The head censor being away at the time, she was shown into the presence of a man whose very appearance excited her strongest antipathy. In the first place he had a purely Dutch name, and she knew that he could not occupy a position of so much trust under the British without being a traitor to his own countrymen.

Secondly, he seemed to derive much pleasure from her visit and, when she told him who she was, had the audacity to say:

"I always enjoy your letters very much, Miss van Warmelo; they quite repay me for my trouble!"

When taxed with confiscating and mutilating them, he was all concern and innocence personified.

No, indeed, he could never be guilty of such a breach of gallantry and etiquette, the fault must lie elsewhere; he was her friend, and if she would promise to bring all her letters to him personally, he would see that they were passed.

"Miserable Renegade!" she thought, with boiling blood.

Instantly it flashed through her mind that it would be foolish indeed to make an enemy of this man. Her whole manner changed.

"How very kind of you!" she said. "Yes, I shall come myself if you are sure I shall not be giving you too much trouble."

"A pleasure, I assure you," bowing with great gallantry, and Hansie went home to tell her mother what had happened.

After this interview with the censor, he allowed their letters to pass with unfailing regularity.

True to her promise, Hansie took her European mail to him herself every week, and this brought her into contact with him frequently. He was always affable (hatefully affable) and obliging, and the thought of this man made it more and more difficult for her to write, especially those letters destined for the north of Holland.

One day she asked her mother to think of some plan by which she could use the censor for her own purposes, without his knowledge, and this set Mrs. van Warmelo's active mind and resourceful brain working, with what result we shall see in our next chapter.



CHAPTER VIII

OUTWITTING THE CENSOR

If the method of writing between the lines in chemicals presented itself to Mrs. van Warmelo's mind for a moment, it was dismissed as too crude and well-known, and, in consequence, too dangerous.

And yet she found her thoughts reverting persistently to chemicals as the only solution to the problem before her. One day she took the strained juice of a lemon and wrote a few words with it on a sheet of white paper. When dry, there was no trace of the written words to be seen until she had passed a hot iron over them. Imagine her joy and satisfaction when they showed up clear and distinct, in a colour of yellowish brown. Well satisfied with her experiment, she sought and found a square white envelope of thick paper and good quality, which she carefully opened out, by inserting and rolling the thin end of a penholder along the part that was glued. Spreading the envelope before her on the table, she wrote some sentences in lemon juice on the inside, folding it into shape again and pasting it down with great care and neatness. This envelope she placed in Hansie's hands, with an expectant look, when the latter came home that afternoon.

Hansie turned it over, examined it on all sides and shook her head, puzzled.

"Open it," her mother suggested, "and look inside."

Hansie opened it and, peering into it, shook her head again, more mystified than ever.

"I give it up, mother," she said. "Come, don't be so mysterious—tell me what it all means."

Mrs. van Warmelo then took the envelope, opened it with the penholder again, and, producing the hot iron which she had been keeping in readiness for the psychological moment, she ironed out the flattened sheet and revealed to the astonished gaze of her daughter the written words within.

At first Hansie was speechless with admiration; then she threw her arms round her mother and hugged her vigorously.

"Really, mother," she exclaimed, "I am proud of you. How we shall be able to dupe 'Miserable Renegade' now!"

The full importance of this discovery was not realised at the time, for all their smuggling had hitherto been carried on merely for pleasure and they had had no information of any importance to communicate to their friends across the seas; but, in the light of after-events, they realised that they had been led to make their preparations and to have their methods in full working order before the time came to use them in conveying dispatches from the Boer Secret Service to President Kruger in Holland.

They were now in the possession of a scheme which defied detection, and the next thing to be done was to inform some distant conspirator of this valuable discovery and instruct him in the use of it.

That this could not be done through the post, my reader will understand, and as reliable opportunities were becoming more rare, Hansie had to wait some months and to possess her soul in patience until at last some trusted friend, leaving the country, could be persuaded to convey the important instructions.

When and how they were eventually sent I cannot tell with positive certainty. There is a difference of opinion on this point between Mrs. van Warmelo and her daughter, and there is no way of settling the dispute, because Hansie's diary contains no word about the White Envelope, for reasons which it will hardly be necessary to explain.

Mrs. van Warmelo says the instructions were dispatched in a false double-bottom of an ordinary safety match-box. Hansie thinks they were either hidden behind a photo-frame or in a tin of insect-powder, both these methods having been employed on various occasions, but at present we are only concerned with the fact that the instructions reached their destination safely, and from that day until the end of the war a gloriously free and uninterrupted communication was kept up between Harmony and Alphen and one spot in the north of Holland, of which we shall hear more as our story unfolds itself.

Further experimenting showed that the lemon-juice became visible after a few days when written on certain papers, while on others there was nothing to be seen after many weeks, and this danger was immediately communicated to Holland as a very serious one, for it stands to reason that the danger connected with the sending of the White Envelope from South Africa was nothing compared to the danger of receiving one and having it censored three weeks after it had been written.

One had to keep in mind that letters leaving the country would be censored immediately and would not be subjected to further scrutiny in Europe, whereas letters for South Africa ran every risk of being betrayed on examination, after a three-weeks' journey by land and sea.

When the smuggled instructions were well on their way, the first White Envelope was written to Holland, and carelessly thrust amongst a pile of other letters by the quaking Hansie when next she handed her mail to "Miserable Renegade."

He glanced through them all without examining them, merely putting the mark of the censor on them and assuring Hansie that they would be forwarded that very day.

No seven weeks could have been longer or more full of suspense than those which followed, and the excitement at Harmony when in due time a square white envelope in the well-known hand arrived from Holland can better be imagined than described.

With what anxiety it was opened and how eagerly examined before the hot iron was applied! how keen the delight when nothing legible was found, even on the closest inspection! What relief, at last, when the written messages became not only legible, but clear and distinct!

So this method was going to answer beyond their wildest expectations!

To make assurance doubly sure, and because Hansie did not trust "Miserable Renegade" one jot, she sometimes made use of friends, going to Johannesburg, to post her White Envelope there, giving as her reason for doing so the difficulties she had had with the Pretoria censor.

Of course the secret of the White Envelope was not confided even to her most intimate friends.

This correspondence having been fairly established, there was nothing to prevent Hansie from using the European mail every week; but to avoid needless risks and the possible exposure of the valuable secret, it was agreed to use it only in cases of extreme necessity.

The sign of the White Envelope became an understood thing between the conspirators, and for all other correspondence grey and coloured envelopes were used.

The correspondent in the north of Holland was a young minister of the Gospel who had taken for years an unusual interest in Hansie's career.

At this point of our story the two young people, after some years of estrangement, brought about by an unfortunate misunderstanding on his part, pride and self-will on hers, had reached the delightfully unsettling stage of exchanging photographs, the sequel of which took place under the most romantic circumstances, not to be related in this volume.

"It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good," the young man must often have thought, as he faithfully carried out every instruction from the scene of action.

All communications for the President and Dr. Leyds were sent to him (through the White Envelope), because it was not considered safe to correspond with them direct, even through the medium of the lemon-juice discovery.

As time went on, this method of communication was used for many purposes and always with success, but some time after the war, when it was Hansie's right and privilege to go through the war correspondence of the young minister of religion, she came upon a letter from Dr. Leyds to him, in which she read, with growing interest, the following information:

"I cannot conceal from you that I was startled when I opened the last white envelope, for I was able to read the whole report, though the writing was faint, without applying the heating process to it. Perhaps this letter lay in a warm place near the engine-rooms on the voyage. Will you not send a timely warning? You could, for instance, say that the measles have come out and are plainly visible, even without the application of hot compresses. Those people are quite clever enough to understand what you wish to convey to them."

This warning did not reach Harmony at the time. Perhaps the censor, trained as he must have been in the art of reading dangerous meanings into seemingly harmless sentences, decided in his own mind that it would be advisable to keep the information about the measles to himself, and consigned the letter to the waste-paper basket.

In time experience taught the conspirators at Harmony that the greatest care would be necessary in the use of the White Envelope, and to this they probably owe the fact that it was never found out by the enemy.

The reproductions given here of specimens of the White Envelope, showing the address on one side and the written messages on the other, will give the reader an idea of how this correspondence was carried on. We do not vouch for the accuracy of the information conveyed in the following translation of the contents of this envelope. The figures were quoted from memory, but the general impression conveyed in this report, of the condition of the commandos at the time, is reliable and correct. On the side flaps of the envelope certain love messages were written. These have been covered over with blank paper and are not for publication.







[Translation]

CONTENTS OF WHITE ENVELOPE

From Head of Secret Service to President

PRETORIA, February 12th, 1902.

With Commandos all is still about the same as when I was here in December. Much ammunition has been taken from the enemy recently.

No want of food, horses fairly good, but clothing very scarce.

Three weeks ago I was with the Commandant-General. All well with him. Government in good health, burghers full of courage. Good tidings received from President Steyn.

