Part 57 (1/2)
Functions were arranged for her, receptions held, to which white-haired women and stately venerable men came from far to shake her hand, because she was a daughter of the Transvaal, nothing more--not because of what she had done and endured, for this was known to only one or two.
Old friends from South Africa there were in scores, and for the time the State of Holland was transformed into a colony of Boers, which seemed complete when the Boer leaders, Botha, de Wet, and de la Rey, arrived with their staffs. Then it seemed as if the people of Holland lost their heads entirely, and scenes such as those which took place daily in the streets are never to be forgotten by those who witnessed them.
All this, though wonderful, was not the best thing for our heroine, who was ”living on her nerves,” though in a different way, as surely as she did during those cruel years of war.
Added to this she was frequently tried beyond endurance by the questions:
”Why did the Boers give in? How _could_ the Boers give in and lose their independence?”
One conversation in particular was burnt into her brain.
”Was it the Concentration Camps?”
”No,” the answer came slowly, ”no, it was not the Concentration Camps.
The high mortality was past, the weakest had been taken, and there was no cause for anxiety for those remaining in the Camps. Their rations had been increased and improved--there was no more of that first awful suffering.”
”What was it, then? The arming of the natives?”
The answer came more slowly:
”No, it was not the arming of the natives. Their forces were more scattered, for they were chiefly employed in guarding the railway lines, in protecting stock and guarding block-houses. Though their addition to the British ranks undoubtedly weakened our strength to some extent, their inborn respect for the Boer would have prevented them from ever rendering valuable services to the English. How we laughed, my sister and I, when, on the railway journey from Pretoria to Cape Town, we saw the line patrolled by hundreds of these natives, with gun in hand, stark naked except for a loin-cloth and a bandolier!
So much waste of ammunition! No, the arming of the natives would have been the last thing to induce the Boers to surrender.”
”Then it seems to me incomprehensible! surely death were preferable to defeat!”
”Yes, a thousand times; but you forget the National Scouts--the Judas-Boers. _They_ broke our strength. Not by their skill in the use of arms, not by their knowledge of our country and our methods--no!”
”They broke our strength by breaking our ideals, by crus.h.i.+ng our enthusiasm, by robbing us of our inspiration, our faith, our hope----”
With averted eyes, and seemingly groping for one last ray of light, the man continued:
”But where were your heroes--your heroes of Magersfontein, Spion Kop, and Colenso?”
”Where were our heroes?” the girl echoed bitterly. ”In their graves--in our hospitals--in captivity! Ever foremost in the field--one--by one--they fell---- 'But the remnant that is escaped of the house of Israel shall again take root downward and bear fruit upward.'
”Although, under the shadow of this great national calamity, we cannot see it now, there is hope for our sad South Africa. It is too soon to speak of a united race, but the time will surely come when, in the inter-marriage of our children and our children's children, will be formed a nation great and strong and purified.”
Through all those weeks our heroine never slept. It seems incredible that the frail form of a girl should be endowed with so great a power of endurance, and that the human mind can stand the strain of smiling self-control by day, abandonment of grief by night.
Those nearest to her, divining something of what she was pa.s.sing through, lavished countless proofs of tender sympathy on her, innumerable acts of loving care for her personal comfort, and well-thought-out plans for drawing her away from herself into the charmed circle of the B---- Labouchere house.
And when her marriage-day drew near she turned away with a superficial glance at the array of costly presents, to devour once again the cables from South Africa, the telegrams from her Generals, the letter and the photograph of her beloved President, inscribed in his illegible hand, ”For services rendered during the late war.”
Last, but not least, there came to her official-looking doc.u.ments from Het Loo, the personal congratulations of the Queen, the Prince Consort, and the Queen-mother--and the ancient blood of Holland coursed more swiftly through her veins as she thought of Wilhelmina, the dauntless young Queen of the Netherlands, now _her_ Queen.