Part 14 (1/2)
The prisoner was a sight! The old felt hat was full of holes, through which the unkempt hair was sticking, and the dirty black suit was torn and greasy-looking--but the face, except for the moustache and unfamiliar beard, was the same, the look of love in the blue eyes unchanged.
It seemed like a dream, incredibly sweet and strange, to be walking through the streets of Johannesburg in uninterrupted conversation, carried on _in Dutch,_ with him, and to be able to ask the burning questions with which their hearts had been filled all day--why he was alone, where he had left Fritz, how and where he had been captured.
Everything was explained on that memorable walk, simply and briefly explained, for the time was short, and under the circ.u.mstances Dietlof would not give any details of information concerning the war, considering himself bound to silence by the guard's trust in him.
He had been promoted to the position of commandeering officer by General Kemp and had been in the habit, for some time past, of leaving his commando for days at a stretch on commandeering expeditions.
About four days before his capture he had left his people again for the same purpose, and on this occasion he had fled before the enemy for three days, falling into their hands through the death of his good horse through horse-sickness.
His brother Fritz was under General Kemp with Jan and Izak Celliers (this was the first news Mrs. van Warmelo heard of Mr. Celliers' safe arrival on commando, after the adventures undergone by him and described in Chapter IX), and a few others of his most trusted friends, but what they must have thought of his inexplicable non-appearance Dietlof did not know, but he feared they would be undergoing much anxiety on his account.
Near the entrance of the Fort mother and daughter took their leave, thanking the soldier warmly for his kindness to his charge, whom they hoped to see again the following morning.
Very different was the meeting then!
The prisoner, a forlorn object, stood between two guards, before the Provost-Marshal's office, when the cab containing the two women drove up.
Hansie jumped out and was going up to her brother, when one of the soldiers said to her:
”You may not speak to the prisoner.”
”But I may kiss him!” Hansie retorted, throwing her arms round his neck and giving him a kiss which could be heard all over the Fort.
There was a general laugh, and Mrs. van Warmelo promptly followed suit.
Dietlof was called into the Provost-Marshal's office and cross-questioned, while his mother and sister waited outside impatiently. What a lengthy examination! Quarter of an hour, half an hour pa.s.sed, then he appeared with a soldier, who said curtly:
”You may talk to the prisoner for half an hour _in English_!”
I forget how many minutes of the precious thirty were lost in groping desperately for some topic of conversation suitable to the occasion, and safe! but when at last they found their tongues, they talked so fast that it is doubtful whether the Tommies understood anything.
Hansie longed to ask her brother whether the Provost-Marshal knew anything of their escapade the night before, but dared not, hoping that the men concerned were under the impression that this was their first interview with the prisoner.
He told them some of his war experiences and the fights he had been in, for the Provost-Marshal had given him permission to speak of his personal experiences of the war.
One incident Hansie remembered particularly, because of a curious coincidence connected with it.
In describing the battle of Moselikatsnek, under General de la Rey, in which he and Fritz had taken an active part, he told his mother and sister of a young English officer, Lieutenant Pilkington, whom he had found lying alone in a pool of blood among the rocks and shrubs.
Dietlof tended him, giving him brandy from a flask which he always carried with him for such purposes, and laying gra.s.s under him on the hard rocks. The poor man was shockingly wounded, and it was evident that his case was hopeless. He held Dietlof's hand, imploring him not to leave him, but Dietlof was the forerunner of the seven burghers who were forcing their way wedgelike through the English ranks in order to compel the enemy to surrender by attacking them from behind. He considered it his duty to go forward, but a.s.sured the dying man that the comrades who were following in his wake could speak English and would care for him. The donga was strewn with dead and dying English.
In the meantime the younger brother Fritz was tending a soldier with a terrible wound in the head. The seven men were now advancing steadily from one ridge to the other, but Dietlof had reached a point on which the burghers from behind were bombarding with their cannon, and as the rocks flew into the air he found it impossible to proceed.
He therefore returned, and the captain sent a dispatch-bearer down with orders that the cannon-firing should cease.
For a moment Dietlof went back to the wounded lieutenant, where he found some of his comrades a.s.sembled, and while they stood there the unfortunate man, exhausted by loss of blood, drew his last breath.
Through incredible dangers the seven burghers forced their way through the donga until they reached the point from where they could attack the enemy from behind. It was a most critical moment, for they were exposed to the constant fire of their own burghers, under Commandant Coetzee, as well as that of the enemy, but soon they were relieved to see the white flag hoisted, and were then joined by the rest of the commando.