Everything plentiful in Free State.

General Botha is now in Ermelo district with 1,000 men; de la Rey between Klerksdorp and Rustenburg, 1,500 men; Beyers near Pietersberg, 1,000 men; Muller near Pilgrim's Rest, on Delagoa line, with 600 or 700 men; Piet Viljoen between Heidelberg and Middelburg, 1,200; Christian Botha, district Utrecht, 600; Smuts has gone to the Colony with 1,500. These are the big Commandos only. There are many small forces of 100 or a few hundred men under petty officers. Engagements: January 15th General Botha defeated enemy. Three wounded on our side. Enemy's loss, 46 killed, 92 wounded, 150 prisoners. 200 horses taken, 15,000 rounds of ammunition. Great victory by Commandant-General on the 3rd inst. No full report received yet.

Everywhere small engagements.

Many prisoners taken from our ranks lately, through the poor condition of our horses. Things better now. De la Rey has had a few small victories. On December 25th engagement under de Wet near Frankfort. Our side victorious. A camp of 500 men taken, 150 killed and wounded, 200 captures, 2 Armstrongs taken with 400 shells; 1 Nordenbeldt with 2,500 maxim pompoms; rifle ammunition 150,000; all the horses and cattle. The enemy is plundered daily. Health of burghers excellent. Plenty of fruit. Our losses, as usual, miraculously small.

Through perseverance and faith we hope to gain a certain victory.



CHAPTER IX

JAN CELLIERS, POET AND PATRIOT

That there is more than one man of the name of Jan Celliers in South Africa I know, but there is only one Jan Celliers who can be honoured by the title "Poet and Patriot," and that is the remarkable personality of our friend in Pretoria, J.F.E. Celliers.

I have chosen him as the subject of this chapter, not so much because of the important, I may almost say revolutionary part he has played in the building up of South African literature since the war, as on account of the unique patriotism displayed by him throughout the war under circumstances of the severest test and trial.

How he, after active service in the field since the beginning of the war, came to be locked up in Pretoria as an unseen prisoner of war, an unwilling captive between the green walls of his suburban garden, when the British took possession of the capital on that stupefying June 5th, 1900, we shall briefly relate in this chapter.

Mr. Celliers' experience was that of many good and faithful burghers.

The news of heavy Boer losses, the desperately forced march of the British troops from Bloemfontein to Pretoria, the crushing blows in quick succession, the departure of the Boer Administration from the seat of government, the demoralisation of the scattered forces, and the painful uncertainty of what the next step was to be—these things, combined with the fact, in Mr. Celliers' case, of having no riding-horse or bicycle on which to escape from the town, caused him to be surprised by the wholly unexpected entry of the British forces into the capital. Just a brief period of dazed inaction, a few hours of stupefied uncertainty, and he found himself hopelessly cut off from every chance of escape.

He planned escape from the beginning, for conscientious scruples forbade his taking the oath of neutrality. Of the oath of allegiance there was no question whatever.

There was nothing for it but to keep himself hidden until an opportunity for escaping to his fellow-countrymen in the field presented itself.

The first three weeks were spent in the garden, but it soon became evident that listening ears and prying eyes were being paid to discover his whereabouts, and closer confinement was found necessary. Thereafter he sat between four walls, reading and writing during the greater part of the day, keeping a watchful eye on the little front gate through a narrow opening in the window-blind and disappearing, through a trap-door, under the floor as soon as a soldier or official entered the gate.

When darkness fell he left his cramped hiding-place, and gliding unseen through the house and yard, this weary prisoner occupied himself with exercises for the preservation of his health, running, jumping, standing on his head, and plying the skipping-rope vigorously, under the protecting shadows of the dark cypress trees.

The weeks went by, broken once by the intense excitement of a visit of one of the burghers from the field.

Mrs. Celliers' brother, M. Duerr, had crept into town at dead of night between the British sentinels on a dangerous mission for the Boers. A short week he spent with his brother-in-law, sharing his confinement and making plans for his escape. Then he was gone, and the old deadly monotony settled over the house once more.

July went by, and August was nearly spent when at last an opportunity presented itself, and Mr. Celliers, in woman's garb, bade wife and children a passionate farewell, not to see them again for nearly two years.

With a cloak over his shoulders and a high collar concealing his closely cropped hair, his wife's skirt on, and a heavy veil covering a straw hat, he stepped boldly into a small vehicle standing waiting before his gate and drove through the streets of Pretoria. For the time at least he too belonged to the "Petticoat Commando." Mrs. Malan was in the cart, and had been sent by Mrs. Joubert to escort him through the town.

The disguise was taken before a thought could be given to the possible consequences of such a step. Spurred by the heroic attitude and fine courage displayed by his wife, Mr. Celliers lost not a moment in availing himself of the long-looked-for opportunity.

The thrilling adventures and hairbreadth escapes he went through in that memorable flight for duty and freedom will no doubt be found accurately recorded in his book on the war, which I know to be "in the making" at the present moment. Suffice it to say that he reached the farm of a friend near Silkatsnek in safety, where, he had been informed, he would find Boer commandos in the neighbourhood.

Disappointment awaited him, however. The commando had withdrawn to the north, followed closely by thousands of British troops whose proximity to the farm made it dangerous, not only for him, but for the people who harboured him, to remain there longer than one night. A farm-hand, a trusted native servant, was asked to undertake the task of escorting Mr. Celliers to the Boer lines. After some hesitation he consented. The risk was great, but the promise of L20 reward when the war was over acted like a charm, and the two set forth before break of day on their perilous adventure.

Here and there the tiny light of an outpost on the open field warned them to make a wide detour. The crackling of the short burnt stubbles of grass under their feet caused them to hold their breath and listen with loudly beating hearts for the dreaded "Halt! Who goes there?"

When the light of day began to break over earth and sky, the Kaffir, in evident anxiety, warned the Baas to hide in a large dense tree while he, the Kaffir, went on ahead to reconnoitre. He departed—not to return again, base coward that he was, and the unfortunate man in the tree waited for hours until it dawned on him that he had been deserted at the most critical moment. He stepped from his hiding-place, quickly deciding to walk nonchalantly forward, the open veld leaving no possible means of pursuing his way under cover.

He passes many isolated homesteads, some ruined and deserted, others inhabited by aged people, delicate women, and little children only. One and all they shrink from him when he relates his story. They do not trust him—he may be in the employment of the British, a trap set for the unwary; their homes are closed to him. He pursues his way wearily. What is that approaching him in the distance? With straining eyes he is able to distinguish a group of horsemen coming towards him, and with lightning-like rapidity he turns from his course and jumps into the washed-out bed of a small rivulet flowing by. A group of startled Kaffir children gaze at him in astonishment. The riders come in clear view—not horsemen, but a number of Kaffir women with earthenware pots on their heads. These they fill with water, and mounting their horses depart the way they came.

With renewed hope and thankfulness at his heart our traveller resumes his course in the lengthening shadows of the short winter afternoon. At last he reaches a German mission station.

No refuge for him here! For the inhabitants are "neutral," but he is informed that a few days before 20,000 British troops had passed that way in a northward direction, in hot pursuit of the Boer commandos fleeing to the Waterberg district. The benevolent old missionary directs him to a small farm in the neighbourhood where a Boer woman lives alone with her little children. Perhaps she can give him some idea of the safest route for him to take. But no, the woman turns from him in extreme agitation, refuses to answer his questions, and is so evidently distressed at his appearance that he turns away and withdraws to the veld to think. What now? What now?

He is sitting on the outskirts of the great bush-veld, that endless stretch of forest-growth, dense and dark as far as the eye can reach. Shall he enter that, unarmed, without provisions or water and totally ignorant of the direction to take? He shudders. The blackness of the night is creeping over the scene, and over his soul desolation and despair.

"I must return to the mission station," he decides at last. "Surely they will give me refuge for the night!"

Slowly he drags his weary limbs across the veld, hesitatingly he presents himself, falteringly he proffers his request. A moment's hesitation and the family circle opens to receive him, its members crowd round him with words of comfort and small deeds of love. They are not doing right, but they will do well. Nothing is left undone to restore and refresh the exhausted fugitive, who soon finds himself in a perfect haven of domestic happiness and luxury.

As the evening wears on, the small harmonium is opened, and while the younger members of the family are singing sweet part-songs together, our hero turns over the leaves of a small book he has found lying on the table, a book of German quotations. His eyes are attracted by the following lines by Dessler:

Lenkst du durch Wusten meine Reise, Ich folg, und lehne mich auf Dich Du gibst mir aus der Wolken Speise Und Traenkest aus dem Felsen mich, Ich traue Deinen Wunderwegen, Sie enden sich in Lieb und Segen, Genug, wenn ich Dich bei mir hab.

They are like balm to his troubled soul, and he commits them to memory for future use. God knows the future looks desperate enough to him, for he feels that he cannot remain in this haven of rest. Consideration for the safety of his kind friends forbids this. He soon departs, having heard that, for the present at least, the western direction is open to him, and, in taking this, his tribulations begin afresh.

