There is no doubt that this brave man would have been endowed with the required courage to uphold his word when the hour came, but it is equally certain that no word of accusation in evidence against his fellow-conspirators would have been wrung from his lips.

When at the end of the sixteen days no proof of their guilt had been found, their captors, recognising and appreciating their staunch fidelity and unswerving loyalty, removed them from their cells in the dreary jail to the Rest Camp, where they were able to enjoy the privileges of the ordinary prisoners of war, and refreshing intercourse with their brothers from the field.

But before they were admitted to the Rest Camp they were brought one by one into the presence of a British officer, who pompously read their sentence to them.

How the other men passed through their interview with him I do not know, but Mr. Hattingh's story, told in his own words, runs thus:

After a few questions had been put, the British officer said to him:

"You have been found guilty of high treason, but Lord Kitchener has been kind enough to commute your sentence to banishment as prisoner of war."

"But how could you find me guilty?" Mr. Hattingh asked. "I have never been tried."

"Be silent," the officer commanded sternly. "You have nothing to say."

Mr. Hattingh says he was only too glad to "be silent," and betook himself to the Rest Camp with alacrity.

During the weeks of their imprisonment in the jail those at Harmony were not living in a bed of roses.

Of Willie Botha's loyalty they never had a doubt, but the other men were unknown to them, and they knew that all were aware of the part played by them in the Secret Service. And even if they were not betrayed by one of the prisoners, it was a mystery that they had not been betrayed with them.

Many of their friends, the families of the men in jail, had been sent to Camps or across the border, and no one was more surprised at finding themselves still in Pretoria than Mrs. van Warmelo and her daughter.

They felt the strain, the uncertainty of their position keenly, and throughout those weeks they were obliged to conceal from their good friends, the Consuls and their families, the danger to which they were exposed and the intense anxiety with which they were filled, not only on their own account, but for those brave men in the Pretoria jail.

Towards the end of September, when the prisoners had been removed to the Rest Camp, a baby-girl was born in Willie Botha's house.

The mother had been left undisturbed in her home, a consideration for which she and all who were concerned for her were devoutly grateful, and now she had passed through the portals of Gethsemane and the wide gates of Eden, in the bitter-sweet experiences of motherhood.

The news of the birth of a daughter was duly conveyed to Willie Botha in the Rest Camp, with a request to the authorities to allow him to visit his wife and see his child before leaving South Africa's shores for Bermuda.

Permission was granted for a two-hours' visit.

An armed soldier escorted him to his home and sat outside, under the verandah, drinking coffee and enjoying the good things with which he had been provided, while, inside, his prisoner, speechless with emotion, knelt beside the mother's bed, showering kisses on the tiny feet of his infant daughter.

When the first greetings were over Mr. Botha said:

"Wife, what became of that old hymn-book which was standing on the shelf in the dining-room?"

"I don't know," she answered; "I suppose it was taken away by Elliot with all the other books and papers."

"Elliot!" he muttered between his teeth.

"Elliot, betrayer of friends, and Judas-Boer!"

This man had been intimately known to them all, had, in fact, for many months lived with his wife and family, as guest and friend, under the hospitable roof of Mr. and Mrs. Hattingh, at whose hands they received innumerable acts of love and kindness.

Elliot was the man by whom the members of the Secret Committee were arrested that Sunday night.

Verily it can be said of him—

"For it was not an enemy that reproached me; then I could have borne it; neither was it he that hated me that did magnify himself against me; then I would have hid myself from him. But it was thou, a man my equal, my guide, and my acquaintance. We took sweet counsel together, and walked unto the house of God in company."

The occasion of Willie Botha's visit having been made to serve at the same time as a christening, there were quiet, sacred rejoicings when the minister, who had in the meantime arrived, performed the ceremony.

As soon as the service was over Mr. Botha walked rapidly to the dining-room and glanced over the empty book-shelves. Nothing there!

He stood on tiptoe for a moment, surveying the topmost shelf, and was about to turn away disappointed, when his eye fell on the tattered psalm-book, lying unnoticed in a corner of the shelf.

He could hardly believe his eyes! He pounced on the book, turning over the pages in the greatest agitation and suspense.

The fateful slip of paper fell into his hands!

Triumphantly he marched back to his wife's bedroom and held the magic paper before her astonished eyes, telling her of the sleepless nights and days of suspense he had endured through it.

With unspeakable thankfulness in their hearts, they then and there reduced the fragment of paper to ashes, thanking God for His wonderful deliverance.

But the hour of parting was now at hand—and over this, good reader, we must draw the veil.

* * * * *

On their way back to the Rest Camp the armed escort, becoming confidential, positively assured his charge that peace would be proclaimed before October 10th. The "Powers" had intervened, he said, and the English were leaving the country!

He was an Irishman.



CHAPTER XXX

FORMING A NEW COMMITTEE

Not until it became positively known at Harmony, towards the middle of October, that the members of the Secret Committee had been sent away to Bermuda, did Mrs. van Warmelo and Hansie breathe freely again.

The suspense of five full weeks was over at last, a suspense not to be described, and never to be forgotten by those who endured it.

It did not seem possible to grasp the fact that those brave men had escaped with their lives, and Hansie, looking up at the stars that night, felt that she had learnt something of unspeakable value in the relief and gratitude with which that period of concentrated suffering had been followed.

Carlo looked up at the stars too, for he invariably followed his young mistress's gaze, but on this occasion, seeing nothing unusual in that vast expanse, he stood up on his hind legs before her and gave a short bark of inquiry.

"They have gone, Carlo," she said. "I know you won't believe it, but they have really gone, and if 'Gentleman Jim' knew anything about this, he would surely say, 'I 'spose their time hadn't come yet, little missie.' That's it, Carlo. Their time had not come yet. But they have left things in a fearful muddle, and we will have to work as we never worked before. The first thing to be done to-morrow morning will be——"

She stopped suddenly—not even to her faithful Carlo could she confide the secret plan which she had made for reorganising and re-establishing on a safer footing the Secret Service of the Boers in town.

She would form a new Committee, of five women this time, who would carry on the work on the same lines which had been adopted by the Secret Committee, and this plan, when she unfolded it to her mother that night, was received with warm approval.

The first and last meeting was held at Harmony on October 15th and was attended by Mrs. Malan, Mrs. Armstrong, Mrs. Honey, Mrs. van Warmelo, and Hansie, who was appointed secretary.

Bound together by the sacred oath of fidelity and secrecy, these five women vowed to serve their country and people, as an organised body of workers, as long as they had the power to do so.

On the occasion of his next visit to the capital Captain Naude was to be informed of the formation of the new Committee, but for the rest its very existence was to be kept a dead secret.

Mrs. van Warmelo told the members that she was in a position to communicate with the President in Holland by every mail, and that the methods employed by her would be revealed to them after the war. With this they expressed themselves satisfied, willingly leaving the matter of sending away dispatches from the field in Mrs. van Warmelo's capable hands.

It was felt that the greatest responsibility resting on them at the time was to have a suitable place of refuge ready to receive the Captain when next he entered the town.

There was no house free from suspicion since the arrest of the Committee, except—except—Harmony!

Harmony, surrounded as it was by British officers and their staffs, by British troops and Military Mounted Police—Harmony was at last chosen as the most suitable, the only spot in Pretoria in which the Captain of the Secret Service could be harboured with any degree of safety.

It was arranged that he would immediately be brought to Harmony when he came again, and in the meantime the Committee would be on the look-out for an opportunity to send a warning and instructions out to him not to approach the houses hitherto frequented by him.

For many weeks no spies belonging to his set came into town. No war news of any description reached his friends, except one day the information, conveyed we know not how, of the safe arrival at the Skurvebergen of young Els, the spy who had been fired upon and was missing from his companions on that eventful September 12th. That this news gave his relatives and friends great joy and relief after the intense anxiety gone through on his account, my readers will readily understand.

* * * * *

The discovery of the White Envelope was not always a source of unmixed satisfaction.

One of them, containing news of the betrayal and arrest of the Committee, and sent to Alphen in the ordinary way, failed to reach its destination. This caused the senders so much anxiety that for some time they did not dare risk the sending of another. The letter might have fallen into the hands of the censors and the secret be discovered by them, in which event they were probably waiting quietly to catch up further information.

It may have been only a coincidence, but at this time the plotters at Harmony observed that the censorship on their post had been withdrawn altogether.

They knew only too well what this meant! And their hearts sank when they thought of the White Envelope!

It meant, good reader, that there was a most disquieting increase in the vigilance of the censor; it meant that their letters were opened by steam, to throw them off their guard, and to encourage them to write with greater frankness to their absent friends.

Mother and daughter felt the hair rising on their heads when they thought of one of their precious White Envelopes being subjected to a treatment of steam by the censor, and of his exultation on beholding the result.

