CHAPTER XV
A ROUGH JOURNEY
The four greys were fresh horses, in good condition and with a lightload behind them, so, notwithstanding the bad state of the tracks whichthey call roads in South Africa, John made good progress.
By eleven o'clock that day he had reached Standerton, a little town uponthe Vaal, not far from which, had he but known it, he was destinedto meet with a sufficiently striking experience. Here he obtainedconfirmation of the Bronker's Spruit disaster, and listened with setface and blazing eyes to the tale of treachery and death which was, ashe said, with a parallel in the annals of civilised war. But, after all,what does it matter?--a little square of graves at Bronker's Spruit,a few more widows and a hundred or so of orphans. England, by herGovernment, answered the question plainly--it matters very little.
At Standerton John was again warned that it would be impossible forhim to make his way through the Boers at Heidelberg, a town about sixtymiles from Pretoria, where the Triumvirate, Kruger, Pretorious, andJoubert, had proclaimed the Republic. But he answered as before, thathe must go on till he was stopped, and inspanning his horses set forwardagain, a little comforted by the news that the Bishop of Pretoria, whowas hurrying up to rejoin his family, had passed through a few hoursbefore, also intent upon running the blockade, and that if he drove fasthe might overtake him.
On he went, hour after hour, over the great deserted plain, but he didnot succeed in catching up the Bishop. About forty miles from Standertonhe saw a waggon standing by the roadside, and halted to try if he couldobtain any information from its driver. But on investigation it becameclear that the waggon had been looted of the provisions and goods withwhich it was loaded and the oxen driven off. Nor was this the onlyevidence of violence. Across the disselboom of the waggon, its handsstill clasping a long bamboo whip, as though he had been trying todefend himself with it, lay the dead body of the native driver. Hisface, John noticed, was so composed and peaceful, that had it not beenfor the attitude and a neat little blue hole in the forehead, one mighthave thought he was asleep, not dead.
At sunset John outspanned his now flagging horses by the roadside, andgave them each a couple of bundles of forage from the store that he hadbrought with him. Whilst they were eating it, leaving Mouti to keep aneye to them, he strolled away and sat down on a bit ant-heap to think.It was a wild and melancholy scene that stretched before and behind him.Miles upon miles of plain, rolling east and west and north and southlike the billows of a frozen sea, only broken, far along the Heidelbergroad, by some hills, known as Rooi Koppies. Nor was this all. Overheadwas blazing and burning one of those remarkable sunsets which aresometimes seen in the South African summer time. The sky was full oflowering clouds, and the sullen orb of the setting sun had stained themperfectly blood-red. Blood-red they floated through the ominous sky, andblood-red their shadows lay upon the grass. Even the air seemed red. Itlooked as though earth and heaven had been steeped in blood; and, freshas John was from the sight of the dead driver, his ears yet tinglingwith the tale of Bronker's Spruit, it is not to be wondered at that thesuggestive sight oppressed him, seated in that lonely waste, with nocompany except the melancholy "_kakara-kakara_" of an old black _koran_hidden away somewhere in the grass. He was not much given to suchreflections, but he did begin to wonder whether this was the lastjourney of all the many he had made during the past twenty years, and iffor him a Boer bullet was about to solve the mystery of life and death.
Then he sank to the stage of depression that most people have madeacquaintance with at some time or another, when a man begins to ask,"What is the use of it? Why were we born? What good do we do here? Whyshould we--as the majority of mankind doubtless are--mere animals beladen up with sorrows till at last our poor backs break? Is God powerfulor powerless? If powerful, why did He not let us sleep in peace, withoutsetting us here to taste of every pain and mortification, to becomeacquainted with every grief, and then to perish miserably?" Oldquestions these, which the sprightly critic justly condemns as morbidand futile, and not to be dangled before a merry world of make-believe.Perhaps he is right. It is better to play at marbles on a sepulchre thanto lift the lid and peep inside. But, for all that, they _will_ arisewhen we sit alone at even in our individual wildernesses, surrounded,perhaps, by mementoes of our broken hopes and tokens of our beloveddead, strewn about us like the bleaching bones of the wild game on theveldt, and in spirit watch the red sun of our existence sinking towardsits vapoury horizon. They _will_ come even to the sanguine, successfulman. One cannot always play at marbles; the lid of the sepulchre willsometimes slip aside of itself, and we _must_ see. True, it dependsupon individual disposition. Some people can, metaphorically, smokecigarettes and make puns by the death-beds of their dearest friends, oreven on their own. We should pray for a disposition like that--it makeslife more pleasant.