Unused to exercise as he has been during the long months of his confinement, this traveller, in pursuing his course with so much patience and steadfast determination, now finds himself hardly able to walk. The tender feet are swollen and bleeding to such an extent that he finds it impossible to remove his heavy boots. Halting, stumbling, he continues on his way.

By good fortune he meets with another Kaffir guide, who leads him to a small Kaffir hut and revives him with a draught of Kaffir beer. A few moments' rest, and they are on the way again.

The day was far spent when they reached a Kaffir kraal, and here Mr. Celliers sank down in agony of mind and body, too great for words. More Kaffir beer was respectfully tendered to him and he drank it gratefully, meanwhile watching with dull interest the Kaffir babies, jet black and stark naked, except for a small fringe of blue beads about the loins, as they crept around him, like so many playful kittens.

He was not long allowed to rest, the good guide urging him to make a final effort, and encouraging him with the assurance that he would find a farm not far distant, the home of Mr. Piet Roos, of Krokodil Poort.

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 passed 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 assisting 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 passed 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. God 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 unsurpassed 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.



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.

Saturday

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

Saturday (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."

He walked briskly to the house to fetch a basket and disappeared into the vineyard, returning shortly with a plentiful supply of luscious grapes.

"Thank you, Jim. Enough for a week!" Hansie laughed, and he looked pleased as he went off in the direction of the river.

A few moments later, half concealed by the shrubs and rank grass with which the lower part of Harmony was overrun, Hansie noticed two stooping figures in khaki, moving forward cautiously and then making sudden dashes at some object, invisible to the girl. She watched them intently, wondering who the intruders were and what their game could be, until they came so near that she was able to distinguish what it was they nourished in their hands. Butterfly nets!

A pair of harmless Tommies, spending their Sunday morning in catching butterflies and the other insects of which there abounded so large a variety at that time of the year.

They did not catch sight of the girl until Carlo sprang up barking furiously, and then they started back in consternation and surprise.

"Lie down, Carlo," Hansie commanded sharply. "Good morning," to the men.

"Good morning, miss," respectfully; "I hope we are not intrudin'."

"Certainly not. Are you catching butterflies? Show me what you have got."

The men produced their spoil with pride.

"Will you have some grapes?" Hansie asked, handing the basket to one of them, who helped himself gratefully and then passed it on to his comrade. The latter, evidently not of a very sociable disposition, took a bunch and walked off in pursuit of more butterflies.

The first soldier, however, squatted down on the ground at some little distance from the girl and began to talk, as he ate the grapes with great relish. At this point Carlo raised himself with the utmost deliberation, yawned, stretched himself, and sauntering (I cannot call it anything except sauntering) slowly towards his mistress, laid his full length on the ground between her and the Tommy. Then he went sound asleep to all appearances, but his mistress observed that when the soldier made the slightest movement, the dog's ears twitched or an eyelid quivered.

Slowly eating his grapes, the man glanced curiously at the book on Hansie's lap.

"Are you sketchin', miss?" he asked.

"No; writing."

"Poetry?"

There was no answer.

"I am one of Lord Kitchener's body-guard," he went on presently. "We are encamped near Berea Park on the other side of your fence. We were in Middelburg last week and I saw one of the Boer Generals, General Botha."

Hansie's heart bounded. She looked at the man incredulously.

"Indeed! How was that possible?"

"Quite simple, miss. Lord Kitchener invited the General into town to have an interview with him. His brother—I think his name is Christian—came with him. I acted as their orderly."

"Tell me more, tell me everything," the girl's voice shook with ill-controlled emotion.

"There were five or six other men with them. They arrived at about nine in the morning and stayed until half-past four that afternoon. They had lunch with Lord Kitchener. A fine man the General is, well set up, big and broad-shouldered."

"Yes, I know." Hansie could not withhold those words.

"You know!" he exclaimed in great surprise. "Do you know General Botha?"

"Yes, indeed. And what is more, he is my General."

The soldier looked at her in ludicrous amazement.

"Are you a Boer? You don't look like one, and I never heard any one speak better English."

"I don't know whether what you are saying is meant as a compliment to me, but I don't like being told that I don't look like a Boer, and I certainly would not be pleased if you took me for an Englishwoman."

The poor Tommy looked troubled and muttered something about "no offence meant, I am sure."

"Now please go on and tell me more about the General. Did you hear anything of what he said to Lord Kitchener?"

"Nothing, miss, except when he went away. They shook hands very hearty-like and the General said, 'Good-bye; I hope you will have good luck.' That was all."

"Good luck! What do you think he could have meant?"

"We don't know, miss, but we think he meant good luck in Natal, for Lord Kitchener went yesterday and I hear there is some talk of peace."

Hansie sat silent for a long time, turning these things over in her mind.

"But what is all this accursed war about, miss? We soldiers know nothing except that we have to fight when we are ordered to do so."

"Of course you know nothing. An English soldier is nothing but a fighting machine, not allowed to think or act for himself. Discipline is a grand thing, but Heaven protect a man from the discipline of the British army. The war? I will tell you if you want to know. The war is a cruel and unjust attempt to rob us of our rich and independent land, and England is the tool in base and unscrupulous hands. You suffer too, I know, and all my heart goes out in sympathy to the bereaved and broken-hearted Englishwomen across the seas. Their only comfort is their firm belief that their heroes died a noble death for freedom and justice. Did they but know the truth! They died to satisfy the lust for gain and greed of gold of mining magnates on the Rand."

"Suffer, miss! As long as I live I will not forget that march from the colony, through Bloemfontein to Pretoria. Fighting nearly every day and marching at least thirty miles a day, on one biscuit. There was no water to be had! Will you believe that for three days not a drop of water passed my lips? And I heard the other fellows say, not once, but a thousand times, 'Would to God that a bullet find me before night!' Our tongues were hanging from our mouths and our lips were cracked——"

"Stop!" Hansie cried, putting her hands to her ears. "I do not want to hear another word. These things cannot be helped, and your officers suffered too!"

"The officers! When at last the water-carts came, we had to stand aside and watch while bucketsful were being carried into the tents for their baths!"

There was silence again.

"If I were an English soldier, I would run away," Hansie said.

"I've had enough, God knows, and when I get home I mean to leave the Army and take up my old work—carpentering. The war can't last very long. England is mighty—but I wish the bloomin' capitalists would come and do the fighting, if they want this country and its gold-mines."

"There are only a 'few marauding bands' left, so the English say," Hansie answered bitterly. "But remember what I tell you now. South Africa will be soaked in blood and tears, and a hundred thousand hearts will be broken here and in your country, before the mighty British Army has subdued those 'few marauding bands.'"

The soldier's face grew troubled once again.

It was a good, strong face—a patient face—and it bore the marks of much suffering, endured in silence and alone.

He rose and took off his cap.

"You've been very good to me, miss. I wish I could be of some use to you."

"Run away from Lord Kitchener!" she said, laughing. "I would be very sorry indeed if you fell by the hand of one of my brothers."

He looked at her sympathetically.

"How many brothers have you in the field?"

"God only knows," she answered sadly. "There were two left when last we heard of them. The third has been made a prisoner."

The soldier took his leave and Hansie lost herself in reverie.

And when at last she roused herself, she wrote with rapid pen:

"Two Tommies have been in our garden, catching butterflies——" We know the rest.

* * * * *

That afternoon about ten or twelve young people assembled in the garden and were later joined by several members of the Diplomatic Corps—Consul Cinatti, Consul Aubert, and Consul Nieuwenhuis, the most frequent visitors at Harmony.

The topic of conversation was connected with General Botha's visit to Lord Kitchener in Middelburg, and when Hansie told her friends what she had heard from the soldier that morning, they expressed their conviction that every word he said must have been true.

And the latest official war news, in rhyme, the dispatch from Kitchener to the Secretary of State for War, came in for its share of attention, occasioning no small amount of merriment.

Oh, happy afternoon! Oh, memories sweet! Oh, long departed days of good fellowship and mutual understanding! Bright spots of gold and crimson in our sky of lead!

* * * * *

Mrs. van Warmelo never at any time encouraged evening visitors. They were all early risers at Harmony and their life could not be adapted to the artificial, the unnatural strain of modern civilisation.

So the quiet evenings were spent by the mother in reading and writing, while the daughter gave herself up to the indulgence of her one great passion, music. Scales and exercises, Schubert and Chopin, and invariably at the end—before retiring for the night—Beethoven, the Master, the King of Music.



CHAPTER XI

PRISONER OF WAR

How the routine of life at Harmony was broken in upon by news "from the front" that April month in 1901, I shall endeavour to relate.

Hansie coming home one morning from a shopping expedition, found her mother in a state of suppressed excitement.