As the days went by, their dread of him and his evil machinations increased, for hardly a letter reached them that did not betray traces of his handiwork—or unhandiwork, for he was not always judicious in the quantity of glue used by him in reclosing the envelopes. He should have been a little more economical in the use of Government property if he really wished to hoodwink his enemies, and he would have saved Mrs. van Warmelo the trouble of damping the envelopes afterwards where they stuck, on the inside, to the letters.

While the steaming process was being carried on at the General Post Office, no White Envelopes were taken to the censor, but they were posted at Johannesburg by friends, and in this way the distant correspondents were warned of danger, until it became evident that the steam-censorship had been withdrawn and the old reassuring order of things been established once more.

A week or two later another White Envelope from Holland reached Harmony in safety, by which it was known that the secret was still undiscovered, but the fate of the missing envelope remained a mystery to the end, and was a constant reminder and warning to the conspirators to be careful in the use of their priceless secret.

I am sure the Post Office officials had plenty to do during the war, but there is no doubt that their labours were considerably lightened by the "smugglers" who chose to dispense with the services of the censors entirely. And then we must not forget the activities of the spies and of their fellow-workers in town.

Quite a large private postal service was carried on by them, as we all know, and every week, before the entry into Pretoria became so difficult and dangerous, hundreds of letters were carried backwards and forwards, to and from the commandos.

One man in town was in the habit of receiving great batches of these smuggled letters, which he distributed to the various addresses, until one day he was very nearly caught. He had just received a packet of communications "from the front" and had opened it on his writing-table in his quiet study, when the doors were opened unceremoniously and some officials entered with a warrant to search his house. Carpets were taken up, walls were tapped, furniture was overturned and examined, books were removed from their shelves and every cranny inspected with the greatest thoroughness, but the pile of letters lying open on his writing-table, over which they had found him bending when they entered the room, was passed over without so much as a glance.

This may sound a bit unreal, unlikely, but there are similar cases on record, which we know to be true beyond a doubt, and one of these I must relate, because it so closely concerned our friends at Harmony and so very nearly proved to be their undoing. They did not know it at the time, but were told by Mrs. Cloete, after the war, that she had sent all their uncensored, their "smuggled" letters, to her friend at Capetown, Mrs. Koopmans de Wet, with instructions to read and return them to her as soon as possible, which Mrs. Koopmans had done, with the alarming news that her house had been thoroughly searched for documents while the pile of letters was lying open on her writing-table.

The authorities must have been "struck blind," she had said, for though they had overhauled the place and had taken away with them every suspicious-looking document, they had passed and repassed the papers on her table without a word and with nothing more than a superficial glance.

This information had alarmed Mrs. Cloete so much that she had immediately packed every incriminating letter and all her White Envelopes into a tin, which she secretly buried, with the help of her German nurse, under one of the trees at Alphen.

And there they, or what is left of them after ten years, still lie, for the spot has never again been found, although every effort was made to do so.



CHAPTER XXXI

"TEA FOR TWO"

It was at the time when the northern territories were being swept by the enemy for the first time that Mrs. van Warmelo heard that a relative of hers had been put over the border, and was staying with her husband at the Grand Hotel in Pretoria.

She therefore asked Hansie to call at the hotel to inquire whether she could be of any assistance to them in their trouble, and Hansie donned her prettiest frock that very afternoon on her "calling" expedition, Carlo walking with unusual sedateness by her side.

"We'll go and see General Maxwell too this afternoon, Carlo," she said, "and see whether we can get that permit. Always put on your best clothes when you go to the Military Governor, my boy. You'll find that Tommy Atkins never keeps you waiting then."

Arrived at the hotel, she suddenly remembered that she had forgotten her young relative's name, and did not know whom to ask for.

She was waited upon by a hall-porter, who watched her with a face of stolid patience while she searched her memory for the forgotten name.

At last she said: "The lady I want was a Miss Mare, but she has married an Englishman since last I saw her, and I have forgotten his name. Can you tell me whether there is a young couple with a baby, from Zoutpansberg, staying at the hotel?"

"I'll find out, miss."

He came back with the information that there were four young couples from Zoutpansberg, each with a baby.

Hansie wondered that he did not smile.

"Are they all in?" she asked.

"Some are in and some are out," he said.

Suddenly he seemed to wake up.

"Would it be any help if I told you their names?" he inquired.

"Yes, indeed," she exclaimed; "I would know the name at once if I heard it."

He brought her the book in which the names of visitors were entered, and read one name after the other slowly.

"That's it," Hansie said. "Knevitt! Is Mrs. Knevitt in?"

"No, miss, she is out, and I happen to know that she is leaving again soon. They only arrived yesterday. They were put over the border by the Boers."

"I don't understand," Hansie answered.

"Don't you see, miss? The Boers are still in possession of Pietersburg, and Mr. Knevitt, as a British subject, has been put over the border."

"Oh yes, I see. Well, will you please give these cards to Mrs. Knevitt when she comes in?"

Once on the street, Hansie again addressed herself to her faithful companion:

"It is not hard to believe that the world is turning round, Carlo, when one has to believe that Pretoria is the other side of one's own border. I wonder what our next sensation is to be."

She was soon to find out.

The Military Governor was engaged, and she was shown into the office of an under official, a tall, fair man whose name she did not catch.

She was politely asked to take a seat and the nature of her business inquired into.

The tall, fair man bent over some papers he had before him and toyed with a gold pencil, while she stated her case as clearly and concisely as she could.

He asked her a few questions, with long pauses in between, and again bent over his papers, making pencil marks and turning the pages over slowly.

The silvery chime of a tiny clock told the hour of five.

"You—er—will have some tea?"

"No, thank you," surprised.

A moment's silence, then he pressed an electric bell at his right hand.

An immaculate "Buttons" instantly appeared.

"Tea for two," the officer commanded, without raising his head.

Buttons disappeared, to return in an incredibly short time, bearing aloft a well-appointed tete-a-tete.

When he had withdrawn, the hospitable officer, of whom it could well be said that "he had a teapot in his soul," poured out two cups of tea with an abstracted air, pushed one towards Hansie with his right hand, while he slowly stirred his own with his left.

"Have some tea," he said persuasively.

There was no answer, and he again bent over the work with which he was occupied.

Hansie got up quietly and left the room, but she had not gone many yards in the long corridor before she became aware of hurried footsteps following.

It was the tall officer, very straight now, who called out to her:

"Stop, stop a moment. Where are you going?"

Without turning round she replied:

"To General Maxwell. He never keeps me waiting," and walked on rapidly.

"Don't go," he implored. "Come back to my office. I have your permits quite ready for you. I was busy with them all the time."

She turned round slowly and walked back with him to his office.

"Thank you very much," she said as she took the papers from his hand.

He opened the door for her with exaggerated courtesy, and she went on her way, brimming over with delight.

"I missed two teas this afternoon, but I got my permits and came off with flying colours," she confided to her dumb companion. "Let us go home and tell the mother all about it, Carlo mine."



CHAPTER XXXII

KIDNAPPING MAUSER THE KITTEN

One afternoon when Mrs. van Warmelo and Hansie were returning home, as they passed the house occupied by one of the biggest "lords" in the British Army, they saw an exquisite black kitten sitting on the steps leading from the street to the garden.

Such a kitten! Coal black she was, except for a snowy shirt front and four dainty, snow-white paws.

A delicate ribbon of pale blue satin was fastened in a bow round her neck, and she blinked at the passers-by in friendly consciousness of her superior beauty.

"Oh, you darling!" Hansie exclaimed. "I wish you belonged to me!"

"She does," Mrs. van Warmelo answered, and stooping, she picked up the unresisting kitten and placed it in her daughter's arms.

It was done in a moment and was meant for a joke, but Hansie took the matter seriously and walked on, rapturously caressing her small "trophy of the war."

"Hansie, put that cat down," Mrs. van Warmelo said, looking anxiously up and down the street.

"No indeed, mother; you gave her to me."

"You know very well I did not mean you to keep her. I decline to have anything more to do with the matter."

She walked rapidly on and Hansie followed in some uncertainty, but holding on to her new-found treasure as if her life depended upon it.

Soon she caught up with her indignant parent and said in a conciliatory tone of voice:

"Surely, mother, you don't suppose I would steal a cat from any one else! But Lord —— is trying to take my country, why should I not take his cat?"

"Two wrongs never made one right," her mother answered, "but do as you please. You always do."

Hansie kept that kitten and, after Carlo, loved it better than any other pet, and even Mrs. van Warmelo relented as she watched the playful creature hiding in the shadows and springing out at every passer-by.

"What are you going to call her?" she asked her daughter.

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps I'll go and ask Lord —— what he called her."

She stopped, observing her mother's frown, and then went on:

"We must think of a name, a nice, appropriate war name."

A few moments later the kitten crept into a corner, with a small mouse held firmly between her jaws.

"Oh, mother, look, she has caught a mouse already. She is going to be a splendid mouser. And oh, now I have a name for her. We'll call her 'Mauser,' mother dear!"