By the time that the horses had eaten their forage and Mouti had forcedthe bits into their reluctant mouths, the angry splendour of the sunsetfaded, and the quiet night was falling over the glowing veldt like thepall on one scarce dead. Fortunately for the travellers, there was abright half moon, and by its light John managed to direct the cart overmany a weary mile. On he went for hour after hour, keeping his tiredhorses to the collar as best he could, till at last, about eleveno'clock, he saw the lights of Heidelberg before him, and knew that thequestion of whether or no his journey was at an end would speedily bedecided for him. However, there was nothing for it but to go on and takehis chance of slipping through. Presently he crossed a little stream,and distinguished the shape of a cart just ahead, around which men anda couple of lanterns were moving. No doubt, John thought to himself, itwas the Bishop, who had been stopped by the Boers. He was quite close tothe cart when it moved on, and in another second he was greeted by therough challenge of a sentry, and caught sight of the cold gleam of arifle barrel.
"_Wie da?_" (Who's there?)
"Friend!" he answered cheerfully, though feeling far from cheerful.
There was a pause, during which the sentry called to another man, whocame up yawning, and saying something in Dutch. Straining his ears hecaught the words, "Bishop's man," and this gave him an idea.
"Who are you, Englishman?" asked the second man gruffly, holding up alantern to look at John, and speaking in English.
"I am the Bishop's chaplain, sir," he answered mildly, tryingdesperately to look like an unoffending clergyman, "and I want to get onto Pretoria with him."
The man with the lantern inspected him closely. Fortunately John worea dark coat and a clerical-looking black felt hat; the same that FrankMuller had put a bullet through.
"He is a preacher fast enough," said the one man to the other. "Look, heis dressed like an old crow! What did _Oom_ Kruger's pass say, Jan? Wasit two carts or one that we were to let through? I think it was one."
The other man scratched his head.
"I think it was two," he said. He did not like to confess to his comradethat he could not read. "No, I am sure that it was two."
"Perhaps we had better send up to _Oom_ Kruger and ask?" suggested thefirst man.
"_Oom_ Kruger will be in bed, and he puts up his quills like a porcupineif one wakes him," was the answer.
"Then let us keep the damned preaching Englishman till to-morrow."
"Pray let me go on, gentlemen," said John, still in his mildest voice."I am wanted to preach the Word at Pretoria, and to watch by the woundedand dying."
"Yes, yes," said the first man, "there will soon be plenty of woundedand dying there. They will all be like the _rooibaatjes_ at Bronker'sSpruit. Lord, what a sight that was! But they will get the Bishop, sothey won't want you. You can stop and look after our wounded if the_rooibaatjes_ manage to hit any of us." And he beckoned to him to comeout of the cart.
"Hullo!" said the other man, "here is a bag of mealies. We willcommandeer that, anyhow." And he took his knife and cut the line withwhich the sack was fastened to the back of the cart, so that it fellto the ground. "That will feed our horses
for a week," he said with achuckle, in which the other man joined. It was pleasant to become soeasily possessed of an unearned increment in the shape of a bag ofmealies.
"Well, are we to get the old crow go?" said the first man.
"If we don't let him go we shall have to take him up to headquarters,and I want to sleep." And he yawned.
"Well, let him go," said the other. "I think you are right. The passsaid two carts. Be off, you damned preaching Englishman!"
John did not wait for any more, but laid the whip across the horses'backs with a will.
"I hope we did right," said the man with the lantern to the other as thecart bumped off. "I am not sure he was a preacher after all. I havehalf a mind to send a bullet after him." But his companion, who was verysleepy, gave no encouragement to the idea, so it dropped.
On the following morning when Commandant Frank Muller--having heard thathis enemy John Niel was on his way up with the Cape cart and four greyhorses--ascertained that a vehicle answering to that description hadbeen allowed to pass through Heidelberg in the dead of night, his stateof mind may better be imagined than described.
As for the two sentries, he tried them by court-martial and sent them tomake fortifications for the rest of the rebellion. Now they can neitherof them hear the name of a clergyman mentioned without breaking out intoa perfect flood of blasphemy.
Luckily for John, although he had been delayed for five minutes or more,he managed to overtake the cart in which he presumed the Bishop wasensconced. His lordship had been providentially delayed by the breakingof a trace; otherwise, it is clear that his self-nominated chaplainwould never have got through the steep streets of Heidelberg that night.The town was choked up with Boer waggons, full of sleeping Boers. Overone batch of waggons and tents John saw the Transvaal flag flutteringidly in the night breeze, marking, no doubt, the headquarters of theTriumvirate, and emblazoned with the appropriate emblem of an ox-waggonand an armed Boer. Once the cart ahead of him was stopped by a sentryand some conversation ensued. Then it went on again; and so did John,unmolested. It was weary work, that journey through Heidelberg, and fullof terrors for John, who every moment expected to be stopped and draggedoff ignominiously to gaol. The horses, too, were dead beat, and madefrantic attempts to turn and stop at every house. But, somehow, theywon through the little place, and then were halted once more. Again thefirst cart passed on, but this time John was not so lucky.