Everything was as much as possible "suppressed" in those days—goodness only knows why, for surely it would have been better for the nervous and highly strung mind if an occasional outburst could have been permitted. Hansie suffered from the same complaint, and had to pay most dearly in after years for the suppression of her deepest feelings.

There is a Dutch saying which forcibly expresses that condition of tense self-control under circumstances of a particularly trying nature. We say we are "living on our nerves," and that describes the case better than anything I have ever heard.

Our heroines, like so many other sorely tried women in South Africa, were "living on their nerves," those wise, understanding nerves, so knowing and so delicate, which form the stronghold of the human frame.

The external symptoms of this state were only known by those who lived in close and constant intercourse with one another. Hansie therefore knew, by an inflection in her mother's voice, that something out of the way had happened when she said:

"I have had a note from General Maxwell."

"Indeed! What does he say?"

"He writes that Dietlof has been made a prisoner, and he encloses a telegram from the Assistant Provost-Marshal at Ventersdorp, in the name of General Babington, to say that Dietlof is well, as was Fritz when last seen. See for yourself."

Hansie grabbed—yes, grabbed—the papers from her mother's outstretched hand.

"'When last seen?' Mother, what can that mean? Why have the boys been separated?"

"That is what I should like to know," her mother answered. "I wonder how we can find out. We must ask to see General Maxwell at once."

That afternoon the two women called at the Government Buildings and were shown into the Governor's office.

He seemed to be expecting a visit from them, and Mrs. van Warmelo apologised for troubling him, reminding him of the promise he had made on the occasion of their very first visit to him, that he would help them if they came to him in any trouble.

This he remembered perfectly.

"What is it you want me to do?" he asked.

"If you will be so good, we want a permit to visit our prisoner in the Johannesburg Fort, where he will probably be kept until he is sent to Ceylon or where-ever he may have to go."

"Certainly; I will do this with the greatest pleasure. But first we must wire and find out his whereabouts. I'll see about the matter and let you know at once."

Thanking him gratefully, mother and daughter took their leave.

"We should have asked permission to take a box of clothes and other little necessaries for our boy," the mother said.

"Yes, what a pity we did not think of it! But surely there could be no objection to that! Let us get everything ready at least, and ask permission when we hear from General Maxwell again."

The largest portmanteau in the house was overhauled and carefully and thoughtfully packed by the mother's yearning hands.

No article of comfort was overlooked, no detail of the wardrobe considered too small for her closest attention and care.

Presently Hansie came with her contribution, a thick exercise-book and a couple of pencils.

"Put these in, mother, if you still have room. I am going to ask Dietlof to write down all his adventures in this book for us to read afterwards. It will help him to get through his time of imprisonment."

(This small act, I may add here, led to the publication of her brother's book, Mijn Kommando en Guerilla-Kommando leven—On Commando, in the English edition—which was begun in Ladysmith and written in the Indian Fort at Ahmednagar and smuggled out to Holland under conditions of such romantic interest: the first book on the war, written during the war and devoured by the public in Holland long before it was allowed to reach South African shores—a book famed for its moderation and its truth, direct, sincere throughout.)

* * * * *

That Saturday night poor Mrs. van Warmelo never closed her eyes. She feared, and she had good reason to fear, that her son would pass through Johannesburg, and be transported to some foreign isle, before a word of greeting and farewell could be made by her. The thought of the morrow's Sabbath rest and inactivity intensified her fears.

The first thing she said to Hansie next morning was:

"You must go to General Maxwell and ask whether there is no news for us."

"But, mother, this is Sunday!"

"I know that. You will have to go to his house."

"Oh, I could not possibly do that. What does he care about our anxieties? Besides, I think it would be most indiscreet."

"I don't care," shortly.

In the end Hansie had to go, and when once she had made up her mind she looked forward with some pleasure to her little adventure, for there was no one of the officials known to her for whom she had a more sincere regard than General Maxwell. His house was but a few minutes' walk from Harmony, and Hansie, looking up at the gathering clouds, hoped that she could be home again before the approaching storm broke loose.

Our "brave" heroine trembled when she rang the bell, for all her distaste of the task had returned with redoubled force, but her self-confidence was soon restored under the genial warmth of the General's greetings.

He did not seem to be the least annoyed or displeased at this intrusion on his Sabbath privacy. And he was quite alone—not, as Hansie had feared to find him, surrounded by a crowd of officers.

He told her that though he had not been able to get news of her brother direct, he knew that a large number of prisoners had arrived at the Johannesburg Fort from Ventersdorp. He thought her brother would probably be amongst them, and gave her special permits to Johannesburg and back, and also a letter of introduction to the Military Governor in Johannesburg, asking him as a personal favour to assist the ladies in their quest.

"If I were you, I would not wait for definite news, but go to-morrow on the chance of finding him. Delay might bring you great disappointment. But, tell me, Miss van Warmelo, are you not glad that your brother has been captured and is out of danger now?"

"Glad? No, how can I be glad? It means a man less on our side—and he is a man, I can assure you. If all the Boers were as brave and true—and such unerring marksmen—the war would soon be over."

The Governor looked disturbed.

"It seems to me a strange thing for a girl like you to feel so strongly. Are all your women such staunch patriots?"

"Not all, perhaps, but there are many who feel even more strongly than I do."

The General kept her there and talked of many things, asked her innumerable questions on the country and its people, and drew her out upon the subject of the war.

Outside, the elements were raging, for the storm had broken loose, and the rain came down in torrents, while the crashing thunder pealed overhead.

Hansie looked anxious, and the Governor said:

"It will soon be over. Are you afraid?"

"Oh no, I love our storms; but my mother is alone at home, and she does not."

She told him, toying with her permits, of her curious collection of passes and other war-curios, and he left the room with a friendly—

"Perhaps I can find something for you too," returning with a button from his coat and a colonel's crown.

"The storm is over; let us see what damage has been done," and he led the way into the garden, showed her the flowers, asked the names of shrubs unknown to him.

* * * * *

"Oh, mother, the English must not be so good to us! It is not right to accept favours at their hands, for it places us in a false position. Don't ever ask me to go to General Maxwell again."

"Of course not. I quite agree with you, but I am very glad to have those permits. Did you ask about the portmanteau and box?"

"Yes. He said it was all right, and promised to give permits, so that they need not be examined."

They did not leave for Johannesburg, after all, on Monday, for a full list of the names of prisoners from Ventersdorp arrived, but there was no van Warmelo among them.

Telegrams were sent right and left, but there was something strange about the whole affair, and no satisfactory answers could be got until five days after the first tidings had reached Harmony. The prisoner was at Potchefstroom.

Two more days of suspense and a note from Major Hoskins came, enclosing a telegram—"Van Warmelo leaving to-morrow for Fort Johannesburg."

Great rejoicings! The women had begun to fear that their hero had been whisked away to some remote portion of the globe, without one word from them.

General Maxwell's letters of introduction acted like a charm when presented at the various military departments in the Golden City.

Colonel Mackenzie, the Military Governor, gave the women a letter of introduction to the O.C. troops, who directed them to the Provost-Marshal, Captain Short, informing them that they would find him at his office in the Fort.

The Provost-Marshal did not know that more prisoners from Ventersdorp were expected that day. He thought there must be some mistake—unless—yes, there would be another train at 5 o'clock that afternoon.

The ladies were advised to call again on Sunday morning and drove to Heath's Hotel, where they had taken up their quarters. How quiet and deserted the Golden City looked! How bleak and desolate, with the first breath of winter upon it!

Poor Hansie had a shocking cold, and as she drove through the silent streets with her mother all the miseries of the past eighteen months came crowding into her aching heart and throbbing brain.

What would the meeting be like to-morrow? Would he be changed? And what would he have to tell? The question still remained whether he would be allowed to tell them anything about the war at all——

Suddenly a brilliant thought flashed into Hansie's mind.

"Oh, mother, let us go to the Braamfontein Station and see the train arrive. I know we won't be allowed to speak to him, but we may at least wave our hands and look at him."

Her mother was delighted with the thought, and at 4 o'clock that afternoon they took a cab to Braamfontein Station.

The train had been delayed, and would be in at 6 instead of 5 o'clock, so they were told, but, for fear of having been misinformed, they decided to wait at the station.

Cold, dusty, pitiless, the keen wind blew on that unfriendly platform. There was no ladies' waiting room—in fact, it seemed as if the rooms had all been utilised for other, perhaps military, purposes.

It is incredible the amount of suffering that can be crowded into one hour of waiting!

Thank God, at last the train steamed in.

Armed troops and an unusually large number of passengers alighted on the platform, but there was not a prisoner to be seen. The desperate women walked up and down, keenly scrutinising every face they passed, until they heard a well-known, highly excited voice calling out "Mother! Mother!" to them from behind. They turned and saw their hero tumbling from the train, an armed Tommy at his heels.

There are no memories of the moments such as those which followed.

Things must have been rather bad, for when Hansie looked round again the armed soldier had turned away and was slowly walking in another direction. Blessed, thrice-blessed Tommy!