So be it. "Mauser" is her name, and hereafter she may be seen invariably in Hansie's company, a welcome addition to the small, harmonious family.

Perched on Hansie's shoulder as she sat reading under the verandah, or purring round her as she lay under the trees, with Carlo watching by her side, Mauser was ever to be found where her young mistress was; and when the latter went to town she and Carlo were invariably escorted to the gate by the faithful Mauser, who again welcomed them on their return.

This kidnapping episode had taken place a few months after the British entry into Pretoria.

A full year had gone by; and Mauser, the kitten, had developed into a beautiful full-grown cat and was the mother of five mischievous little ones, grey-striped and very wild, for whom she had made a home in a deep hollow in the trunk of one of the big weeping-willows, the very tree under which "Gentleman Jim" had built his small kitchen of corrugated iron.

It is a stormy night in November 1901, a month remembered by all for the violence and frequency of its storms.

Hansie is bending over her diary, trying to make her entries between the crashes with which the house is shaken.

Her mother is lying on a couch near by; her tired eyes are closed, but she is not asleep. Who could sleep in such a storm?

Perhaps we may be allowed to look over the writer's shoulder.

"Nov. 8th, Friday, 10 o'clock p.m.

"And this terrific storm has been raging for hours! It seems incredible.

"It was the same last night and the night before. As I write, the roar of thunder never once breaks off, peal after peal, crash after crash, vivid, dazzling flashes of lightning, torrents of rain mixed with hail, and a howling wind.

"Such a night is never to be forgotten.

"One is thrilled and impressed by its magnificence, by its awful grandeur and its majesty, and yet I think one would go mad if it continued for any length of time.

"I feel as if I am going mad with the thought of our thousands and thousands of women and tender little children exposed to all this fury....

"Where is the God of pity to-night?

"Surely not in our desolate land, not in our ruined homes—not in South Africa!

"The fourth storm within a few hours, each more violent than the last, is just approaching, and this one threatens to surpass the others in unabated fury.

"The Lord hath turned His face from us.

"The hand of the Lord is laid heavily upon us. His ear is deaf to our cries and supplications. I cannot write, my soul is crushed by the sorrow, suffering, and sin around me....

"I feel better now, but the struggle has been great....

"At the front, fierce blows have been struck lately. Our men are fighting as they never fought before....

"How the storm rages on! In my sheltered home, safe from the fury of the elements, I think I suffer more than the women under canvas, for their sakes....

"The letter I have before me must be answered now. He asks me to bind myself to him definitely....

"I have decided to do so. It is a weighty step, and God knows....

"But I have long prayed for guidance, and it seems to me clear enough that we are destined for one another.

"So to-night, in this raging storm, with a heart filled with the desolation of land and people, the blackness of the present, the hopeless misery of the future, I am going to write the words which will bind me for ever to L.E.B.

"Strange betrothal! Strange sequel to a stormy life!

"But perhaps—perhaps, the future holds something for me of calm and peace...."

With throbbing brow she went out into the night to watch the storm, from a sheltered corner under the verandah.

Nothing fascinated her so much.

Suddenly a blinding flash, accompanied by a sound like the sharp cracking of a whip and instantly followed by a deafening roar of thunder, drove her to her mother's side.

"Are you all right, mother? That bolt fell very near. I thought it struck the house."

"It was frightfully close," Mrs. van Warmelo answered.

"Come and sit beside me here. I am quite sure one of our big trees has been struck."

She was right, for walking through the demolished garden next morning, they came upon the spot where the bolt had fallen and found one of the gigantic willow trees furrowed from top to bottom, with the outer bark scorched and curled up like paper and the white bark showing underneath.

Jim was breaking down his little kitchen with all the speed he could.

"What are you doing, Jim?" Hansie asked.

"Jim's shifting," was the answer, soberly and sadly made.

"But the storm is over. All the danger is past. You can safely stay on now."

"No fear, little missie. The Big Baas was very cross last night, and when Him cross He don't care what He do. Jim want to live a little longer."

Hansie laughed.

"I wonder where Mauser could have been with her kittens last night!" she exclaimed, putting her hand into the deep hollow of the tree. "The nest is empty. Do you know, Jim?"

"No, little Missie. I 'spose Mauser's time had not come yet," he said, with stolid philosophy.

"I suppose not."

But alas, alas! Mauser's time was soon to come, for the soldiers, setting a strong trap to catch a wild cat which was nightly plundering them of their meat ration, caught Hansie's beloved Mauser instead, killing her instantly.

No reproaches from her mother were added to her keen remorse as she bent over the motherless kittens, whispering: "I will care for you, as she would have done; but oh, remember this, that honesty is the best policy, and all is not fair in love and war."

* * * * *

Tragedy was in the air.

A bee-keeper came to Harmony one morning to help Mrs. van Warmelo to take out honey from the hives, and this disturbance, combined with the fact that the soldiers had unwisely set up a smithy near the beehives under the row of blue-gum trees dividing their camp from Harmony, enraged the bees so much with the noise and the smoke and heat of the smithy fires, that they attacked man and beast in vicious fury.



In a few moments all was confusion.

The servants rushed about frantically, in their endeavours to bring the fowls and calves under shelter in time.

The two women took refuge in the house, closing the doors and windows, while they watched the consternation and disorder in the camp.

Fortunately there was only one horse in the smithy at the time, a beautiful chestnut mare belonging to the Provost-Marshal, Major Poore, so Mrs. van Warmelo was told afterwards.

The soldiers seemed to lose their heads entirely. They ran away, not into their tents, but right away into the "koppies" on the other side of the railway line.

The bee-keeper cut the halter with which the unfortunate horse was tethered to a post, then he too took refuge.

What followed was pitiful to behold and will never be forgotten by the women, helplessly, and as if fascinated by the scene, watching from their windows.

The infuriated bees, deprived of all other living things on which to wreak their vengeance, turned, in their thousands, on the hapless mare, which stood unmoved, as horses do, when lashed by hail or panic-stricken under flames.

She made no attempt to save herself, but with bent head and ears laid flat she stood still under the furious attack of countless bees.

One or two of the men, wrapped up to the eyes in the coats and waistcoats of their comrades, cautiously approached the mare at their own great peril, and tried with all their strength to move her from the scene.

In vain. As if rooted to the spot she stood, with her four feet planted firmly on the ground, and they desisted in despair, once more fleeing to the hills.

All day they sat upon the hillside, homeless, many of them hatless, until towards afternoon, when, the fury of the bees abating, they ventured a return to their tents.

The next day, when the dead mare had been removed for burial, a letter was brought to Mrs. van Warmelo from the Provost-Marshal, commanding the immediate removal of the beehives to some safer spot in the lower portion of Harmony.

This was done by degrees, little by little every night, in order to accustom the bees to the change gradually, and there was never any repetition of the attack.

Hansie, writing to her brother in his prison-fort at Ahmednagar, that his bees had put a valuable English horse out of action for ever, received in reply a postcard, with the single comment, "My brave bees!"



CHAPTER XXXIII

THE FIRST SPIES AT HARMONY

As we have said, the Committee of women had decided on Harmony as the only safe spot for harbouring Captain Naude on his next visit. It was still hemmed in by troops on every side, and, as the weeks went by, and the van Warmelos became more convinced that their name had not been betrayed with those of the Secret Committee, they settled down with a sense of peaceful security and prepared themselves once more for the reception of their friends.

Their wonderful "escape" was a topic of daily conversation, and they congratulated themselves over and over again with not even having been approached by the military and put on their best behaviour.

No promises had been given by them, and they felt free as the birds of the air to continue their work of outwitting the enemy, whenever occasion presented itself. But occasions were rare now.

As far as was known, there was no longer a spot in the fencework around Pretoria through which a spy could enter unobserved, and no word or sign had been received from the brave Captain for more than three months. By this they knew that he had been informed of the calamities which had befallen his friends in town.

Still they doubted not that he would at least make an attempt to come in again. His friends remembered his once having said that his keen enjoyment of the perils he underwent was only enhanced by the obstacles which lay in his way, and when the English thought they had made it quite impossible for any man to cross their lines, it would be his greatest pleasure to prove how much mistaken they were.

There was no vain boasting in the quiet and natural way in which he made these remarks, and they were remembered with a strong conviction that he would keep his word. But still it was realised that his greatest difficulty would not be so much his entrance into the town as his perplexity when once he found himself there.

He would not know where to go. His friends had been banished, their houses were occupied by the enemy, and as yet he did not know of the existence of the new Committee. Sending out word to him was impossible.

No man could risk the unknown dangers of leaving the town under the present conditions to warn him; no one would know where to find the Secret Service Corps in the field. His friends decided to possess their souls in patience, trusting in the capabilities of the wily Captain and knowing full well that if any one could find a way out, or in, he would.

He did not disappoint them, and they might have known that on this occasion everything he did would be exactly opposed to his former methods.

