The Petticoat Commando Part 10

This goal was reached that night, and a cordial welcome given to the poor exhausted traveller, although he was warned that he could by no means consider himself safe on the farm, as the British pa.s.sed it nearly every day. Nigh three weeks he spent there, taking refuge under the trees of an adjacent hill by day and sleeping under the hospitable roof by night. As time went on and the visits of the Khakis became rarer, he became more at ease, and often worked with the farmer and the women in the fields, helping them to dig sweet-potatoes, and a.s.sisting his host in the work of sorting, drying, and rolling up the leaves of the tobacco-plant. He also became an expert in the art of making candles, and took active part in the other small industries carried on in that frugal and industrious household, and the evenings were spent in poring over maps, geographical and astronomical, which his host happened to possess. Many were the questions put to him, and long the discussions about worlds and suns and planets, while the busy fingers plied and rolled tobacco leaves, but these discussions generally ended in a sigh, a shake of the head, and an unbelieving, "there _must_ be something solid _under_ this earth," from the sceptical host.

The time was now approaching for the fulfilment of his heart's ambition, but there is still one small incident to relate before we leave our hero. One day, while he was still on the farm, he was pa.s.sed by a Kaffir, whom he questioned as to his destination. The native replied that he was on his way to Pretoria, and the happy thought occurred to Mr. Celliers to ask this native to let his wife know that her husband was in perfect safety.

Now the remarkable part of this incident was, that that unknown native took the trouble to deliver his message faithfully and conscientiously, and it was only after the war that Mr. Celliers heard from his wife that she had received news of his successful escape from a strange Kaffir, who said he had been sent by her husband. This is a striking instance, well worth recording here, of the sagacity and fidelity of some members of the heathen tribes.

It was on September 13th that unexpected deliverance came in the shape of a Boer waggon in search of green forage for the horses on commando.

Mr. Celliers instantly decided to accompany the waggon back to the lager, and prepared himself for departure that very day. Tender, grateful leave was taken of the good friends who had harboured him so long, and he drove away, seated, with his few worldly possessions beside him, on the top of a load of green forage.

The next day he arrived at the lager of Commandant Badenhorst's commando on the farm Waterval near the "Sein koppies," and now we close the chapter with the following words, which I have translated from his diary:

"The crown has been set on my undertaking. G.o.d be thanked, I find myself again amongst free men, with weapon in hand. For the first time in the past four months I feel myself secure. There is no one, on my arrival, who gives one sign of interest or appreciation; one burgher even asks me why I had not rather remained in Pretoria.

"This stolid and philosophic view of life is characteristic of the Boer and certainly does not discourage me.

"Excitement and enthusiasm do not appear to be the children of the great solitudes, the slumbering sunlit vastnesses; nay, rather do they spring from the unbroken friction of many spirits, sparks bursting from the anvil of the great, restlessly driven activity of the world."

Mr. Celliers remained in the field until the war was over.

CHAPTER X

A LITTLE ADVENTURE WITH THE BRITISH SOLDIER

The exquisite summer of 1901 was drawing to a close.

January and February had been months of unsurpa.s.sed splendour and riotous luxury in fruit and flowers, each day being more gorgeous than the last. The glorious sunsets, the mysterious and exquisitely peaceful moonlight nights were a never-ending source of joy to our young writer, thrilling her being with emotions not to be described.

Each morning at 5 o'clock, while the rest of the idiotic world lay asleep within its cramped boundary of brick and stone, Hansie revelled in the beauties of Nature, abandoning herself to at least one hour of perfect bliss before the toil and trouble of another day could occupy her mind.

The garden being so situated that its most secluded spots were far removed from any sights and sounds which could remind one of the war, Hansie had no difficulty in turning her thoughts into more uplifting channels during the peaceful morning hour, spent, when the weather permitted, in her favourite corner under the six gigantic willows below the orange avenue.

And the weather in those days nearly always permitted!

Most of the entries in her diary she made in this fair spot, alone, but for the sympathetic presence of her big black dog. The morning solitude was amply atoned for by the dozens of young friends who joined the "fruit parties" every afternoon, filling the air with their gay voices and wholesome, happy laughter.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE SIX WILLOWS, HARMONY.]

Four or five young men and a bevy of beautiful young girls were amongst the most constant visitors at Harmony. The girls, often referred to in Hansie's diary as the "Four Graces," were certainly the most exquisite specimens of budding womanhood in Pretoria.

There was Consuelo, tall and slender, our languid "Spanish beauty,"

with her rich brown hair and slumbrous dark-brown eyes; there was our little Marguerite, fresh and fair as the flower after which she was named, an opening marguerite in the dewy daintiness of life's first summer morning; there was Annie, spoilt and wilful but undoubtedly the fairest of them all; and then there was her sister Sara, Hansie's favourite, with a girlish charm impossible to describe. Her creamy white complexion, her lovely soft brown eyes, her winning smile and tender voice--what could be more delightful than to sit and watch her as she moved and spoke with rare, unconscious grace, clad in a snowy dress of fine white muslin!

One sweet summer morn, a Sabbath, if I remember correctly, when the air was filled with the fragrance of innumerable buds and blossoms, Hansie sat in the accustomed spot, with her diary on her lap. She was not writing then, but, with a slip of paper in her hands and a gleam of mischief in her eyes, she was repeating with evident enjoyment a few catching lines.

"Oh, Carlo, this is lovely! I must learn these verses and recite them to the girls when they come this afternoon! Listen, Carlo."

FROM KITCHENER TO SECRETARY OF STATE FOR WAR

_Sunday_

I am taking measures once for all to clear my reputation; I swear to give de Wet a fall that means annihilation.

_Monday_

A brilliant action by Brabant, the enemy has fled, Their loss was something dreadful; ours--one single Kaffir dead.

_Tuesday_

De Wet is short of food-stuffs, his ammunition's done, His horses are all dying, and he's only got one gun.

_Wednesday_

The cordon draws in round de Wet; he now has little room, He only can escape one way--by road to Potchefstroom.

_Thursday_

De Wet is now caged like a rat, he's fairly in a box, Around him grouped are Clements, Clery, Methuen, French, and Knox.

_Friday_

An unfortunate event occurred--I report it with regret, A convoy with five hundred men was captured by de Wet.

_Sat.u.r.day_

A Kaffir runner says he saw de Wet's men trekking west, With ammunition for two years, and food supply the best.

_Sat.u.r.day (later)_

A loyal farmer told our Scouts de Wet was riding east, Each man, beside the horse he rode, was leading a spare beast.

Carlo wagged his tail sympathetically.

Overhead the sky was of the deepest, richest sapphire blue, paling away to the horizon to the most delicate tints, against which the distant hills showed up in bold relief.

"Gentleman Jim," one of the native servants, was evidently enjoying his Sunday too, for he loitered in the garden, plucking up a weed here and there and watching the bees at work, the busy bees who know of no day of rest.

"Bring me some grapes, please, Jim," Hansie called out to him.

"Yes, little missie," with alacrity. "What you like? Them black ones or them white ones?"

"Some of both."