To this day when Hansie thinks of him she remembers with a pang that she did not shake hands with him.

"May we walk with the prisoner as far as the Johannesburg Fort?" Hansie asked.

"Certainly, miss."

How the people stared and turned round in the street to stare again!

And now that I come to think of it, it must have looked remarkable—a ruffianly-looking man, carrying a disreputable bundle of blankets, a tin cup and water-bottle slung across his shoulders all clanking together, and a small Bible in his hands, with a well-dressed lady on each arm and an armed soldier behind, guarding the whole!

The prisoner was a sight! The old felt hat was full of holes, through which the unkempt hair was sticking, and the dirty black suit was torn and greasy-looking—but the face, except for the moustache and unfamiliar beard, was the same, the look of love in the blue eyes unchanged.

It seemed like a dream, incredibly sweet and strange, to be walking through the streets of Johannesburg in uninterrupted conversation, carried on in Dutch, with him, and to be able to ask the burning questions with which their hearts had been filled all day—why he was alone, where he had left Fritz, how and where he had been captured.

Everything was explained on that memorable walk, simply and briefly explained, for the time was short, and under the circumstances Dietlof would not give any details of information concerning the war, considering himself bound to silence by the guard's trust in him.

He had been promoted to the position of commandeering officer by General Kemp and had been in the habit, for some time past, of leaving his commando for days at a stretch on commandeering expeditions.

About four days before his capture he had left his people again for the same purpose, and on this occasion he had fled before the enemy for three days, falling into their hands through the death of his good horse through horse-sickness.

His brother Fritz was under General Kemp with Jan and Izak Celliers (this was the first news Mrs. van Warmelo heard of Mr. Celliers' safe arrival on commando, after the adventures undergone by him and described in Chapter IX), and a few others of his most trusted friends, but what they must have thought of his inexplicable non-appearance Dietlof did not know, but he feared they would be undergoing much anxiety on his account.

Near the entrance of the Fort mother and daughter took their leave, thanking the soldier warmly for his kindness to his charge, whom they hoped to see again the following morning.

Very different was the meeting then!

The prisoner, a forlorn object, stood between two guards, before the Provost-Marshal's office, when the cab containing the two women drove up.

Hansie jumped out and was going up to her brother, when one of the soldiers said to her:

"You may not speak to the prisoner."

"But I may kiss him!" Hansie retorted, throwing her arms round his neck and giving him a kiss which could be heard all over the Fort.

There was a general laugh, and Mrs. van Warmelo promptly followed suit.

Dietlof was called into the Provost-Marshal's office and cross-questioned, while his mother and sister waited outside impatiently. What a lengthy examination! Quarter of an hour, half an hour passed, then he appeared with a soldier, who said curtly:

"You may talk to the prisoner for half an hour in English!"

I forget how many minutes of the precious thirty were lost in groping desperately for some topic of conversation suitable to the occasion, and safe! but when at last they found their tongues, they talked so fast that it is doubtful whether the Tommies understood anything.

Hansie longed to ask her brother whether the Provost-Marshal knew anything of their escapade the night before, but dared not, hoping that the men concerned were under the impression that this was their first interview with the prisoner.

He told them some of his war experiences and the fights he had been in, for the Provost-Marshal had given him permission to speak of his personal experiences of the war.

One incident Hansie remembered particularly, because of a curious coincidence connected with it.

In describing the battle of Moselikatsnek, under General de la Rey, in which he and Fritz had taken an active part, he told his mother and sister of a young English officer, Lieutenant Pilkington, whom he had found lying alone in a pool of blood among the rocks and shrubs. Dietlof tended him, giving him brandy from a flask which he always carried with him for such purposes, and laying grass under him on the hard rocks. The poor man was shockingly wounded, and it was evident that his case was hopeless. He held Dietlof's hand, imploring him not to leave him, but Dietlof was the forerunner of the seven burghers who were forcing their way wedgelike through the English ranks in order to compel the enemy to surrender by attacking them from behind. He considered it his duty to go forward, but assured the dying man that the comrades who were following in his wake could speak English and would care for him. The donga was strewn with dead and dying English.

In the meantime the younger brother Fritz was tending a soldier with a terrible wound in the head. The seven men were now advancing steadily from one ridge to the other, but Dietlof had reached a point on which the burghers from behind were bombarding with their cannon, and as the rocks flew into the air he found it impossible to proceed.

He therefore returned, and the captain sent a dispatch-bearer down with orders that the cannon-firing should cease.

For a moment Dietlof went back to the wounded lieutenant, where he found some of his comrades assembled, and while they stood there the unfortunate man, exhausted by loss of blood, drew his last breath.

Through incredible dangers the seven burghers forced their way through the donga until they reached the point from where they could attack the enemy from behind. It was a most critical moment, for they were exposed to the constant fire of their own burghers, under Commandant Coetzee, as well as that of the enemy, but soon they were relieved to see the white flag hoisted, and were then joined by the rest of the commando.

The English could not believe that the party which had attacked them from behind had consisted of only seven men.

Colonel Roberts, Lieutenant Lyall, and Lieutenant Davis were taken with 210 men of the Lincolnshire Regiment. One officer escaped while the burghers were disarming their prisoners and yielding themselves to the spirit of plunder with which every man is possessed after a severe struggle for victory.

Of dead and wounded the burghers had lost thirteen or fourteen men, but the seven forerunners, who had been exposed to the greatest dangers, escaped without a scratch, while the enemy, in spite of the fact that they had been under cover throughout, lay dead and dying in large numbers.

Strange to relate, a letter from an English officer fell into Dietlof's hands some weeks later, and in glancing over it his eye fell on the words, "Lieutenant Pilkington is also dead—you know that famous cricketer."

And still later Hansie heard from her brother that one of the seven men, Field-cornet von Zulch, who afterwards joined him as prisoner of war in the Ahmednagar Fort, told him that he had received a letter from Lieutenant Pilkington's mother, begging for more particulars of her son's last moments.

Many wonderful experiences were related, many glimpses given into the conditions of commando life. The young man dwelt lightly for a moment on his hardships and privations, saying, "Mother, do you know those woollen Kaffir blankets with yellow stars and leopards, and red and green half-crescents?"

"Yes," his mother answered expectantly.

"Well, I once had a pair of trousers made of that material."

Everyone laughed.

"But there are worse things than that," he continued; "unmentionable horrors—things you pick up in the English camps and can't get rid of again——"

Hansie understood.

"You will find a tin of insect-powder in that wonderful Indian juggler of a portmanteau," she said, "and don't forget to use the blank exercise-book."

The thirty minutes were over, and they were considerately left alone for a few moments——



CHAPTER XII

THE CONCENTRATION CAMPS

For a small moment have I forsaken thee; but with great mercies will I gather thee. In a little wrath I hid My face from thee for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the Lord thy Redeemer.—Isa. liv. 7 and 8.

The hand which holds my pen to-day trembles.

From the beginning it was not my intention to touch upon the Concentration Camps, but this story of the war would be incomplete without at least a brief outline of that which played so important a part during the war.

After the occupation of Pretoria, and when it was found that hostilities, instead of coming to an end, were continued under what the English called a system of "guerilla" warfare, and that the Boer forces, instead of being compelled to surrender through starvation or exhaustion, continued to thrive and increase in numbers, the military authorities found it necessary to adopt entirely new tactics. But subsequent events showed that no greater strategical error was ever committed.

Let me explain briefly for the benefit of those of my readers who have forgotten the details of the great South African war.

The Boer Republics had no organised force. In the event of war against natives or against some foreign Power, the burghers were called up from their farms, the husbands, fathers, sons of the nation, to fight for home and fatherland. This left the women and children unprotected on the farms, but not unprovided for, for it is an historical fact that the Boer women in time of war carried on their farming operations with greater vigour than during times of peace. Fruit trees were tended, fields were ploughed, and harvests brought in with redoubled energy, with the result that crops increased and live-stock multiplied.

From the natives they had nothing to fear—in fact, their work was carried on with the help of native servants only. It soon became evident to the British military authorities that the Boer forces were being supplied with necessaries in the way of food and clothing by the women on the farms.

From the Boer point of view this was right and good, but it was perfectly natural that the English should resent it, and, in isolated cases, where it was known beyond doubt to have taken place, the houses were destroyed, and the women and children removed to the towns as prisoners of war.

As time went on and the women continued to provide their men with the necessaries of life, the British authorities decided to lay the entire country waste, with the intention of depriving the Boer commandos of all means of subsistence and forcing them, through starvation, into a speedy surrender.

A systematic devastation of the two Boer Republics then took place. Only the towns were spared; for the rest, the farms and homesteads and even small villages, throughout the length and breadth of the country, were laid waste. Trees were cut down, crops destroyed, homes, pillaged of valuables, burnt with everything they contained, and the women and children removed to camps in the districts to which they belonged.