It was to be a time of surprises for every one.

Hansie and her mother were just talking about the Captain and regretting the appearance of the young moon—which meant under ordinary circumstances, no spies in town—and wondering how much longer they would be able to endure their suspense—wondering, too, how they would communicate with the Commander in future and longing for reliable news from the field—when the unexpected happened.

At break of day December 17th three travellers entered the town, travel-stained, torn, and weary. They walked boldly through the streets of Pretoria in the dim light of a summer's dawn, and what their destination was we shall see presently.

The van Warmelos were having supper that night at 8 o'clock when the door opened unceremoniously and Flippie's shock head was thrust in.

"There are two ladies looking for Harmony," he said. "They are at the front gate and want to see you."

Hansie immediately went out and met two girls, strangers to her, coming up the garden-path.

"Good evening," she said. "Do you wish to see my mother?"

"Who are you?" was the somewhat unexpected but perfectly natural question.

"I am Miss van Warmelo. Do you want any one here?"

"Yes," one of them replied in a hurried and mysterious way. "There are two men at your garden gate and they want to see Mrs. van Warmelo."

"Won't you ask them to come up to the house?" Hansie asked. "You can't very well expect my mother to——"

"Oh yes, she must," the other broke in hurriedly; "it is all right—she knows them. They will tell her themselves what they want."

"Wait here a moment. I will call my mother."

Hansie had some trouble in persuading her mother to leave the house.

"I am not going down to the gate to see any men," she said. "Let them come up to me."

"They won't, mother. It is no use. There is something behind this. They are either our own spies or the English are setting a trap for us. Be on your guard, but come out into the garden."

Sorely against her will Mrs. van Warmelo hurried out of the house, where she gave the girls a cool and haughty reception, saying:

"I don't understand this. Will you be good enough to ask your friends to come up to my house if they wish to speak to me?" And with that she turned back to the house alone.

Girl No. 1 said, "I think I had better go and fetch them, they are waiting near the wire fence," and walked rapidly down the path, while Hansie followed slowly with girl No. 2, asking many questions, but getting none but the most unsatisfactory replies.

When they reached the gate, girl No. 1 had disappeared altogether and there was no sign of the men. Hansie thought this very suspicious, and was about to turn to her companion with an impatient remark, when she suddenly said something about going to look for girl No. 1 and disappeared too, leaving Hansie standing alone at the gate with her troubled reflections.

Men and girls had now disappeared for good it seemed, and, after what seemed an endless time of waiting, she decided to go back to the house, when she was suddenly joined by her mother, now thoroughly alarmed.

"It must be a trap, dear mother," she whispered. "I can't make it out. Ah, here is some one coming at last"—but then her heart stood still, for a tall English officer, with helmet on and armed to the teeth, advanced, saluting the two ladies in the pale light of the young moon.

"Naude," he whispered, stretching out his hands to them.

Captain Naude in an English officer's uniform! Thank God, thank God!

In a moment all was happy confusion.

The Captain introduced his corporal, Venter, warmly took leave of girls No. 1 and 2, thanking them gratefully for services rendered by them that night, and then the four people sauntered up to the house, talking loudly as they passed the sergeant-major's tin "villa" on the other side of the fence.

The glimpse Hansie caught of the good man, calmly sitting inside, smoking his pipe and reading, little dreaming that his arch enemies were within a stone's throw of his peaceful abode, added a delightful thrill to the sensations experienced by her that night.

Very little was said when once they got inside. The hostesses took in the condition of the starved and exhausted heroes at a glance and busied themselves with preparations for a feast, while the men stretched themselves on the sofas in the dining-room. When Mrs. van Warmelo had lit the fire in the kitchen and set the kettle on to boil, Hansie opened the windows of the drawing-room as wide as possible, lit the lamps and candles, and opening the piano, played some "loud music" for the edification of the sergeant-major.

"I've made him understand that we have visitors," she said, laughing, when she got back to the dining-room. "He will quite understand the all-pervading smell of coffee, even if he can't account for the ham and eggs at this time of night."

Home-made bread, butter, and preserves, rusks, cold plum-pudding, and fruit completed the repast—and how the men tucked in! They were so bruised and worn-out that they could hardly sit up straight to eat, and when they had each "forced a square meal into a round stomach" they once more stretched themselves out on the sofas, supremely content with their pipes.

Mother and daughter sat beside them talking until nearly midnight.

"Tell me" (Hansie began at the end)—"tell me where you disappeared to from our gate. I can't quite forgive you the nasty fright you gave us. You might have come straight up to the house."

"Well," Naude answered, "I did not know whether you were still in town and alone at home, and we could not risk finding you with visitors. While we were at the gate some of the Military Mounted Police passed and we thought it safer to go for a walk. Unfortunately we walked right into their camp, and before we knew where we were, we were falling over their tent-ropes, and in our hurry to escape from them we found ourselves before the house of the Military Governor, where the sentinels on guard saluted me most respectfully. I can't tell you how glad we were to find you waiting for us when we came back to the gate." The diary shrinks from the attempt to describe the thrilling adventures these men had to relate, their hairbreadth escapes, their hardships, privations, and fatigue.

They sat talking with them far into the night, their hostesses hung on every word, their hearts full of admiration and respect for men so brave, so strong and calm, facing death a thousand times without flinching, looking their troubles philosophically in the face, trusting implicitly in their God.

The faith of Captain Naude was sublime.

By degrees they got the story of their entering into the town from them.

It seemed that at this time Pretoria was so well guarded that it was almost impossible for the wiliest of spies to pass through the sentries unobserved, but, after much cautious inspection, one single unguarded spot had been found, the drift of the Aapies River, over which the S.E. railway bridge passed. This drift, which was about twenty feet wide, was so completely fenced in with a network of barbed wire that it was evidently not considered necessary to place sentinels there. By throwing over their parcels first and working away the ground for more than an hour under the barbed wire, the men were able to crawl and wriggle their way through the barrier.

They made it a rule never to clip the wires around the town, because this would betray the route used by them, but out in the veld no wire fences were spared.

When they had removed the worst traces of dust and dirt from their clothes they walked boldly through the streets, Naude in the uniform of an English officer and Venter and Brenckmann, as his orderlies, dressed in khaki.

They were anxious to get under cover before the full light of day overtook them, but none of them knew where Harmony was, and they actually walked over the lower portion of Harmony's grounds, across the main road and over the Sunnyside bridge, hiding themselves in the thick poplar bushes beside the river. Here three Kaffir police sprang up and saluted Naude as he passed. But for his uniform, he and his men would have been lost.

After a short consultation it was decided that Brenckmann should risk walking through the town in daylight to his home in Arcadia and send some one in the evening to escort Naude and Venter to Harmony.

The two men had a terrible day in the bush, lying as flat as possible in the choking heat, without food and nothing to drink but a little filthy water in a hole near by.

When night fell Brenckmann sent his sister, with one of Venter's, to their hiding-place, and then the search for Harmony began. It was the unsuspecting Flippie, lounging about the streets after his day's work was done, who gave the required information and volunteered to show them the way.

Before they retired for the night Naude took Mrs. van Warmelo's hand, and, looking earnestly into her face, said:

"Do you know what it means to harbour me? There is a heavy price on my head, and in the event of an attack I do not mean to be taken alive. There will be a fight under your roof. I am well armed"—he tapped his revolvers significantly; "it means confiscation of your property and imprisonment for you and your daughter. Are you prepared for this? If not, say the word; it is not yet too late for us to seek refuge elsewhere."

"You are heartily welcome here," she replied, "and if it comes to fighting——"

"We have arms too," Hansie broke in, "a revolver and a pocket-pistol. It will not be the first time that Boer women have fought side by side with their men——" She stopped in some confusion, suddenly remembering General Maxwell and the permits he had given her.

"I fervently hope there will be no fighting," she continued. "I am sure there will not be. There are too many troops lying around Harmony, we shall never be suspected of harbouring spies; but if we should be surprised in the night, don't begin shooting at once. We have a hiding-place for you."

Mrs. van Warmelo led the way to her bedroom, where the men were to sleep, and, removing a rug from the floor beside the bed, she lifted two boards and disclosed an opening large enough for the body of a man to pass through.

"Put all your belongings in here and creep in at the first alarm," she said. "We will cover you up securely. Leave the matter in our hands."

"By the way," said the Captain suddenly, "who is Flippie?"

She gave him a brief outline of Flippie's history and how he came to be at Harmony.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, I should like to cultivate Flippie's acquaintance. I must find out what he thinks of how we come to be with you."

"Oh, Flippie is all right," she declared. "You can trust him with anything. But perhaps it will be safer for you to remain in hiding while you are with us, not to be seen even by the servants."

"We can arrange all that to-morrow," Captain Naude answered. "I am sure you must be tired now, and perhaps you will not get much rest. There are many things to do and to discuss to-morrow. I must see several people and give you the reports for the President."