"The pass said one cart," said a voice.
"Yah, yah, one cart," answered another.
John again put on his clerical air and told his artless tale; butneither of the men could understand English, so they went to a waggonthat was standing about fifty yards away, to fetch somebody who could.
"Now, _Inkoos_," whispered the Zulu Mouti, "drive on! drive on!"
John took the hint and lashed the horses with his long whip; whileMouti, bending forward over the splashboard, thrashed the wheelerswith a _sjambock_. Off went the team in a spasmodic gallop, and it hadcovered a hundred yards of ground before the two sentries realised whathad happened. Then they began to run after the cart shouting, but weresoon lost in the darkness.
John and Mouti did not spare the whip, but pressed on up the stony hillson the Pretoria side of Heidelberg without a halt. They were, however,unable to keep up with the cart ahead of them, which was evidently morefreshly horsed. About midnight, too, the moon vanished altogether, andthey must creep on as best they could through the darkness. Indeed, sodark was it, that Mouti was obliged to get out and lead the exhaustedhorses, one of which would now and again fall down, to be cruellyflogged before it rose. Once, too, the cart very nearly upset; and onanother occasion it was within an inch of rolling down a precipice.
This went on till two in the morning, when John found that it wasimpossible to force the wearied beasts a yard farther. So, havingluckily come to some water about fifteen miles out of Heidelberg, hehalted, and after the horses had drunk, gave them as much forage as theycould eat. One lay down at once, and refused to touch anything--a suresign of great exhaustion; a second ate lying down; but the other twofilled themselves in a satisfactory way. Then came a weary wait for thedawn. Mouti slept a little, but John did not dare to do so. All he coulddo was to swallow a little _biltong_ (dried game flesh) and bread, drinksome square-face and water, and then sit down in the cart, his riflebetween his knees, and wait for the light. At last it came, lying on theeastern sky like a promise, and he once more fed the horses. And now anew difficulty arose. The animal that would not eat was clearly too weakto pull, so the harness had to be altered, and the three sound animalsarranged unicorn fashion, while the sick one was fastened to the rear ofthe cart. Then they started again.
By eleven o'clock they reached an hotel, or wayside house, known asFerguson's, situate about twenty miles from Pretoria. It was empty,except for a couple of cats and a stray dog. The inhabitants hadevidently fled from the Boers. Here John stabled and fed his horses,giving them all that remained of the forage; and then, once more,inspanned for the last stage. The road was dreadful; and he knew thatthe country must be full of hostile Boers, but fortunately he met none.It took him four hours to cover the twenty miles of ground; but it wasnot until he reached the _Poort_, or neck running into Pretoria, that hesaw a vestige of a Boer. Then he perceived two mounted men riding alongthe top of a precipitous stone-strewn ridge, six hundred yards or sofrom him. At first he thought that they were going to descend it, butpresently they changed their minds and got off their horses.
While he was still wondering what this might portend, he saw a puff ofwhite smoke float up from where the men were, and then another. Nextcame the sharp unmistakable "ping" of a bullet passing, as far as hecould judge, within some three feet of his head, followed by a second"ping," and a cloud of dust beneath the belly of the first horse. Thetwo Boers were firing at him.
John did not wait for any more target practice, but, thrashing thehorses to a canter, drove the cart round a projecting bank before theycould load and fire again. After that, they troubled him no more.
At last he reached the mouth of the _Poort_, and saw the prettiest ofthe South African towns, with its red and white houses, its tall clumpsof trees, and pink lines of blooming rose hedges lying on the plainbefore him, all set in the green veldt, made beautiful by the goldenlight of the afternoon, and he thanked God for the sight. John knew thathe was safe now, and let his tired horses walk slowly down the hillsideand across the space of plain beyond. To his left were the gaol and thebarrack-sheds, and gathered about them stood hundreds of waggons andtents, towards which he drove. Evidently the town was deserted and itsinhabitants were in laager. When he was within half a mile or so, apicket of mounted men rode out to meet him, followed by a miscellaneouscrowd on horseback and on foot.
"Who goes there?" shouted a voice in honest English.
"A friend who is uncommonly glad to see you," John answered, with thatfeeble jocosity in which we are all apt to indulge when at length agreat weight is lifted from our nerves.
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