Now, we are well aware that a savage foe would have left these helpless victims of the unavoidable circumstances of war on the veld to die, but the English are not only not savages and heathens, but they are one of the most civilised and humane Christian nations.

Concentration Camps were formed in every part of the country, and the women and children placed in tents on the open veld, near the railway lines where possible, or in close proximity to the towns.

The work of devastation, carried out by some British officers with loathing and distaste, and by others with fiendish exultation, was not completed in a few weeks or months. It was carried on right through from the time when the policy was decided on until peace was declared, and in the end nothing was left but the blackened ruins of once prosperous homes.

* * * * *

If ever there was a war of surprises, it was the Anglo-Boer war.

* * * * *

Instead of hostilities being brought to a speedy termination by the demolition of the farms, the Boer forces gathered and increased in strength and numbers by the addition to their ranks of men who had left the commandos and were again living on their farms.

Wives and children gone, homes devastated, there was nothing left for the men to live for.

Instead of being brought to submission by the drastic measures taken to compel them to surrender, they were transformed into raging lions, with but one object in view, the expulsion of their enemy from the land of their birth.

Not alone in the towns did the secret service do its work. As the camps grew in size and close supervision became more difficult, the spies crept in and out, bearing with them the information wanted by the Boer leaders, concerning the condition of the inmates.

In nine cases out of ten the earnest request of the women to their men was to fight to the bitter end—not to surrender on their account, but to let them die in captivity sooner than yield for the sake of them and their children.

Perhaps I may be allowed to say here that when Hansie was in the Irene Camp as volunteer nurse she knew nothing of the work of the spies.

Love and pity drew her to the scene of suffering.

* * * * *

The British did not count the cost when they began the system of gathering in the Boer families, any more than they did when they began their "walk over" to Pretoria.

Not only had they to support women and children for an indefinite period after the devastation of the farms, but the entire maintenance of the scattered Boer forces fell to their lot. During nearly two years the Boers lived on the enemy, took their convoys, wrecked their trains, helped themselves to horses, clothing, ammunition, provisions—everything, in fact, that they required for the continuation of the war. To tell the truth, there was hardly a Mauser rifle to be found in the possession of the Boers at the end of the war, they having destroyed the rifles with which they began the war, for want of Mauser ammunition, and using only the Lee Metfords of the enemy.

Sickness broke out in the camps—scarlet fever, measles, whooping-cough, enteric, pneumonia, and a thousand ills brought by exposure, overcrowding, underfeeding, and untold hardships.

Expectant mothers, tender babes, the aged and infirm, torn from their homes and herded together under conditions impossible to describe, exposed to the bitter inclemency of the South African winters and the scorching, germ-breeding heat of the summer, succumbed in their thousands, while daily, fresh people, ruddy, healthy, straight from their wholesome life on the farms, were brought into the infected camps and left to face sickness and the imminent risk of death.

Over twenty thousand dead women and children stand recorded in the books of the Burgher Camps Department to-day, as the victims of this policy of concentration.

Over twenty thousand women and children within two years! While the total number of fighting men lost on the Boer side, in battle and in captivity, amounts to four thousand throughout the entire war.

That this appalling result was wholly unlooked for, we do not doubt, but nothing could be done to prevent the high mortality until many months after the worst period was over and only the strongest remained in the camps. It was indeed a case of the survival of the fittest.

Let me briefly relate a tragic event of the war to show what the people of the camps went through and what little cause for surprise there is in the unprecedented death-rate.

During the winter of 1901 a blizzard passed over the High Veld, the site of so many Concentration Camps, in the Balmoral district, and overtook a young lieutenant, W. St. Clare McLaren, of the First Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders (the friend and playmate of Hansie's childhood's years at Heidelberg) with his men.

They were without shelter, their commissariat waggons being some way ahead, and crept under a tarpaulin for protection from the fierce and bitterly cold blast.

During that awful night Mr. McLaren took off his overcoat to cover up the perishing body of his major, and when morning came he was found dead with five of his men, while around them, stiffly frozen, lay the bodies of six hundred mules.

The brave and heroic heart was stilled for ever, a young and noble life was lost in performing an act of rare self-sacrifice; but far away in "bonnie Scotland" a widowed mother, smiling bravely through her tears, thanked God for the privilege of cherishing such a memory.

Small wonder to us then, when tragedies such as this were brought home to us, that in the camps the thin tents, torn to ribbons by the storm, afforded no protection to the scantily-clothed, half-famished inmates!

That the death-rate was not higher during the winter months we owe entirely to the overcrowding of the tents, there being in Hansie's ward at Irene many bell-tents, destined to accommodate six, holding from sixteen to twenty-three persons for many months. But what was an advantage during the winter months became a source of great danger when the heat of summer came.

To return to our story.

It was Hansie's privilege—yes, privilege—to act as one of the volunteer nurses from Pretoria during that very winter of 1901, and though it is not my intention to record in this book the experience connected with that period, I do not think it will be out of place here to mention an important result of that sojourn at Irene.

Mrs. van Warmelo visited her daughter in the camp for the first time on May 21st, and she was so much impressed by the misery she had witnessed that, on her return to Pretoria that night, she could not sleep, but tossed from side to side, thinking of some way to save her country-women from suffering and death.

Suddenly she was inspired by the thought, "Write a petition to the Consuls!"

It was 3 a.m. when she got out of bed to fetch her writing-materials from the dining-room, and she then and there wrote a passionate appeal for help to the Diplomatic Corps in Pretoria.

The Consul-General for the Netherlands, Mr. Domela Nieuwenhuis, to whom she took the petition the following morning, advised her to lay it before the Portuguese Consul, Mr. Cinatti, who, as the doyen of the Diplomatic Corps, would bring the matter before the other Consuls, if he thought it advisable.

Mr. Cinatti, after reading the petition, said the matter could certainly be taken up if Mrs. van Warmelo would get a few leading women in Pretoria to sign the petition.

This was done within a few days.

Under injunctions to observe the strictest secrecy, nine prominent Boer women signed the document, and it was once more laid before the senior member of the Diplomatic Corps, who immediately called a meeting of the Consuls, the result of which was that a copy of the petition, translated into French, was sent by the first mail to each of the ten different Powers they represented and also to Lord Kitchener.

General Maxwell, soon after these were dispatched, asked Mr. Cinatti to see him at once in his office at Government Buildings, where, in a long interview with him, he demanded from Mr. Cinatti the names of the nine signatories.

Mr. Cinatti said he was not at liberty to disclose them—that, in fact, they were not known (with the exception of the writer of the petition) to the other Consuls. General Maxwell then pressed him to give him that name only, as he particularly wished to know who had drawn up the petition.

This was refused, fortunately for Mrs. van Warmelo, for the penalty would have been great.

The military authorities left no stone unturned afterwards to find out who the women petitioners were, but without success, thanks to the great precautions taken by the Portuguese Consul.

A full month passed and no reply came from Lord Kitchener.

A second petition, more strongly worded than the first, was then drawn up, imploring the Consuls to intercede on behalf of the victims of the Concentration Camps and to inform the Powers represented by them, of the death-rate which threatened the Boer nation with extinction.

Again a meeting of the Consuls was called, at which three of them were appointed to form a committee of investigation:

Consul Cinatti, Consul-General for Portugal. Baron Pitner, Consul-General for Austria. Baron Ostmann, Consul-General for Germany.

Some of the other members at the meeting were:

M. Domela Nieuwenhuis, Consul-General for the Netherlands. M. Aubert, Consul-General for France. Mr. Gordon, Consul-General for United States.

The latter lived in Johannesburg, but attended all the meetings held in Pretoria in connection with the Concentration Camps.

From General Maxwell the committee of investigation got permission to inspect the Camp at Irene, called the "Model Camp," and with the statistics obtained there, as well as the official statistics of all the camps in the Transvaal, the Diplomatic Corps drew up a report, which went to prove that unless immediate steps were taken to arrest the appalling death-rate, the Boer population in the camps would be extinct within a period of three years.

Copies of this report were sent to the Military Governor and Lord Kitchener, and to ten foreign Powers, with copies of the second petition.

What diplomatic correspondence then passed between England and the foreign Powers we shall never know, for the utmost secrecy was observed throughout; but what we do know is, that the famous commission of inquiry, the "Whitewash Committee," so-called by the Pro-Boers in England, was very soon afterwards sent out. It consisted of six English ladies, and as a result of their investigations some of the inland camps were removed to the coast, the rations increased, additional medical and other comforts provided, and the general condition of the camps improved to such an extent that after some months the death-rate decreased considerably, continuing to do so until it became nearly normal. But, as I have said before, not until over 20,000 women and children had been sacrificed as a direct result of being torn from their homes, exposed to the elements, and herded together under conditions which only the strongest could survive. It would take too much space to insert copies of the petitions here, but they are to be found in Hansie's Dutch book on the Irene Concentration Camp, published in Holland from her diary a year after the war.