"Will you let me be your secretary?" Hansie asked. "I am secretary to the new Committee."

"I shall be very glad if you will," Captain Naude replied.



CHAPTER XXXIV

THE CAPTAIN'S VISIT

Needless to say, there was not much peace or rest for any one that night.

Mrs. van Warmelo and Hansie kept guard all night in the dining-room. Every time Carlo barked outside they sprang up in alarm, their hearts throbbing, their breath held up in listening suspense, but nothing happened; and when day broke and the glorious sunlight flooded the garden, all their fears vanished, and they felt as if they had been harbouring spies all their lives.

They were up early, and as soon as their guests heard sounds of life about the house they cautiously emerged from their rooms, looking about them anxiously and inquiringly.

"Come in and have some coffee," Mrs. van Warmelo said warmly. "Did you have a good night? The servants are not in the house yet and you are safe for the present, but we must make our plans immediately. Are you going to be seen about the house or not?"

Captain Naude then informed her that his orderly Venter wished to go home to his people in Arcadia towards evening, if she could lend him civilian clothing to wear, for once in the town the khaki was more of a danger than a safeguard to him, and Captain Naude was in the same difficulty himself.

It would never do for him to be seen at Harmony in an English officer's uniform—"unless," he added inquiringly, "you are in the habit of entertaining the British military?"

"No, indeed we are not!" she exclaimed indignantly, and told him the story of the officers who had tried to visit her.

"Only one dear old colonel comes now," Hansie said, "but he has not been here for a long, long time. I would enjoy introducing you to him."

"Not in these clothes," Naude replied. "An English colonel would know at once to whom they belonged. No; if I am to remain at Harmony as an ordinary visitor, you will have to provide me with ordinary clothes."

Mrs. van Warmelo promised to do that during the course of the day, and in the meantime it was decided to keep the men in the unused spare bedroom, out of sight of the prying eyes of servants and possible callers.

There their meals were served to them, the women washing up their dishes without a sound in the privacy of their own bedrooms, and at the same time doing all in their power to look and act as usual, showing themselves all over the house and garden, and busying themselves with the usual household duties.

"What did those two khaki women want with you last night, Miss Hansie?" the irrepressible Flippie asked as soon as he saw her that morning.

"Khaki women! What do you mean, Flippie?"

"They were khaki women," he said aggressively. "I saw two English officers with revolvers with them, and they were pretending they didn't belong to them. What did they want with Harmony?"

"I don't know them, Flippie. I never set eyes on them before. I am sure they were up to no good."

"But what did they say they wanted with Harmony?" he persisted.

"They told me they were looking for something else," Hansie answered lamely. "Have you fed the fowls, Flippie?"

"No, but I wonder—"

"Then go and do so at once," Hansie interrupted severely. "It is long past 6 o'clock."

He went unwillingly.

On comparing notes, she found that he had carried on the same conversation with her mother. There was no doubt that his suspicions had been thoroughly roused, and for the next few days they had their hands full, trying to keep his curiosity in check. Perhaps if they had taken Flippie into their confidence and trusted him with their secret, it would have saved them all the anxiety and unrest they had to pass through afterwards, but they acted for the best, and perhaps they would have been betrayed in any case.

What use to speculate now on what might have been?

Hansie's first duty that day was to go to town and inform the members of the Secret Committee of Naude's arrival in Pretoria, and to procure clothing for Venter.

A friend of hers, whom she judged to be about the same size as Venter, gave her a splendid suit of clothes, nearly new, without asking many questions, and placed his further services at her disposal.

She then went to Venter's relatives in Arcadia and told them on no account to visit him at Harmony, as he was coming home to them that evening. Too many people knew about the spies at Harmony, and there was good reason for beginning to feel uncomfortable.

The women of the Committee promised to call at Harmony that afternoon.

When Hansie arrived home she sewed on Venter's buttons, supplied him with studs and ties, a clean pocket-handkerchief, and a new hat.

I believe he had on clothing belonging to six different people when he sallied forth soon after sundown, and Mrs. van Warmelo was glad to see the last of him, for her cares and responsibilities were multiplying, and his presence in the house was one more.

The Captain was still in his uniform, but he was provided with clean underclothing from the "boys'" wardrobes, and from that moment the unmistakable smell of commando no longer pervaded that home!

The rest of the morning was spent in making copies of the dispatches to the President and drawing up a list of the necessaries to be provided by the Committee for the men to take out with them, and in the afternoon Harmony was besieged with a stream of callers.

Poor Hansie thought they would never end, and while she was entertaining them in the drawing-room her mother was keeping the others quiet in the dining-room—Mrs. Honey, Mrs. Armstrong, Mrs. Malan, and the two spies.

That night their sleep was deep and refreshing, for they were worn out in mind and body. There was only one man in the house, and they were getting used to his presence, and the thought of the secret hiding-place gave a sense of security.

They were up early again next morning, and, all the "business" transactions having been done the day before, they devoted themselves to the entertainment of their guest.

A more delightful day they never spent, and the memory of it clings to them still.

Captain Naude was beginning to feel the restrictions of city hospitality, and, longing to get out into the big garden, where the early figs and apricots held their tempting sway, he asked Mrs. van Warmelo once more to provide him with a suit of civilian clothing.

He was taller and slighter of build than the "boys," but she gave him a suit belonging to the youngest son, Fritz, and from that moment he walked freely about the house and garden.

His helmet and uniform lay buried in the hiding-place under the floor, but his revolvers he kept on under his coat, in the leathern belt strapped around his waist. This fact was significant of the deadly peril in which they all were.

While the women were hastily getting through their household duties in order to have a long talk with him, he roamed about the garden and finally stretched himself out on the benches under the six weeping-willows at the foot of the orange avenue.

"Who dat lying under our trees, Miss Hansie?" "Gentleman Jim" inquired, from his perch in the mulberry tree behind the house.

"A friend of ours, Jim. He has been very ill in the hospital and has asked us to let him spend the day in our garden."

"Oh yes, I can see him's cloes much too big for him."

"Hand me that basket, Jim, if it is full," Hansie commanded. "Here is another; and when you have finished, make a big fire in the kitchen, because we must have a nice dinner to-day for the baas."

"All right, little missie," was the respectful answer.

"Gentleman Jim" was settled, and the same performance was gone through casually with Flippie and Paulus; but the three Italian gardeners and the eight or ten Kaffirs employed by them were left to think what they pleased, and they went about their work without taking the slightest notice of Captain Naude.

"The people in your hospital have nice ruddy complexions," Mrs. van Warmelo said laughingly, when Hansie told her what the Captain was passing for; but the ruse answered, and, for the time at least, all suspicions were lulled to rest.

When they joined the Captain in the garden later on they invited him to help them to gather strawberries for the people who were coming to see him again that afternoon. They were just engaged in the pleasant task, chatting gaily and feeling, oh, so safe, when Mrs. van Warmelo started violently.

The sergeant-major was standing on the other side of the fence, watching them intently.

Captain Naude bent low over the strawberry plants and whispered: "Don't move. Go on picking quietly. He will soon go away."

He did, apparently satisfied with the appearance of the stranger, but the ladies had been seized with a sudden nervousness and implored the Captain to come into the house.

Mrs. van Warmelo pointed out to him a group of dense loquat trees, with dark-green, glossy foliage, a suitable place of refuge should he be compelled to flee from the house at night.

He was not a man of many words, but, once started, there was no difficulty in getting all the information they wanted out of him, and he answered their leading questions in a simple, straightforward way, his every word bearing the unmistakable stamp of truth.

I have avoided going into the details of the actual war as much as possible.

It has not been my intention to weary my reader with dry facts concerning battlefields, nor to give the war reports and war rumours, so often unreliable, with which Hansie's diary is filled, but the events connected with Captain Naude's first visit to Harmony I wish to give in the smallest detail. Great historical truths stand out in bold relief against a background of minute details and the realistic description of the common life. This background Hansie's diary affords better than anything written from memory after many years could have done.

While the Captain slept Hansie made her notes, and when he woke she was with him again for further news.

Her thirst for information was insatiable.

"I have been longing to ask you, Captain, where you got your English uniform," Hansie said as they sat down in the dining-room with the great bowls of scarlet strawberries before them. "Tell us everything while we remove these stems."

"You have heard of the terrible battle we had at Bakenlaagte—when Colonel Benson fell, mortally wounded? I was there."

"Were you?" they exclaimed in breathless surprise.

"Yes, and the uniform lying buried under your floor I myself took from the dead body of Colonel Thorold after the battle."

By degrees a full description was given of that great British reverse on the High Veld and what took place after.

When the battle was over and Colonel Benson lay mortally wounded, surrounded by doctors and officers in high authority, Naude advanced, and asked to be allowed to take his papers. The men protested, but Naude ordered them all aside and gently removed every paper from his pockets. He had no important documents with him and the private papers were of course returned to the men in charge of the dying officer.

