria and an Englishman. How, then, can I be a rebel againstany republic? I am an Englishman, I say," he went on with rising anger,speaking so high that his powerful voice rang till every Boer therecould hear it, "and I acknowledge the authority of no republics. Thisis my house, and I order you to leave it. I claim my rights as anEnglishman----"
"Here," interrupted Muller coldly, "Englishmen have no rights, exceptsuch as we choose to allow to them."
"Shoot him!" cried a voice.
"Treat him as Buskes treated Van der Linden at Potchefstroom!" criedanother.
"Yes, make him swallow the same pill that we gave to Dr. Barber," put ina third.
"Silas Croft, are you going to surrender?" asked Muller in the same coldvoice.
"_No!_" thundered the old man in his English pride. "I surrender to norebels in arms against the Queen. I will shoot the first man who triesto lay a finger on me!" and he rose to his feet and lifted his rifle.
"Shall I shoot him, Baas?--shall I shoot him?" asked the one-eyedHendrik, smacking his lips at the thought, and fiddling with the rustylock of the old fowling-piece he carried.
Muller, by way of answer, struck him across the face with the back ofhis hand. "Hans Coetzee," he said, "go and arrest that man."
Poor Hans hesitated, as well he might. Nature had not endowed himwith any great amount of natural courage, and the sight of his oldneighbour's rifle-barrel made him feel positively sick. He hesitated andbegan to stammer excuses.
"Are you going, uncle, or must I denounce you to the General as asympathiser with Englishmen?" asked Muller in malice, for he knew theold fellow's weakness and cowardice, and was playing on them.
"I am going. Of course I am going, nephew. Excuse me, a little faintnesstook me--the heat of the sun," he babbled. "Oh, yes, I am going to seizethe rebel. Perhaps one of these young men would not mind engaging hisattention on the other side. He is an angry man--I know him of old--andan angry man with a gun, you know, dear cousin----"
"Are you going?" said his terrible master once more.
"Oh, yes! yes, certainly, yes. Dear Uncle Silas, pray put down that gun,it is so dangerous. Don't stand there looking like a wild ox, but comeup to the yoke. You are old, Uncle Silas, and I don't want to have tohurt you. Come now, come, come," and he held out his hand towards him asthough he were a shy horse that he was endeavouring to beguile.
"Hans Coetzee, traitor and liar that you are," said the old man, "if youdraw a single step nearer, by God! I will put a bullet through you."
"Go on, Hans, chuck a reim over his head; get him by the tail; knock himdown with a yokeskei; turn the old bull on his back!" shouted the crowdof scoffers from the window, taking very good care, however, to clearoff to the right and left in order to leave room for the expectedbullet.
Hans positively burst into tears, and Muller, who was the only onewho held his ground, caught him by the arm, and putting out all hisstrength, swung him towards Silas Croft.
For reasons of his own, he was anxious that the latter should shoot oneof them, and he chose Hans Coetzee, whom he disliked and despised, forthe sacrifice.
Up went the rifle, and at that moment Bessie, who had been standingbewildered, made a dash at it, knowing that bloodshed could only makematters worse. As she did so it exploded, but not before she had shakenher uncle's arm, for, instead of killing Hans, as it undoubtedly wouldhave done, the bullet only cut his ear and then passed out through theopen window-place. In an instant the room was filled with smoke. HansCoetzee clapped his hand to his head, uttering yells of pain and terror,and in the confusion that ensued three or four men, headed by the KafirHendrik, rushed into the room and sprang upon Silas Croft, who hadretreated to the wall and was standing with his back against it, hisrifle, which he had clubbed in both his hands, raised above his head.
When his assailants were close to him they hesitated, for, aged and bentas he was, the old man looked dangerous. He stood there like a woundedlion, and swung the rifle-stock about. Presently one of the men struckat him and missed him, but before he could retreat Silas brought downthe stock of the rifle on his head, and down he went like an ox beneatha poleaxe. Then they closed on him, but for a while he kept themoff, knocking down another man in his efforts. At that moment thewitch-doctor Hendrik, who had been watching his opportunity, broughtdown the barrel of his old fowling-piece upon Silas's bald head andfelled him. Fortunately the blow was not a very heavy one, or it wouldhave broken his skull. As it was, it only cut his scalp open and knockedhim down. Thereon, the whole mass of Boers, with the exception ofMuller, who stood watching, seeing that he was now defenceless,fell upon Silas, and would have kicked him to death had not Bessieprecipitated herself upon him with a cry, and thrown her arms about hisbody to protect him.