The following statistics of what is known as "Black October 1901" are taken from the Blue Books of England and will give the reader an idea of the number of camps in the Transvaal alone, the number of their inhabitants, and the full death-rate within the period of thirty-one days:—

TOTAL CENSUS OF DEATHS, ETC. ETC., OCCURRING IN THE CONCENTRATION CAMPS, TRANSVAAL ONLY, DURING THE MONTH OF OCTOBER 1901.

Camps. Census. Deaths. 1. Barberton 1,907 12 2. Balmoral 2,580 70 3. Belfast 1,397 33 4. Heidelberg 2,173 41 5. Irene 3,972 101 6. Johannesburg 2,937 29 7. Klerksdorp 3,822 176 8. Krugersdorp 5,500 90 9. Middelburg 5,602 127 10. Mafeking 4,783 410 11. Nylstroom 1,819 52 12. Pietersburg 3,598 41 13. Potchefstroom 7,467 90 14. Standerton 3,005 215 15. Vereeniging 920 9 16. Volksrust 5,280 47 17. Vryburg 1,256 53 ——— ——— 58,018 1,596 ——— ———

During this terrible month there was a population of 112,619 in all the Concentration Camps in South Africa. There were 3,156 deaths, i.e. a death-rate of 28 per 1,000 per month. After "Black October" the mortality decreased steadily, as will be seen from the following figures:

Population. Deaths. November 1901 117,974 2,807 December 1901 117,017 2,380 January 1902 114,376 1,805 February 1902 113,905 638 March 1902 111,508 402 April 1902 112,733 298 May 1902 116,572 196

CONSULAR REPORT ON THE CONCENTRATION CAMPS

The following is the Report on the Concentration Camps by the Committee appointed by the Consular Corps of the Transvaal in response to a renewed appeal addressed to them by the Committee of Boer Women of Pretoria. The appeal was supported by three of the Consuls.

The Committee, which you have appointed to examine the situation in the prisoners' camps, where Boer women are concentrated, though they could not always obtain the required accurate information, have gained sufficient results to arrive at the conclusions as laid down in short in the following report:—

I.—In order to formulate a clear idea of the situation the Committee has laid down the following tables:

(a) Showing the population and deaths in the Camps during April 1901, compiled from the official reports of the Inspector-General of the Camps.

(b) The death-rate in the Camps of the Transvaal calculated from Table A, as well as from reports published in the Official Gazette, and according to other trustworthy information.

(c) The death-rate in the Camps at Bloemfontein and Kroonstad, compiled from the notices in the Official Gazette of the Orange Free State.

(d) Diseases and deaths according to Official Gazette.

II.—Although the returns are not complete through absence of returns for whole weeks in the official publications, we may arrive at the following conclusions:

1. That the death-percentage in the Camps surpasses all hitherto-known proportions.

2. That the death-rate amounts to 14 times that of Pretoria, which has, according to Dr. Stroud, an average of 25 per thousand per year.

3. That the death-rate among the children confined to the Camps has increased to an alarming extent.

The Committee, basing their verdict partly on the repeated assertions of public opinion, on the communications of eye-witnesses, on the evidence given by certain witnesses in a case before the Military Court at Pretoria, and finally on the personal observations of four members of the Consular Corps, to whom permission was granted to visit the Camp at Irene, feel compelled to believe the principal causes of diseases, carrying in their train such an abnormal death-rate, to be:

1. The difficulties and misery and privations to which the Boer families are subject after having been driven from their farms (their journeys often lasting about 20 days).

2. The insufficient quantity and frequently even bad quality of articles of food distributed among them. Often the food given to the children is in every respect inadequate to their wants.

3. The great fall in temperature during the night.

4. The insufficient protection against cold experienced in the tents by the healthy population, and all the more by the invalids.

5. The absence of clothing and blankets.

6. The insufficient providing for invalids and the inadequate state of medical stores.

7. The want of employees for the sanitary service in the Camps.

In view of the importance of the problem put before the Committee, they have drawn up the above report and have sent copies of same to all the members of the Consular Corps.

(Signed) S.S. PITNER. P. CINATTI. BN. OSTMANN.

TABLE A

DIRECT CAUSES OF THE DEATHS IN THE CAMPS OF THE IMPRISONED BOERS, COMPOSED ACCORDING TO THE OFFICIAL NEWSPAPER ARTICLES TILL JULY 10TH, 1901.

Diseases. Number of Deaths.

Measles 123 Inflammation of the lungs 50 Dysentery 45 Inflammation of the bowels 35 Consumption 33 Diarrhoea 29 Bronchitis 27 Old age 21 Inflammation of the stomach 15 Malaria 18 Cramps 15 Measles and bronchitis 14 Typhoid fever 14 Weakness (Debility) 13 Heart disease 12 Croup 11 Old age 11 Cramps and inflammation of the stomach 10 Measles and weakness 11 Lying-in fever and child-birth illness 5 Measles and inflammation of the lungs 4 Inflammation of the brain 4 Diphtheria 4 Consumption and measles 4 Disease of the kidneys 6 Measles and diarrhoea 3 Measles and dysentery 3 Exhaustion 3 Inflammation of the bowels 3 Debility 2 Heart disease 4 Inflammation of the kidneys and debility, diseases through teething, asthma, influenza 6 Various 26 Not classified 57 —- 641

Summary and Percentage

Cases. Percentage.

Simple and complicated measles 149 23 Diseases of the respiratory organs 106 17 Diseases of the bowels 105 17 Fever 67 10 Debility, old age, consumption 75 12 Convulsions 15 2 Debility through old age 13 2 Heart disease 12 2 Not classified 57 9 Various 42 6 —- 641 cases.

TABLE B

DEATH-RATE OF THE IMPRISONED BOERS IN THE CAMPS OF THE TRANSVAAL ACCORDING TO OFFICIAL REPORTS AND TRUSTWORTHY INFORMATION.

- Camps and Months. Number of prisoners + under 8 years. - - - Male. Female. Total. - - - Middelburg April 666 626 1,292 Potchefstroom April 1,577 4,147 5,724 May 1-17th 1,605[B] 4,207[B] 5,812[C] Standerton April 584 553 1,137 Volksrust April 1,911 1,667 3,578 Irene April 2,134 1,589 3,703 " May 2,364[B] 1,738[B] 4,102[C] " June 2,593[B] 2,007[B] 4,600[C] Johannesburg April 1,705 1,465 3,170 May 1-27th 1,770[B] 1,515[B] 3,285[C] All Camps in Transvaal April 11,098 12,714 23,612 - - -

- Death Rate for the Period Indicated. Camps and Months + Under 8 years. Per 1,000 per ann. Under 8 years. + - - Male. Female. Total. Male. Female. pr. 1000 - - + Middelburg April 5 4 9 86 77 83 Potchefstroom April 7[A] 17[A] 24 53 39 54 May 1-17th 8 17 25 106 86 94 Standerton April 5[D] 20[D] 25 104 372 255 Volkstust April 5 21 26 32 153 87 Irene April 14[A] 35[A] 49 79 270 161 " May 19 49 68 58 331 200 " June 38[A] 97[C] 135[E] 177 588 366 Johannesburg April 9 82 91 62 681 349 May 1-27th 12 67 79 94 598 325 All Camps in Transvaal April 69 171 240 75 161 122 + - -

A: According to the proportion for the month of May. B: According to the proportion for the month of April. C: Average number from April till July 9th. D: According to the proportion for Volksrust. E: Statement by a nurse in service at Irene.

Without further comment the figures are borrowed from the official reports of the month of April or published in the Official Gazette.

TABLE C

RETURN OF DEATHS OF THE IMPRISONED BOERS IN THE CAMPS OF BLOEMFONTEIN AND KROONSTAD (ORANGE FREE STATE) ACCORDING TO THE "OFFICIAL GAZETTE."

+ -+ Number of Deaths. + -+ -+ + + Children Camps. Men. Women. under 8 Total. yrs. + -+ -+ + + Bloemfontein from April 2nd till July 2nd, 1901 33 80 198 311 Kroonstad from April 1st till May 16th, 1901 8 8 41 57 Kroonstad from May 26th till June 23rd, 1901 9 12 26 47 + -+ -+ + +

Causes of Death. - - Lung and Typhoid, Camps. Infectious Heart Dysentery, Debility, Per Disease. Disease. Diarrhoea. Old Age. 1000. - - Bloemfontein from April 2nd till July 2nd, 1901 101 99 107 4 309 Kroonstad from April 1st till May 16th, 1901 15 16 24 2 195 Kroonstad from May 26th till June 23rd, 1901 18 14 15 6 213 - -

Number of prisoners till June 1st: Bloemfontein, 4,339; Kroonstad, 2,638.

TABLE D

RETURNS OF DEATHS AND DISEASE OF THE IMPRISONED BOERS IN THE ENGLISH CAMPS OF THE TRANSVAAL DURING APRIL 1901.

