Part 39 (1/2)
Every few yards she called, ”Jasper! Jasper!” in the vain hope that this might bring the fugitives forward, should they have concealed themselves behind the trees along the road.
Poor Hansie was becoming thoroughly exhausted, when suddenly, as they neared the Sunnyside bridge, four men under the electric light became plainly visible.
”You must run again, Hansie,” F. said, and putting his arm around her, he literally carried her along.
Alas! the figures proved to be four Kaffirs coming _towards_ them, and, with a broken sob, Hansie realised that all their efforts were in vain.
It was no use running now.
Sunnyside was badly lit, and one could barely see two yards ahead, so the plotters walked slowly to Harmony, encouraging one another with the thought that the men must already be beyond the outskirts of the town.
”We have heard no shots, and that is a good sign,” Hansie said, ”for the men were armed, and in the event of a surprise they meant to fight for their lives.”
CHAPTER XXIX
A WAR-BABY AND A CURIOUS CHRISTENING
As far as was known, no men were arrested that night.
The man who had escorted the spies through Sunnyside and over the railway line, the dauntless van der Westhuizen with the bandaged arm, had left them not far from the wire enclosure, and had then waited some time, listening for sounds of commotion.
As no shots had broken the stillness of the night, he had every reason to believe that they had escaped with their lives.
For some weeks there was a ”lull in spies.” But there was no lack of other sensations, for September 1901 will ever be remembered as one of the most trying months throughout the year of the war.
It reminded one of that September month before war was declared, when the air was filled with the sweet, penetrating odour of orange-blossoms and many hearts were torn with the agony of suspense and a feeling of impending disaster.
Again the orange trees were in full bloom, bringing back to one's senses the remembrance of past suffering, and the full realisation of present horror and unrest.
The great weeping-willows were showing their first mysterious tinge of pale yellowish green, and Hansie, watching them, wondered what developments would have taken place before those overhanging branches would be crowned with the full beauty of midsummer. September 1901 was a month of proclamations and peace negotiations, all of which ”ended in smoke.”
After General Botha's visit to Pretoria the Boers concentrated their forces around the capital, strong commandos under General Botha, de la Rey, Beyers, and Viljoen. It was said that there were quite 6,000 troops in town awaiting developments, and Hansie coming home one evening, surprised her mother by saying that ”Khaki was in the deuce of a funk!”
Her mother remonstrated with her, expressing her strong disapproval of such language, but Hansie only laughed.
”I was told so in town, mother. The enemy seems to expect our people to sweep through the town, if only to release our prisoners. How I wish they would come and carry off some of our splendid men in the jail and Rest Camp!”
The fate of the Committee men had not yet been decided.
As they were kept in solitary confinement and naturally not allowed to hold communication with any of their friends, nothing was known at the time of the troubles undergone by them, and it was some years after the war before Hansie came into full possession of the facts.
Ten men in all had been taken that night, the five members of the Committee and five other men in their service, and they were kept separate, not being allowed to see one another during the sixteen days of their imprisonment in the Pretoria jail.
Now, the remarkable part about this story is, that though nothing had been arranged between these men in the event of an arrest, no line of action agreed upon by them by which they could safely guard themselves and their friends, they one and all adopted the same policy under the severe cross-questioning to which they were subjected in their cells.
My readers must understand that trials under martial law are not necessarily conducted with the ordinary formalities of a court of justice; in fact, in the case of these men it cannot be said that there was a trial at all, for they were cross-questioned in their cells apart, and without witnesses.
They never saw the light of day except for a ten-minutes' exercise in the prison-yard every morning; and, on comparing notes afterwards, they found that they had been subjected to the same treatment undergone by the unfortunate men who had turned King's evidence and who had been the cause of their undoing. To some of them the death sentence was read at night, with a promise of pardon if they betrayed the names of their fellow-conspirators in town, and sometimes they were visited in their cells by officers who informed them that one or other of their fellow-prisoners had ”given away the show.”