Part 33 (2/2)

Of this we had innumerable proofs during those tempestuous days, and certain it is that the memory of a harmless joke, enjoyed under circ.u.mstances of unusual stress and trouble, grows sweeter and is strengthened as the years go by.

For dry humour and keen enjoyment of the ludicrous, our friend Mr. W.

Botha could not easily be surpa.s.sed; and I advise you, good reader, if you have the chance, to induce him to tell you the following story in his own words, and to watch the flicker of amus.e.m.e.nt in his eye.

Four of Captain Naude's spies are in town again, resting, shopping, and exchanging items of war experiences with their friends and relatives.

Countless parcels have arrived from various stores of note in town, and four big bags, full to bursting, are arrayed against the wall for transportation ”to the front” at 7 o'clock that night.

But what is this? Another bag? Impossible! There are but four men going out and each one has his load, quite as much as he can carry already.

What does it contain? A beautiful brand-new saddle, the property of an English officer, which Willie Els, son of the Committee member, has determined shall on no account be left behind.

Expostulations from the older men are all in vain.

The saddle, with the four other bags, is put into Delport's cab, which is waiting at the door, and, after many fond farewells, the young men drive off in the direction of the Pretoria Lunatic Asylum.

At this time there is no better spot for exit from the capital, but in order to reach it one point of extreme danger has to be pa.s.sed--the point at which a British officer, with five-and-twenty mounted men, is stationed, in command of a searchlight apparatus for scouring the surrounding country.

The dangerous spot has been frequently pa.s.sed in safety by these very spies.

To-night they pa.s.s again in un.o.bserved security, but alas! when they have crossed the railway line, immediately opposite the asylum, where they are in the habit of alighting with their parcels, they find to their distress that, try as they will, they cannot carry more than the four bags allotted to them in the first instance.

The bag containing the precious saddle must go back to town.

Oh, the pity of it!

The critical spot must be pa.s.sed again, and, as ill-luck would have it, the British officer hails the pa.s.sing cab and is about to get in, when his eye falls on the bag.

”What is this?” he asks the driver.

No concealment possible now!

”A saddle, sir.”

”A saddle! Whose, and where are you taking it?”

”From Mr. Botha to Mr. Els in town. On my way I was stopped and asked to take some pa.s.sengers to the asylum, which I have just done. I was going to Mr. Botha when you stopped me.”

The officer looks doubtful, feels the bag all over and, taking a notebook from his pocket, enters all the details of this most suspicious-looking affair, the number of the cab, the name and address of the driver, the names and full addresses of the two men who have been mentioned.

Then he gets in and peremptorily orders the cabman to drive to such-and-such an hotel in the centre of the town.

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