- Number of Prisoners. - - - -+ Men. Women. Children. Total. Camps. + - - - - Barberton 38 151 236 425 Middelburg 191 475 626 1,292 Irene 892 1,242 1,569 3,703 Johannesburg 505 1,200 1,465 3,170 Potchefstroom 322 1,255 4,147 5,724 Klerksdorp 120 350 521 991 Krugersdorp 234 381 473 1,088 Vereeniging 175 312 346 833 Heidelberg 377 327 432 1,136 Standerton 271 313 653 1,237 Volksrust 452 1,459 1,667 3,578 Mafeking 96 140 529 765 - - - -+ Total 3,673 7,605 12,664 23,942 + - - - -

- Number of Cases during April 1901. - - - Deaths Men. Women. Children. Total. during the Camp. Month. - - - Barberton 6 26 27 59 4 Middelburg 29 46 55 130 9 Irene 51 85 181 317 49 Johannesburg 3 26 110 139 90 Potchefstroom 3 30 29 62 24 Klerksdorp 7 12 19 2 Krugersdorp 2 2 Vereeniging 5 8 11 24 5 Heidelberg 13 21 32 66 2 Standerton 10 17 20 47 35 Volksrust 14 19 33 66 26 Mafeking 12 96 44 152 4 - - - Total 146 381 556 1,083 250 - - -

This table is compiled from an official report by an attendant of the Prisoner-Camps.



CHAPTER XIII

A CONSULAR VISIT TO IRENE CAMP

The story of the petitions, related in the previous chapter, had, as I have said before, taken place during the time of Hansie's sojourn at Irene. She knew nothing about it at the time because, naturally, her mother's letters contained no hint of the agitation with the Consuls at Pretoria, and she was absorbed in her own "agitations" in the Camp, her stormy interviews with the Commandant, her hopeless struggles against disease and death.

If ever a Concentration Camp was mismanaged, Irene was, and the six volunteer nurses, not being paid servants, but having taken up their work for love and at no small sacrifice to themselves, left no stone unturned to bring about the necessary improvements.

How futile their poor little efforts were! How powerless they found themselves against the tide of wilful misunderstanding, deliberate neglect, unpardonable mismanagement!

The number of deaths in the Camps increased every day, and Hansie, wiping the hoar-frost from her hair when she woke, half-frozen, in her tent, wondered how many of her little patients had been mercifully released by death that night.

For always, when she resumed her work, there were childish forms stretched out in their last sleep.

One morning, when she found that there had been five deaths during the night, in her ward alone, she took the train to Pretoria, straight to General Maxwell's office.

"Come and see for yourself, General. The people are starving, and they lie on the cold ground with little or no covering. Fuel they have nothing to speak of, medical comforts are always out of stock——"

With a heavy frown he asked:

"Why are these things not reported to me?"

"I don't know," she answered miserably. "We thought you knew. We can do nothing with the Commandant——"

A great deal more was said on both sides, revelations, not to be repeated here, made by the unhappy girl, and the Governor's sympathetic face grew stern with righteous indignation as she proceeded.

"I will investigate the matter for myself," he said. "But you look ill—why don't you come home and take a good rest?"

"I am only sick with misery, General; but if you will speak to the Commandant and insist on better management in the Camp, we may still be able to save a great many lives. There is no time to lose. If the people are not provided with better food and warmer covering during this intensely cold weather, the mortality will be something appalling next month."

A few days later, one beautifully crisp and clear Sunday morning, General Maxwell and his A.D.C., Major Hoskins, rode over to Irene to pay the Camp a surprise visit—and a "surprise" it must have been indeed, of no pleasant nature, to the Commandant, judging by his black looks afterwards.

The General asked to see Miss van Warmelo and demanded to be shown through her ward, inspected her worst cases, visited the overcrowded tents. He seemed much impressed by the scenes he witnessed that day, and issued orders to the effect that all complaints from her ward were to be attended to promptly, and that a distribution of blankets and warm clothing should be made immediately.

There were no blankets "in stock" the day before, but they were produced on this occasion with remarkable alacrity.

The Governor inspected the foodstuffs and the small supply of medical comforts (which was always, I may say here, kept in stock for inspection, and was not touched for the use of the inmates of the Camp, when the stores ran out).

On leaving, the Governor said to Hansie with marked emphasis:

"I shall be obliged if you will make your complaints to me in future."

Her ward was now in a somewhat better condition, and she was preparing to leave for home for a month's rest and recreation.

Although there were never more than six volunteer nurses in the Camp at a time, there were quite as many again in Pretoria, waiting to take the place of those obliged to go home on sick leave, and one of them was immediately sent to take charge of Hansie's ward.

Tragic were the parting scenes witnessed in that ward next day, and, as Hansie laughingly extricated herself from the crowd, she promised to come back "very soon," little thinking that she would be in their midst again on the morrow.

The new nurse, an inexperienced girl, after having gone through the ward once with Hansie, quietly fainted away.

"Shall I stay?" Hansie asked her, when she had recovered.

"Oh no; I must get used to it. But what must I do when the babies are dying like that?"

"You must pray to God to take them quickly. Very little can be done to save them. Report your worst cases to the doctor regularly every day; then, at least, the responsibility does not rest on your shoulders."

It was terrible, leaving them all in such a state.

Arrived at Harmony, Hansie found a note from Mr. Cinatti asking her to come over to the Consulate immediately, because Dr. Kendal Franks, who was visiting Irene next day, wished to see her before he left.

She went at once, and found a dinner-party in progress at the Consulate, the German Consul, Baron Ostmann, the Austrian Consul, Baron Pitner and his wife, one of the directors of the Dynamite Company, and Dr. Kendal Franks. She was shown into a private study, where Mr. Cinatti joined her, in great excitement.

"Come in to dinner," he urged, but Hansie wished to see only Dr. Franks and said she would wait.

"Tell me," she said before Mr. Cinatti left her. "Is there any danger for my mother in connection with those petitions?"

"Oh no, my dear, I think not. I hope not. The penalty" (he said "penality") "would be very great. You won't mention it to Dr. Franks, will you?"

"Of course not," Hansie laughed, and when he flew in a few moments later, with a silver dish containing bon-bons, he whispered excitedly: "He's coming now. Be on your guard! Take some of these, they contain rum." Dear Mr. Cinatti, how he enjoyed an atmosphere of danger! How he revelled in secret adventures, and how he would have appreciated the conspiracies at Harmony, at a later date, if it had been possible for the van Warmelos to take him into their confidence!

* * * * *

There was an atmosphere of serenity in the courtly, kindly presence of the great doctor.

"Have you any objection to being cross-questioned?" he asked, producing a notebook and pencil.

"Not at all," she said.

"General Maxwell told me to make a point of visiting your ward. I am sorry you will not be there. Would it not be possible for you to go over to Irene with me to-morrow? I am leaving by the early train."

Hansie hesitated.

"I have no permit, and it is too late now."

"Oh, that is easily remedied."

A messenger was at once dispatched to General Maxwell's house, almost next door, and he soon returned with the necessary permits and a cordial note from the Governor, wishing them "good luck."

That was an eventful day at Irene!

The anxious face of the "new nurse" broke into a beaming smile when she saw Hansie on the scenes once more, the people crowding round her with their questions. Why did she come back? Was she going to stay? Didn't she go to Pretoria yesterday? Who was that with her? etc. Mothers pulled her aside and pointed in wordless grief to their tents, to what lay there in still repose since last night. Children clung to her skirts—"We thought you had gone for good."

"The people love you," the great doctor said.

"But not as much as I love them," the answer quickly came.

It was arranged that Dr. Franks should go through the hospital, the dispensary, and the store-rooms in the morning, with the matron and the doctors of the Camp, and that after lunch he should inspect some of the tents in Hansie's ward.

This arrangement suited her to perfection, for she wished, after she had greeted her people in the Camp, to write an important letter, destined for the north of Holland, for which she had had neither time nor opportunity for many weeks.

The doctor's "hour or two in the Camp" lengthened to three, very nearly four, and during the greater part of this time Hansie, sitting in the tent which had been hers, wrote, without lifting her head.

"How shall I get this away? The censor must not set eyes on this," she mused as she folded the closely written sheets.

She put the envelope into her handbag, and just then "the girls" trooped in from the Camp. Surprised greetings were exchanged and explanations made as they all went into the big marquee where the midday meal was being served.

The doctor was very hot and tired after his long visit of inspection, but highly satisfied with the number of notes he had made, and the meal passed off in animated conversation. When it was over, Dr. Franks and Hansie went through the long rows of tents in her ward—her "prize" tents she called them—and the doctor seemed much struck by the extreme poverty and misery of the inmates. In one tent two little boys were dying, and the distracted mother, when she heard the magic word "doctor," implored him to save them. She was a widow and these children were all she had. He knelt beside them and examined them with his strong and gentle hands, shaking his head. There was no hope.