CHAPTER XIX
HANS COETZEE COMES TO PRETORIA
Once he had turned the corner, John's recovery was rapid. Naturally of
a vigorous constitution, when the artery had reunited, he soon made up
for the great loss of blood which he had undergone, and in a little
more than a month from the date of his wound physically, was almost as
good a man as ever.
One morning--it was the 20th of March--Jess and he were sitting in
"The Palatial" garden. John was lying in a lone cane deck chair that
Jess had borrowed or stolen out of one of the deserted houses, and
smoking a pipe. By his side, in a hole in the flat arm of the chair,
fashioned originally to receive a soda-water tumbler, was a great
bunch of purple grapes which she had gathered for him; and on his
knees lay a copy of that journalistic curiosity, the "News of the
Camp," which was chiefly remarkable for its utter dearth of news. It
was not easy to run a journal in a beleaguered town.
They sat in silence: John puffing away at his pipe, and Jess, her work
--one of his socks--lying idly upon her knees, her hands clasped over
it, and her eyes fixed upon the lights and shadows that played with
broad fingers upon the wooded slopes beyond.
So silently did they sit that a great green lizard came and basked
himself in the sun within a yard of them, and a beautiful striped
butterfly perched deliberately upon the purple grapes! It was a
delightful day and a delightful spot. They were too far from the camp
to be disturbed by its rude noise, and the only sounds that reached
their ears were the rippling of running water and the whispers of the
wind, odorous with the breath of mimosa blooms, as it stirred the
stiff grey leaves on the blue gums.
They were seated in the shade of the little house that Jess had
learned to love as she had never loved a spot before, but around them
lay the flood of sunshine shimmering like golden water; and beyond the
red line of the fence at the end of the garden, where the rich
pomegranate bloom tried to blush the roses down, the hot air danced
merrily above the rough stone wall like a million microscopic elves at
play. Peace! everywhere was peace! and in it the full heart of Nature
beat out in radiant life. Peace in the voice of the turtle-doves among
the willows! peace in the play of the sunshine and the murmur of the
wind! peace in the growing flowers and hovering butterfly! Jess looked
out at the wealth and glory which were spread before her, and thought
that it was like heaven; then, giving way to the melancholy strain in
her nature, she began to wonder idly how many human beings had sat and
thought the same things, and had been gathered up into the azure of
the past and forgotten; and how many would sit and think there when
she in her turn had been utterly swept away into that gulf whence no
echo ever comes! But what did it matter? The sunshine would still
flood the earth with gold, the water would ripple, and the butterflies
hover; and there would be other women to sit and fold their hands and
consider them, thinking the same identical thoughts, beyond which our
human intelligence cannot travel. And so on for thousands upon
thousands of centuries, till at last the old world reaches its
journey's appointed end, and, passing from the starry spaces, is
swallowed up with those it bore.
And she--where would she be? Would she still live on, and love and
suffer elsewhere, or was it all a cruel myth? Was she merely a
creature bred of the teeming earth, or had she an individuality beyond
the earth? What awaited her after sunset?--Sleep. She had often hoped
that it was sleep, and nothing but sleep. But now she did not hope
that. Her life had centred itself around a new interest, and one that
she felt could never die while that life lasted. She hoped for a
future now; for if there was a future for her, there would be one for
/him/, and then her day would come, and where he was there she would
be also. Oh, sweet mockery, old and unsubstantial thought, bright
dream set halowise about the dull head of life! Who has not dream it,
but who can believe in it? And yet, who shall say that it is not true?
Though philosophers and scientists smile and point in derision to the
gross facts and freaks that mark our passions, is it not possible that
there may be a place where the love shall live when the lust has died;
and where Jess will find that she has not sat in vain in the sunshine,
throwing out her pure heart towards the light of a happiness and a
visioned glory whereof, for some few minutes, the shadow seemed to lie
within her?
John had finished his pipe, and, although she did not know it, was
watching her face, which, now when she was off her guard, was no
longer impassive, but seemed to mirror the tender and glorious hope
that was floating through her mind. Her lips were slightly parted, and
her wide eyes were full of a soft strange light, while on the whole
countenance was stamped a look of eager thought and spiritualised
desire such as he had known portrayed in ancient masterpieces upon the
face of the Virgin Mother. Except as regards her eyes and hair, Jess
was not even a good-looking person. But, at that moment, John thought
that her face was touched with a diviner beauty than he had yet seen
on the face of woman. It thrilled him and appealed to him, not as
Bessie's beauty had appealed, but to that other side of his nature, of
which Jess alone could turn the key. It was more like the face of a
spirit than that of a human being, and it almost frightened him to see
it.
"Jess," he said at last, "what are you thinking of?"
She started, and her face resumed its normal expression. It was as
though a mask had been suddenly set upon it.