Then Frank Muller interfered, fearing lest she should be hurt. Plunginginto the fray with a curse, he exercised his great strength, throwingthe men this way and that like ninepins, and finally dragging Silas tohis feet again.
"Come!" he shouted, "take him out of this;" and accordingly, withtaunts, curses and obloquy, the poor old man, whose fringe of whitelocks was red with blood, was kicked and pushed on to the verandah, thenoff it on to the drive. Here he fell over the body of the murdered Kafirboy, but finally he was dragged to the open space by the flagstaff, onwhich the Union Jack that he had ho
isted there some two months beforestill waved bravely in the breeze. There he sank down upon the grass,his back against the flagstaff, and asked faintly for some water.Bessie, who was weeping bitterly, and whose heart felt as though it werebursting with anguish and indignation, pushed her way through the men,and, running to the house, filled a glass and brought it to him. One ofthe brutes tried to knock it out of her hand, but she avoided him andgave it to her uncle, who drank it greedily.
"Thank you, love, thank you," he said; "don't be frightened, I ain'tmuch hurt. Ah! if only John had been here, and we had had an hour'snotice, we would have held the place against them all."
Meanwhile one of the Boers, climbing on to the shoulders of another,had succeeded in untying the cord on which the Union Jack was bent, andhauled it down. Then they reversed it and hoisted it half-mast high, andbegan to cheer for the Republic.
"Perhaps Uncle Silas does not know that we are a Republic again now,"said one of the men, a near neighbour of his own, in mockery.
"What do you mean by a Republic?" asked the old man. "The Transvaal is aBritish colony."
There was a hoot of derision at this. "The English Government hassurrendered," said the same man. "The country is given up, and theBritish are to evacuate it in six months."
"It is a lie!" said Silas, springing to his feet, "a cowardly lie!Whoever says that the English have given up the country to a fewthousand blackguards like you, and deserted its subjects and the loyalsand the natives, is a liar--a liar from hell!"
There was another howl of mockery at this outburst, and when it hadsubsided Frank Muller stepped forward.
"It is no lie, Silas Croft," he said, "and the cowards are not we Boers,who have beaten you again and again, but your soldiers, who have donenothing but run away, and your Mr. Gladstone, who follows the example ofyour soldiers. Look here"--and he took a paper out of his pocket--"youknow that signature, I suppose? It is that of one of the Triumvirate.Listen to what he says," and he read aloud:--
"'Well-beloved _Heer_ Muller,--this is to inform you that, by thestrength of our arms fighting for the right and freedom, and also by thecowardice of the British Government, generals, and soldiers, we have bythe will of the Almighty concluded this day a glorious peace with theenemy. The _Heer_ Gladstone surrenders nearly everything except in thename. The Republic is to be re-established, and the soldiers who areleft will leave the land within six months. Make this known to everyone,and forget not to thank God for our glorious victories.'"
The Boers shouted aloud, as well they might, and Bessie wrung her hands.As for the old man, he leant against the flagstaff, and his goryhead sank back upon his breast as though he were about to faint. Thensuddenly he lifted it, and with clenched and quivering fists, held highin the air, he broke out into such a torrent of blasphemy and cursingthat even the Boers fell back for a moment, dismayed into silence by theforce of the fury wrung from his utter humiliation.
It was an appalling sight to see this good and God-fearing old man, hisface bruised, his grey hairs dabbled with blood, and his clothes nearlyrent from his body, stamp and reel to and fro, blaspheming his Maker andthe day that he was born; hurling execrations at his beloved country andthe name of Englishman, and the Government of Britain that had desertedhim, till at last nature gave out, and he fell in a fit, there, in thevery shadow of his dishonoured flag.