He expired soon afterwards and was mourned by the Boers as well as the English, for he was admired and respected by all for his courage and daring, and his fame as an honourable foe had spread throughout the Boer lines.

Many of them were heard to say that they had only meant to catch him and that they bitterly regretted his death.

It was one of the worst battles, under General Botha, Naude had ever been in. About twelve Boers were killed instantly, and three wounded to death.

With the storming of the cannon, Boers and English were so close together that the one could hear what the other said, and Naude's corporal, Venter, saw a poor soldier fall back mortally wounded, gasping out with his dying breath, "Oh, dear mother!"

God of pity! who will tell that bereaved parent that her son's last thoughts and words were for her alone?

It was terrible to hear the wounded and dying praying and calling to their God for help. Nationality, language, enmity, and bitter hatred were forgotten as side by side those mortal foes prepared to meet their God—one God!

Imploring one another for help, praying for one drop of water to alleviate their dying agonies—in vain!

Two cannon were taken by the Boers, one of which they destroyed at once, keeping the other for their future use.

When all was over General Botha spoke a few touching words to his men, thanking them for their bravery, and congratulating them on their success.

Unpleasant though it may be to think of, it is my duty to relate that, before burial, the soldiers were stripped of their clothes, and every Boer permitted to take what he required, but the bodies were treated with respect.

Naude, for purposes of his own, chose the uniform of the dead Colonel Thorold, which had six bullet holes through it and was covered with blood-stains.

Revolvers, leggings, whistle, helmet, all was complete, even to the stars and crown on the Colonel's shoulders.

Naude felt himself rich indeed in the possession of articles which he knew would be invaluable to him on his next entry into Pretoria.

One of his men took Colonel Benson's uniform, but handed the crown to him (Naude) at his request, and then the bodies were covered with blankets for a hurried burial.

Oh, cruel war when men slay one another!

"Oh, blest Red Cross, like an angel in the trail of the men who slay!"

There were about ten dead English officers on the field and nineteen wounded, of whom three or four died afterwards.

* * * * *

"When did you see General Botha last?" Mrs. van Warmelo inquired.

"About three weeks ago, and then he was looking well and brown. He told me of a narrow escape he had had. He was completely surrounded and barely got off with his life. His hat was left behind, also his Bible and hymn-books. Lord Kitchener, courteously, and with a touch of humour, returned the books to him with a boy's hat which had been found on the field, thinking evidently that it belonged to the General's little son, who was known to go everywhere with him; but General Botha sent the hat back to Lord Kitchener with a message to the effect that it was not his son's, but had belonged to his 'achter-ryder,' and thanking him for the books."[5]

"Tell us some of your own escapes," Hansie begged, "I am sure you have had many."

"So many that I have forgotten them nearly all," he answered, "but one I shall never forget."

He then related how he and twenty of his men had once been pursued for four hours by about one thousand English. The bullets fell like hail about them, and he was keeping the saddle he rode on, as a curiosity, because of the many bullet holes in it. Once a bullet passed between his coat and shirt along his stomach, the shock taking his breath away. He was sure he had been mortally wounded, but could not stop to find out, and the very recollection of it still caused him to experience the sensation of coming into close contact with death.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: General Botha tells me that the hat which was returned to him by Lord Kitchener had first belonged to his little son, Louis, who had written his name in full, in blue pencil, on the inside of the crown, and had given it, when he had no more use for it, to his little native orderly.]



CHAPTER XXXV

MEMORIES BITTER-SWEET

The Captain's visit was not an unmixed joy. Some bitter revelations were made, much pathos mixed with the humours of the situation and tragic experiences related by all—but on these I shall merely touch, as unavoidable and necessary for the completion of my story.

After the treachery of their own people and the arming of the natives, nothing troubled the men so much as the fact that the fighting burghers were, in some parts of the country, suffering from sore gums and showing signs of scurvy, caused by an unchanging diet of meat and mealies. The spies wanted to communicate this to some good, trustworthy doctor and to get medicine for them to take out to the commandos, but Mrs. van Warmelo told them that no medicine in the world could cure that. What they wanted was a change of diet—fresh milk, vegetables, fruit, and an abundant supply of lime-juice, etc.

Sending out lime-juice would be as absurd as impossible, for it would be as a drop in the ocean of want—and as it was, the men were handicapped by the two bottles of good French brandy which they were taking out for medicinal purposes. These could not be thrown across with the other parcels, but would have to be carried on their persons as they wriggled through the barbed wires across the drift of the Aapies River.

In some districts, where the destruction of farms had not yet been completed, the commando found a sufficient supply of fresh fruit and vegetables and were in no immediate danger of the dread disease, but in the neighbourhood of the towns there was nothing more to be done in the way of devastation, and the only fresh food they got was what they took from the enemy. As an instance of the thoroughness of the system of destruction, Naude related how he and his corps of hungry men had one day come upon a kraal containing the bodies of over 500 sheep in an advanced stage of decomposition, with their throats cut or their heads cleft in two by swords. Too far away from towns or camps to be driven to some place where they could have been kept for the use of starving and suffering humanity, they had been slaughtered and left to rot—anything to prevent their falling into the hands of the Boer commandos.

No provisions of any sort were left within their reach and they lived entirely on what they took by main force from the enemy.

A precarious existence indeed!

Not to know from day to day where the next meal would come from and with appetites sharpened by the healthy, roving, outdoor life they led, no wonder these men uttered imprecations on the heads of those responsible for the systematic devastation of the country and wholesale destruction of food.

The privilege too of stripping their prisoners of their clothes had its disadvantages, for in many cases they swarmed with vermin and had to be boiled before they could be used, while a camp deserted by the English had to be approached warily and with the utmost caution on account of the vermin with which it frequently was infested.

English prisoners were set free (what could the Boers do with them otherwise?), but the traitors caught with them red-handed were shot without mercy—and it was Naude's duty, as Captain of the Secret Service, to see that these executions were carried out. This was to him the hardest task of all.

"His fallen brothers" he called them, and voice and eye when he spoke of them betrayed compassionate horror and wrath unspeakable.

Armed natives met the same fate, and in a few words he described to his shuddering listeners how it was done, how he informed the doomed man of his fate, how the prisoner pleaded for mercy and offered to join the Boer ranks, how he prayed in despair when he found no mercy, no relenting, how he covered his face or folded his arms, how the shots rang out and he fell down dead.

Scenes such as these were witnessed without number, but the execution of a "fallen brother," when the details were arranged, took place some distance apart, beyond the vision of the burghers who had captured him.

But it was when the subject of the Concentration Camps was broached that the darkest gloom settled over Harmony.

Captain Naude had a young wife and two children in one of the Camps in Natal, and Mrs. Malan had procured, as a surprise for him, snapshots of his dear ones taken in the Camp. When they were placed in his hands he gazed on them for a long time in silence, finally muttering under his breath, "For this the English must die!" and from that moment he was moody and silent.

His thirst for information on the condition of the Irene Camp, as Hansie had found it, was insatiable, and hours were spent in discussing the subject and its probable effect on the duration of the war.

"What do the men think of the Concentration Camps?" Hansie asked. "Will they give in for the sake of the women and children?"

"No," was the emphatic answer—"never. We all feel that our first duty is to fight until our independence is assured. We are not responsible for the fate of our women and children, and they let no opportunity pass of urging us to be brave and steadfast in the fulfilment of our duty to our country. Our spies come from the Camps continually with messages of encouragement and hope; but that the mortality among them is more bitter to bear than anything else, you can understand...."

There was a long pause, and then, the Captain continued gloomily:

"I did not recognise my wife on that photo—she has become an old, old woman.... Sometimes on commando we actually enjoy ourselves. You must not think that it is all hardship and trouble! I gave a concert, quite a good one, on the President's birthday, and occasionally, when we come to a farm where there are still some girls left, we take them out riding and driving."



CHAPTER XXXVI

A SILENT DEPARTURE. "FARE THEE WELL"

As the afternoon wore on, an extreme nervousness came over all at Harmony, a feeling of tense anxiety which no words can describe, and was betrayed in a restless flitting through the house, arranging something here, peering through the blinds at the camp of the Military Mounted Police.

Unconsciously voices were lowered and final instructions given in hushed tones.

Only a few hours remained of the Captain's visit to Harmony and much had still to be arranged.

The tension was broken by the arrival of Mrs. Malan, with large parcels containing the articles of clothing, etc., ordered by Naude—hats, boots, riding-suits, soap, matches, salt, and a number of the small necessities of life. This gave the women something to do, for everything had to be sorted and made up into smaller parcels as compactly as possible, while Naude donned a surprising quantity of clothing and disposed of various articles about his person.

In the excitement of the moment Captain Naude, while he was dressing, must have forgotten to take off a waistcoat lent to him by Mrs. van Warmelo and clearly marked D.S. van Warmelo.