"Why do you ask?" she said.
"Because I want to know. I never saw you look like that before."
She laughed a little.
"You would call me foolish if I told you what I was thinking about.
Never mind, it has gone wherever thoughts go. I will tell you what I
am thinking about now, which is--that it is about time we got out of
this place. My uncle and Bessie must be half distracted."
"We've had more than two months of it now. The relieving column can't
be far off," suggested John; for these foolish people in Pretoria
laboured under a firm belief that one fine morning they would be
gratified with a vision of the light dancing down a long line of
British bayonets, and of Boers evaporating in every direction like
storm clouds before the sun.
Jess shook her head. She was beginning to lose faith in relieving
columns that never came.
"If we don't help ourselves, my opinion is that we may stop here till
we are starved out, which in fact we are. However, it's no use talking
about it, so I'm off to fetch our rations. Let's see, have you
everything you want?"
"Everything, thanks."
"Well, then, mind you stop quiet till I come back."
"Why," laughed John, "I am as strong as a horse."
"Possibly; but that is what the doctor said, you know. Good-bye!" and
Jess took her big basket and started on what John used feebly to call
her "rational undertaking."
She had not gone fifty paces from the door before she suddenly caught
sight of a familiar form seated on a familiar pony. The form was fat
and jovial-looking, and the pony was small but also fat. It was Hans
Coetzee--none other!
Jess could hardly believe her eyes. Old Hans in Pretoria! What could
it mean?
"/Oom/ Coetzee! /Oom/ Coetzee!" she called, as he came ambling past
her, evidently heading for the Heidelberg road.
The old Boer pulled up his pony, and gazed around him in a mystified
fashion.
"Here, /Oom/ Coetzee! Here!"
"/Allemachter!/" he said, jerking his pony round. "It's you, Missie
Jess, is it? Now who would have thought of seeing you here?"
"Who would have thought of seeing /you/ here?" she answered.
"Yes, yes; it seems strange; I dare say that it seems strange. But I
am a messenger of peace, like Uncle Noah's dove in the ark, you know.
The fact is," and he glanced round to see if anybody was listening, "I
have been sent by the Government to arrange about an exchange of
prisoners."
"The Government! What Government?"
"What Government? Why, the Triumvirate, of course--whom may the Lord
bless and prosper, as He did Jonah when he walked on the wall of the
city."
"Joshua, when he walked round the wall of the city," suggested Jess.
"Jonah walked down the whale's throat."
"Ah! to be sure, so he did, and blew a trumpet inside. I remember now;
though I am sure I don't know how he did it. The fact is that our
glorious victories have quite confused me. Ah! what a thing it is to
be a patriot! The dear Lord makes strong the arm of the patriot, and
takes care that he hits his man well in the middle."
"You have turned wonderfully patriotic all of a sudden, /Oom/
Coetzee," said Jess tartly.
"Yes, missie, yes; I am a patriot to the bone of my back! I hate the
English Government; damn the English Government! Let us have our land
back and our /Volksraad/. Almighty! I saw who was in the right at
Laing's Nek there. Ah, those poor /rooibaatjes!/ I killed four of them
myself; two as they came up, and two as they ran away, and the last
one went head-over-heels like a buck. Poor man! I cried for him
afterwards. I did not like going to fight at all, but Frank Muller
sent to me and said that if I did not go he would have me shot. Ah, he
is a devil of a man, that Frank Muller! So I went, and when I saw how
the dear Lord had put it into the heart of the English general to be a
bigger fool even that day than he is every day, and to try and drive
us out of Laing's Nek with a thousand of his poor /rooibaatjes/, then,
I tell you, I saw where the right lay, and I said, 'Damn the English
Government! What is the English Government doing here?' and after
Ingogo I said it again."
"Never mind all that, /Oom/ Coetzee," broke in Jess. "I have heard you
tell a different tale before, and perhaps you will again. How are my
uncle and my sister? Are they at the farm?"
"Almighty! you don't suppose that I have been there to see, do you?
But, yes, I have heard they are there. It is a nice place, that
Mooifontein, and I think that I shall buy it when we have turned all
you English people out of the land. Frank Muller told me that they
were there. And now I must be getting on, or that devil of a man,
Frank Muller, will want to know what I have been about."
"/Oom/ Coetzee," said Jess, "will you do something for me? We are old
friends, you know, and once I persuaded my uncle to lend you five
hundred pounds when all your oxen died of the lungsick."
"Yes, yes, it shall be paid back one day--when we have hunted the
damned Englishmen out of the country." And he began to gather up his
reins preparatory to riding off.
"Will you do me a favour?" said Jess, catching the pony by the bridle.
"What is it? What is it, missie? I must be getting on. That devil of a
man, Frank Muller, is waiting for me with the prisoners at the
Rooihuis Kraal."
