A SOPHISTICATED GUERILLA

New Zealand Mail, 29 January 1902, Page 9

A SOPHISTICATED GUERILLA

(By Perceval Gibbon.)

My friend Jan Meyers is one of tile new Boers. His tastes do not lie in tlie direction or agriculture, nor does he pay any particular observance to the customs of his fathers. He used to live at ordinary times in Pretoria, where he inhabits a set of rooms that would make his unsophisticated family gasp at the irreligious luxury of the fittings. His living, and a line fat living it was, was derived from a queer trade which he called “ Brokerage/' and it hau a good deal to do with concessions and the by-ways of the Gold Law. In person lie was florid and affable, in the early prime of life, and habited for the most part in purple and fine linen. Quite recently I met Jan in Durban. He was no less affable than before, if a trifle less florid, llis general appearance had lost none of its previous prosperity, and his lips embraced a plump cigar. “ Why, Jan," I remarked, as he took my hand and beamed, “ where have you been all these months?”

Jan grinned diabolically. “My friend," lie said, “tlie past is an episode; the present is the matter in hand. Come an’ have a drink." “I will not,” I protested. “Then we will take a ’ricksha, where we can talk in comfort while patronising native labour.” This accordingly we did; and as the “boy” moved at a fox-trot down West Street I resumed my examination. “Were you captured, Jan?” “Am I an Imperial Yeoman?” he replied. “Then you surrendered?” . “Not surrendered,” he submitted. "Say I recognised proved facts. Formerly 1 fought you English; now 1 fight unjust aspersions. Both are easy foes.” “But when did you—er—patronise our hospitality, Jan?” “Just a month ago, or it may be five weeks. I was wrought to it. My dear friend, I endured the hardships of untented field so long as the soap lasted. Then, to choose an apt metaphor I threw up the sponge.” “And how did bushranging suit you?” I asked. Ho grinned again. "It had its compensations,” he replied. I have quite got

over my dyspepsia, though I acquired a taste for Sybaritic luxury that a coast hotel hardly answers. Have you ever eaten raw potatoes?" “. Never." “Then let me advise you; don’t. I had sooner eat a dead frog." “But how did you manage for supplies ?”■ “Oh, as a general rule, we did not manage. We lumped it, as the saying is. Of course, there were cattle; and if there weren’t, they could be obtained for the mere trouble of lifting. There are tew things more uninviting than bloody Deaf, freshly killed and badly killed. And then, the Kaffirs assisted us a good deal with chickens and mealies.” “Voluntarily?"

“Well, a Kaffir is so easily to coerce tliat it is hard to say. Anyway, we got the stuff, and very comforting it was.’' “ \Y ere there no other, no white, sources of supply?” “My friend,” said J an, with a portentious wink, “for the purposes of your journalism I must solemnly affirm there were none. But speaking in strict confidence, which I know j r ou will not abuse, there were. The elastic consciences of our sympathetic compatriots enabled them to assist us to a very marked degree.” “As how?” “Thus. I am a burgher. Early after the fall of Pretoria I surrender. I return to my farm. 1 have cattle, horses, chickens, perchance pigs, certainly sheep, fruit, vegetables, hour, sugar, coffee, and such like commodities. There is a commando in the neighbourhood. It is no 111 ore than a matter of accommodation.” “Tell .us some more about your brigandage,” I continued. “Oh, yes. In strict confidence, which I dare you to divulge. Well, we fought, and we ran away, and we stole, all most successfully. \ou see, our object was to remain at large, and give as much trouble as possible; and since we invariably carried out our purpose, it may be with truth maintained that we had the best of it.” “Didn’t your ammunition ruu out?” “ Not at all. We had heaps, and big stores from which to refurnish our bandoliers. Honestly, 1 cannot tell you any* thing about those stores; they wer< cached here and there, and only a few men. knew of them. And if Mauser cartridges were for the moment scarce, we had only to capture a convoy and revert to EeeMetfords. Quite simple, you see.” “ You didn’t get as many convoys as ail that.” I retorted. "We got more,” he said. “Trains as well, and outposts, and police posts, too. Then there were native scouts, and individual prisoners.” “By the way, Jan, what set you ft shooting natives ?” “Upon my word,” said Jan, “I saw nothing of that. It is an innovation of Kritzinger’s. You know what a ruffian Kritzinger is. And, anyhow, what’s a Kaffir ?” "Oh, most lame and impotent condo* sion,” I quoted. "Well,” resumed Jan, "there was a certain pleasure in roaming at large, and breaking everything that ever was a law; but during a greater part of the time my waist was too small for me to appreciate

tie beauties of nature. And then horrible things happened, too. “Listen," he continued. “This was one of the things I experienced. Onr laager was attacked one night, and after a time we drove the enemy off. Several of our men were hit, but there was also a woman, the wife of a burgher, who was with us, that was shot through the che6t. She lay all night under a waggon, moaning, While I walked to and fro a little distance off. I could not get away; my friend, the horror of it held me as though by a chain. I cannot tell you how these hours passed, and how all through the grim eternity of that night life and being were attuned to those persistent, unconscious moans of the dying woman. Her husband watched by her, and dozed from time to time; you know how it is with our people; and the rest of the laager slept as though there had not been in their midst a soul fighting out: its freedom through the throes of a woman’s body. God! she lay still in the darkness below the waggon, and her face showed in the shadow like ivory, and her moans came like the slow ticking of a big clock. “In the morning she died, with a harsh rattle at her throat, a tossing of her arms, and a scream that was drowned in bubbles of blood. AVe buried her where she lay, and shifted the laager at once." Jan was silent for a while, and I saw with the corner of my eye that there were beads of sweat on liis face.

“It is not the horror of Avar in the aggregate that goes home to one,” he said, after a time, “but the little vivid incidents one hardly sees before they are over.”

“For example, I lay on a kopje one afternoon with another man, a fellow with no more nerv es than a bulldog. W'e saw mounted men passing below. They were British scouts. In time one came near to the base of the hill. He was a smart fellow, sitting well in his saddle—a colonial, I should think. “That man is within range/’ said my companion, and slid his Hauser forward. “ l)on't,” I said. It looked so like murder. I could see the young fellow so clearly. His face was tanned, and his hair was yellow. “The other man only laughed, and snicked up his back-sight. ‘Eight hundred yards,’ he said, ‘ and about two feet for wind. AA’atch my shot.’ “He wriggled the butt well home on his shoulder, and sighted deliberately. The scout was cantering. Soon he came opposite a big, grey boulder, on which my companion was sighting. The rifle spat; and I saw the young man throw up bis hands and fall forward out of bis saddle. I was sick at the sight.” He parrsed for some minutes, and then turned to me with the old grin and eyesparkle. “I will tell you no hiore,” he said. “My bowels are corroded with thirst. AVe will have a drink. AVhisky and soda always did appeal to my better nature.”

“But, Jan,” I said, as we stopped before a hotel, “ what do you propose to do now-" “My friend,’’ he replied, with a smile that would have lured an angel to destruction, "am I not a fit and proper person to be awarded a Civil Service billet in the new Transvaal