This caused her a great deal of anxiety for some days after the departure of the spies.

Had Naude reached the commandos in safety or had he fallen into the hands of the enemy with the tell-tale waistcoat on?

They wondered and speculated, but as the days went by and no startling reports convulsed the town, they once again settled down—not to the same old sense of security as far as they were personally concerned, but to the comforting conviction that all was well with their friends.

Their own fate—but this is coming presently.

Mrs. Malan did not stay long, and there were fortunately no unexpected visitors that afternoon—except, strange to say, the English colonel who had all but ceased his visits and was on this occasion entertained by Hansie and her mother in turn.

His presence gave a great sense of security!

Hansie walked with Mrs. Malan to the gate, where her carriage was waiting for her, and the sergeant-major, slowly sauntering past and saluting to the girl as she gave the coachman her directions, little knew that the words spoken in Dutch were:

"You must be here at 7 to-night, and bring your residential pass without fail."

Van der Westhuizen, with the bandaged arm, was going to help to carry their parcels through the bush and escort the three men through the most dangerous parts of the town.

When all the preparations were complete there was an hour or two to spare before the other men, under cover of darkness, should join Naude near the six willow trees at the foot of the orchard. That time was spent in making plans for the future.

"Promise me that you will never take in strange men," Naude said earnestly. "Do not even harbour any one who professes to come from me unless he gives a watchword. What shall our watchword be?"

They thought for a few moments, and then Mrs. van Warmelo said:

"'Appelkoos' [apricots], because you came to us in the apricot season!"

"So be it." This was agreed upon.

"And if anything should happen to us before you come again?" Hansie inquired. "By what sign will you know that we have been taken and that Harmony is a pitfall instead of a refuge?"

Again they pondered. This was indeed a serious problem, for in the event of an arrest they would not be allowed to see or communicate with any of their friends, and there would be no possible chance of sending out a warning.

After a great deal of discussion it was decided that they should use one of the posts of the enclosure dividing the upper part of Harmony, where the orchard was, from the lower, on which the vegetable gardens of the Italians were.

On one of the posts they would, if they had time to do so, fasten a small piece of plank, and this would serve as a warning to the men not to approach the house.

In case the enemy was not considerate enough to give them time to put up signs and signals, it was agreed to have this done at dead of night by one of the few remaining men in town, van der Westhuizen for instance, at the first news of their arrest.

This arrangement eased their minds of some anxiety, and the rest of the time was spent in quietly chatting about other matters.

"I suppose you cannot let my wife know that I have been here and am well?" Naude asked.

"I am afraid not," Mrs. van Warmelo answered thoughtfully.

"We know no one in the Camp in which she is, and her correspondence will no doubt be closely watched, but we could write an ordinary, cheerful letter, urging her to be hopeful and strong."

"Thank you very much," he answered gratefully, "but do not use your own names on any account. Get other people to write, people less implicated than yourselves."

Towards 7 o'clock Hansie walked slowly down to the willows, the faithful Carlo by her side, wistfully looking into her face. Did he feel the suppressed agitation, the unrest in the air?

I do believe Carlo knew and felt every changing emotion in his young mistress, and sympathised or rejoiced accordingly.

There was no one in the garden.

Hansie waited ten minutes, twenty, half an hour, then she went back to the house.

There the form of the tall young man in his English officer's uniform, from which the traces of blood had been removed as well as possible, was to be seen walking to and fro in restless nervousness.

"Have the others not come yet?" he exclaimed impatiently. "Where can they be so late?"

"I think it is too light still for them to be abroad," Hansie answered; "you should have made the appointment for 8 o'clock."

"But then the moon will be up," he objected. "I hope they will be here soon."

Hansie once more walked to the six willows, and the next half-hour was spent in a restless pacing up and down between the orange trees of the avenue.

"Will they never come? Have they fallen into some unforeseen pitfall?

"At this, the most critical moment of our whole adventure, when all arrangements seem to have come to a smooth and successful termination, must our plans be frustrated, and a bloody encounter be the climax?"

Hansie walked boldly towards the Military Camp, whistling to Carlo and admonishing him thus audibly:

"Why can't you leave the kittens alone, Carlo?" Then more softly: "A peaceful serenity pervades the camp. Evidently nothing brewing here!"

With a lighter heart she went back to the house, but one glance at the face of the Captain was enough, and once more she sped down the garden-path to the ill-fated trysting-place.

As she neared the spot she heard no sound of life and her heart once more sank, but only for a moment. Suddenly she started violently. "What is this?"

The place seemed in a moment alive with silent figures. From the depths of the overhanging willow branches they emerged, one by one, and approached the tense form of the girl as she stood immovable, with straining eyes trying to distinguish the moving, silent figures in the darkness.

The white dress of a woman fluttering among the leaves reassured her.

"What is this?" she whispered. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

One of the men came forward.

"Venter and Brenckmann," he said softly, "come for the Captain."

"Yes, yes," Hansie said hurriedly. "I know. We have waited for you more than an hour. But these people? Who are they?"

"Our friends and relatives come to see us off," came the unexpected reply.

Hansie was silent, trying to hide her indignation, her rising resentment, as another and yet another form cautiously emerged from behind the foliage.

"Do you know," she said at last, "that you are not only exposing us to great danger by coming here at a time like this, but that you are making it a thousand times more difficult for the Captain to depart unobserved? How could you be so indiscreet?"

"These people are all trustworthy," one of the men volunteered.

"I have no doubt of it." Hansie extended her hands cordially to them. "But you must all go now as quietly as you came. Say good-bye and go, please, before I go to call the Captain."

She turned away with a lump in her throat, for no sounds broke the stillness of the night save those of stifled sobs and murmured caresses.

"Fare thee well. God be with you!"

There was Brenckmann with his three sisters, there was Venter with one sister and a sweetheart, and there was the sweetheart of one of Brenckmann's sisters, to say nothing of the other relatives and friends whom I have been unable to place.

Some distance from the scene, and unobserved by all save one, was the figure of the ever-cautious and discreet van der Westhuizen, guarding the parcels which had previously been conveyed there, lurking among the trees.

Swiftly and silently Hansie sped up to the house to meet the Captain, just as he, unable to bear the suspense any longer, had made up his mind to set out on his perilous expedition alone and was cautiously emerging from the bath-room door, concealing himself under the vineyard as he went.

"They are there, Captain," she said in a quick and lowered voice, "waiting for you under the willows. Lower down near the bush van der Westhuizen is also waiting. He will distribute the parcels when you come. I think everything is in order and the coast clear. The military camp is quiet, the sergeant-major is in his 'tin villa.' Good-bye, Captain. God bless you."

The man removed his helmet and stood before her in the pale light of the rising moon. His face was very white.

"I shall never be able to thank you. God keep you. Good-bye, good-bye." He clasped her hand and was gone, as silent as the shadows into which he disappeared.

When Hansie rejoined her mother a few minutes later no word was said on either side. The extreme tension was over, the reaction had set in, and they could not trust themselves to speak, but set to work at once, firmly and decently removing every trace in the house of confusion and disorder.

In the room vacated by Captain Naude they found the snapshots of his wife and children taken in the Concentration Camp.

Mrs. van Warmelo held them up to her daughter's view with a significant look.

"I am not surprised that he would not take them with him," she said.



CHAPTER XXXVII

BETRAYED

Hansie was one of those unfortunate women who cannot cry, but I believe she cried that night when the awful strain was over, the house quiet and deserted, and the feeling of "nothing to do but wait" creeping over her.

She and her mother lay for hours listening for sounds of commotion in the suburb, following in spirit the brave men on their route to the free veld, so perilous and insecure, watching and praying for their safety.

At last Hansie fell into a heavy, unrefreshing sleep, from which she was roused in the early dawn by her mother's voice, hurried and extremely agitated.

"Hansie, Hansie, come here quick!"

"Where, mother? Where are you?"

"In the dining-room! Come at once, come and look!"

Hansie sprang out of bed, alarmed and now thoroughly roused, and ran into the dining-room, where she found her mother concealing herself behind the lace curtains and cautiously looking out of the window to the Military Camp.

She half turned as her daughter approached and said in a whisper: "Don't show yourself. Look, Hansie, we have been betrayed. Our house is suspected. See how it is being watched."

Hansie looked and looked again. There was no doubt of it.

The sergeant was in excited conversation with a man on horseback, well known to Hansie by sight as a detective in plain clothes. Here and there the soldiers were grouped around other private detectives, on horseback and on foot, talking and gesticulating and pointing to the house in wild excitement. What struck Hansie as almost ludicrous, even at that moment, was the unbounded astonishment betrayed by them.

Their looks and gestures spoke as plainly as the plainest words: "Can it be possible? Has that been going on under our noses? And pray, how long?"

"There is no doubt about it. We and our house have been betrayed. But cheer up, mother; forewarned is forearmed. Oh, silly fools, to give away their game like that!"