"I want a pass for myself and Captain Niel, and an escort. We wish to
go home."
The old Boer held up his fat hands in amazement.
"Almighty!" he said, "it is impossible. A pass!--who ever heard of
such a thing? Come, I must be going."
"It is not impossible, Uncle Coetzee, as you know," said Jess.
"Listen! If I get that pass I will speak to my uncle about the five
hundred pounds. Perhaps he would not want it all back again."
"Ah!" said the Boer. "Well, we are old friends, missie, and 'never
desert a friend,' that is my saying. Almighty! I must ride a hundred
miles--I will swim through blood for a friend. Well, well, I must see.
It depends upon that devil of a man, Frank Muller. Where are you to be
found--in the white house yonder? Good. To-morrow the escort will come
in with the prisoners, and if I can get it they will bring the pass.
But, missie, remember the five hundred pounds. If you do not speak to
your uncle about that I shall be even with him. Almighty! what a thing
it is to have a good heart, and to love to help your friends! Well,
good-day, good-day," and off he cantered on his fat pony, his broad
face shining with a look of unutterable benevolence.
Jess cast a look of contempt after him, and then went on towards the
camp to fetch the rations.
When she returned to "The Palatial," she told John what had taken
place, and suggested that it would be as well, in case there should be
a favourable reply to her request, to have everything prepared for a
start. Accordingly, the cart was brought down and stood outside "The
Palatial," where John unscrewed the patent caps and filled them with
castor-oil, and ordered Mouti to keep the horses, which were all in
health, though "poor" from want of proper food, well within hail.
Meanwhile, old Hans pursued the jerky tenour of his way for an hour or
so, till he came in sight of a small red house.
Presently, from the shadow in front of the red house emerged a rider,
mounted on a powerful black horse. The horseman--a stern, handsome,
bearded man--put his hand above his eyes to shade them from the sun,
and gazed up the road. Then he seemed suddenly to strike his spurs
into the horse, for the animal bounded forward swiftly, and came
sweeping towards Hans at a hand gallop.
"Ah! it is that devil of a man, Frank Muller!" ejaculated Coetzee.
"Now I wonder what he wants? I always feel cold down the back when he
comes near me."
By this time the plunging black horse was being reined up alongside of
his pony so sharply that it reared till its great hoofs were pawing
the air within a few inches of Hans' head.
"Almighty!" said the old man, tugging his pony round. "Be careful,
nephew, be careful; I do not wish to be crushed like a beetle."
Frank Muller--for it was he--smiled. He had made his horse rear
purposely, in order to frighten the old man, whom he knew to be an
arrant coward.
"Why have you been so long? and what have you done with the
Englishmen? You should have been back half an hour ago."
"And so I should, nephew, and so I should, if I had not been detained.
Surely you do not suppose that I would linger in the accursed place?
Bah," and he spat upon the ground, "it stinks of Englishmen. I cannot
get the taste of them out of my mouth."
"You are a liar, Uncle Coetzee," was the cool answer. "English with
the English, Boer with the Boer. You blow neither hot nor cold. Be
careful lest I show you up. I know you and your talk. Do you remember
what you were saying to the Englishman Niel in the inn-yard at
Wakkerstroom when you turned and saw me? I heard, and I do not forget.
You know what happens to a 'land betrayer'?"
Hans' teeth positively chattered, and his florid face blanched with
fear.
"What do you mean, nephew?" he asked.
"I--ah!--I mean nothing. I was only speaking a word of warning to you
as a friend. I have heard things said about you by----" and he dropped
his voice and whispered a name, at the sound of which poor Hans turned
whiter than ever.
"Well," went on his tormentor, when he had sufficiently enjoyed his
terror, "what sort of terms did you make in Pretoria?"
"Oh, good, nephew, good," he gabbled, delighted to find a fresh
subject. "I found the Englishmen supple as a tanned skin. They will
give up their twelve prisoners for our four. The men are to be in by
ten to-morrow. I told their commandant about Laing's Nek and Ingogo,
and he would not believe me. He thought I lied like himself. They are
getting hungry there now. I saw a Hottentot I knew, and he told me
that their bones were beginning to show."
"They will be through the skin before long," muttered Frank. "Well,
here we are at the house. The General is there. He has just come up
from Heidelberg, and you can make your report to him. Did you find out
about the Englishman--Captain Niel? Is it true that he is dead?"
"No, he is not dead. By the way, I met /Oom/ Croft's niece--the dark
one. She is shut up there with the Captain, and she begged me to try
and get them a pass to go home. Of course I told her that it was
nonsense, and that they must stop and starve with the others."
Muller, who had been listening to this last piece of information with
intense interest, suddenly checked his horse and answered:
"Did you? Then you are a bigger fool than I thought you. Who gave you
authority to decide whether they should have a pass or not?"