"They have not seen us yet, Hansie. They think we are asleep."

"Even so, the servants are about. Oh, mother!"

"Go and get dressed, Hansie, and let us behave exactly the same as usual. All we can do now is to see that we do not betray that we know we have been betrayed. How do you think this has come about?"

"The crowd under the willows last night?"

"Gentleman Jim?"

"Flippie?"

They looked at one another inquiringly and slowly shook their heads.

Good reader, after more than ten years, when they talk about this period of their lives, they still look inquiringly at one another and slowly shake their heads.

Who could it have been? How did it come about?

* * * * *

When Hansie went out into the garden an hour or so later to gather roses for the table, Harmony was flooded with the exquisite morning sun, the birds were twittering and bickering among themselves, and Carlo sprang up to meet her, barking an affectionate "good morning," as he playfully capered round his mistress.

As she stooped down to pat him she glanced through her hair to the camp, where some of the men were bending over their camp-fires and others were rubbing down and feeding their horses.

Will you believe it? At the first sight of the girl every man dropped his work, stood up straight and stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment as if he had never seen her before. They even got together again in little groups of twos and threes and began talking rapidly to one another. Their amazement, their consternation was so obvious that Hansie found it difficult to pretend that she saw nothing unusual in their behaviour, and when she joined her mother at the breakfast-table and told her what a commotion her appearance had created, Mrs. van Warmelo said: "It is the same with me. Wherever I show myself under the verandahs or in the garden, I am met with stares that can only be described as thunderstruck."

"And that, after all the months they have spent within earshot of all that went on at Harmony! Why, mother, those men have never lifted their heads when we have passed them for a year and more, they had got so used to us, but now——!"

She went on more seriously:

"We can never be thankful enough that you found this out in time. The members of the Committee must be warned not to come to Harmony, but we must invite lots of other people. Let us give a few fruit parties and musical evenings for the young people, and above all, let us invite the Consuls and their families." Hansie was feeling hopeful, buoyed up by the unlooked-for privilege of having been put on her guard, but Mrs. van Warmelo was silent and depressed.

"I am thinking about the spies," she said at last. "How can we ever harbour them here again? How can we let them know that Harmony is being watched? How shall we get through the anxiety and suspense when we begin to expect them again? Naude's last words to me were, 'We shall be with you four weeks from now, when the moon is young again.'"

Hansie looked thoughtful, but brightened up again immediately.

"We have always the sign on the gatepost to fall back on, you know, mother dear, but I hope it won't be necessary to put that up. In the meantime let us watch developments. We have nothing to be anxious about yet, and when the time comes we shall know what to do. Just think how terrible it would have been if this had happened yesterday while Naude was in the house!"

But poor Mrs. van Warmelo could not shake off her gloom, and Hansie, who, strange to say, was usually most hopeful and strong in the presence of depressed folk, but pessimistic and downhearted when others were most bright, sighed for once and allowed herself to be cast down by her mother's forebodings.

They realised that an anxious time was before them, their worst fear being that Naude and his companions had been captured the previous night and that some time would probably elapse before they knew with any certainty what his fate had been.

That they were safe in his hands they never doubted for a moment, but there were too many others, practically unknown to them, concerned in this enterprise, and every conspirator more added to the list made their own position less secure.

"I think I must go to Mrs. Joubert this afternoon, mother, to see if I can get hold of van der Westhuizen. Perhaps he can throw some light on the subject. At any rate he will be able to tell us whether he parted from Naude under favourable conditions last night."

"Do that," Mrs. van Warmelo answered, "if you can make sure beforehand of not being watched. Don't go to that house if you have any reason to think you are being followed. We are on the black list now, but that makes it all the more necessary for us to protect our friends."

"Yes, mother; but the Jouberts have been under suspicion so long and have so successfully escaped detection that I am sure their names have long since been removed from the black list."

"Don't be too sure. Jannie's transportation was not a sign of the cessation of hostilities. The enemy is not asleep, but merely slumbering, as far as they are concerned—that is, if this thing" (waving her hand over Harmony) "has not roused him completely."

All day long, and in fact for many days after, an unusual commotion was apparent in the Military Camp.

Detectives could be seen coming and going, little groups of soldiers clustered together, and even "Judas-Boers" made their appearance on the lower portion of Harmony, examining the ground and following the tracks made by the spies in their escape from the town.

Beyond that the van Warmelos could not follow their investigations, and whether they found conclusive evidence in the marks made by the men at the closely barbed and netted drift, under the railway bridge, will never be known, but there was reason to believe that the last remaining route of the spies had been discovered. Brave hearts sank at the thought of their probable fate when they tried that route again.

But, thank God! the birds had flown—for the time at least.

That afternoon, when Hansie cycled to Mrs. Joubert's house, the streets were quiet and practically deserted. She was quite sure that no one followed her, for she dropped her handkerchief once and had suddenly to turn and pick it up.

Carlo was some way ahead of her and did not notice the interruption until she was on her bicycle again, when he came tearing back to find out what had happened, furious with himself for having missed the smallest piece of excitement. After that he did not leave her side again, but trotted quietly along, watching her every moment from the corner of his eye.

When Hansie entered the house in Visagie Street, Carlo stretched himself as usual beside her bicycle, ostensibly to sleep, but in reality on guard and alert with every nerve in his quick body. Hansie was thankful to find van der Westhuizen in; in fact, he was expecting her and wished to see her, but did not think it advisable to go to Harmony.

"Tell me all about last night," she said. "Tell me everything, and then I have something to tell you too."

"Well," he said, and the inscrutable face was for once turned to her in frank confidence, "after we left Harmony last night things did not go as smoothly as we expected. It was all right as long as we were in the bush, and we were able to get our heavy parcels through safely, but when we came to the drift we found it strongly guarded. We retreated at once without a sound and lay down in the thick shrubs to wait. The men were nervous and impatient, and after a little while Brenckmann borrowed my residential pass from me and walked on ahead to see if the coast were clear.

"He soon came back and said it was impossible to get through.

"After a short consultation, Naude advised me to come home. They would stay in the bush and wait until the moon went down, he said. I hated leaving them in such a plight, but Naude insisted, and I only came away when he said he thought there would be more chance for them to get through unobserved if they were fewer in number. How they managed without residential passes and handicapped by those parcels, I do not know."

"God only knows how they do manage," Hansie answered sombrely. "Well, I have nothing good to relate either."

She told him in a few words what had happened at Harmony, and the steadfast face opposite her, so calm and strong, grew more grave as she proceeded.

"This is very serious," he said at last; "then the fact of their being in town, and the route they had taken, must have been known to the enemy yesterday. That is why we found the drift guarded. But do not be downcast. I am sure they got through unharmed, for there has been no commotion of any sort in town. I always know when prisoners have been taken. We must be thankful they were not discovered in your house."

Hansie nodded, and the quiet voice went on:

"You are in no danger now——"

But the girl broke in impetuously:

"Oh, that does not trouble me at all, but I would give my life to know that those men were with General Botha now. I am only anxious about them."

"I am not," he answered. "The Captain is a man of vast experience. This was not his first visit to Pretoria. Venter has been five times in Pretoria and nine times in Johannesburg under the same conditions. Brenckmann, too, can speak of unique experiences—but I can bet you anything that he will never come in again."

"Why not?"

"Oh, he had an awful time here. There are khakis and handsuppers living all round his house, to some of whom he is well known by sight. It was found necessary to conceal him, and for three days and two nights the poor boy was stowed away in a tiny attic, just under the corrugated-iron roof and hardly large enough to hold a man. There he lay in the suffocating heat of those endless days, only coming out at night for a few hours like the bats and owls. No, he won't trouble us again!"

Before she left she told him what had been arranged about a sign on the gatepost and asked van der Westhuizen to warn her friends of the "inner circle" that Harmony was no longer a safe place to visit, begging them to keep this information to themselves, "because," she added, "the enemy must not know that we know." Later on she hoped to see him again when the time approached for Naude to come again, but she advised him not to visit Harmony unnecessarily, as much would depend on him in the event of a raid on Harmony and the transportation of its inhabitants to other regions.

I can only say in conclusion of this chapter that the friends of the "inner circle," Mrs. Malan, Mrs. Joubert, Mrs. Armstrong, Mrs. Honey, and a few others, bravely scorned the idea of avoiding Harmony.

"Why should we not come?" Mrs. Armstrong asked, with her cheerful, ever-ready laugh; "don't other people come here still?"

"Oh yes, but——"

"Then why not we? The more the better, say I! Surely we cannot all be arrested and sent away!"



CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE RAID ON HARMONY

It was the peacefullest, decentest raid I ever heard of, and it would be difficult to think of anything with a termination more tame and commonplace.

But we have not got there yet.

The events which led up to it must be got over first as briefly as possible, and then we go on to what was called a formal declaration of war between the inmates of the Military Camp and the two principal actors at Harmony.