The Despatch Rider.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXIV, Issue VI, 10 February 1900, Page 266

The Despatch Rider.

The good people of Vrystad, grown peevish and small-minded on a sixweeks’ diet of American tinned beef and weevilly biscuits, gathered in sullen knots and cursed the good |>eople of Kronburg. The good people of Kronburg, on the other hand, dallied in'the women’s laager (whose legitimate occupants were five) and asked each other whyon earth Vrystad hail not answered their last message, and whether anything could have happened to Sergeant Jan Pieters, who bore it. The Commandant was put out, not

to say enraged. He entertained his long-suffering second in command to a vegetarian lunch In his quarters; and the topic of the moment formed the subject of their discourse. “It’s like Vrystad’s beastly cheek,” said the Commandant, “to send for ammunition at a time like this. And it’s like their wretched ingratitude,” he added, “not to acknowledge receipt of my refusal. I am sure it was courteous enough, all things considered. Eh! What did you say?” “I didn’t say anything,” replied the second in command.

“I notice you never do. You’re an awfully nice chap. Smythe; but you’re beastly depressing. And,” he added.

in a sort of plaintive whisper, after a pause, “you're so beastly confiding.”

“I suppose you are alluding to the fact that I sent Pieters with that message ?” "Of course I’m alluding to that. Abstract theories aren’t in my line just now. But what on earth induced you to send that Dutchman!” “Only the consideration that he was the best man for the job.” “Why?” Oh, well,” said the second in command. “to begin with, he’s a good rider and a good shot. He knows about eighteen Kaffir dialects, and. of course, Dutch. Then he's abso

lutely trustworthy and as loyal as they make ’em,” "Wh-a-a-t?” from the Commandant. “Fact, I assure you. Of course, he doesn’t care much for the Queen or the Union Jack or the Glorious Constitution of the British Empire. But he’s devoted to the corps. He’s keen on getting his commission and he’s death on niggers. So as long as niggers and gold braid last out he’ll stick to us.” “But what’s a Dutchman doing in the Northern Police, anyhow? 1 suppose there’s a family farm knocking about somewhere; and an old man and a ma and sisters an’—er—things. You can’t persuade me that your Dutchman would give up the family crib and brave the familywrath and break stale bread with the Itcoineks for all the gold lace in I hristendom.” “Well, as to that,” answered the other, “I believe his people are the next thing to Arme Boeren. Besides which, there was some trouble when he was a youngster. He let off a gun or something by accident, and—• well, the ancestral estates had to be worked short-handed for a bit, and they buried the niggers, and Pieters came down country quick. He has never been back home since, I’m told. Doesn’t seem to want to. Don’t believe he’s got a, shadow of a soul; but he’s a grand man for the Police, and he’ll get that commission as sure as anything if he sticks to it. 'Pon me word, I should be downright sorry if anything happened to Jan.” But something had happened to Jan. Smythe never knew, because he was only 28, and so many exciting events occurred during the next few days that Jan quite passed from his memory. The column from the north came down and relieved Vrystad and Kronburg (who loved each other rather less in peace-time tha n during a state of war, for they were trade rivals and vying in obscurity). And a combined sortie was made on the surrounding Boers, who, having lost their only towel, were placed at a grave disadvantage. They tried to remedy the defect with a pockethandkerchief, discovered after much search; but this also failed to act in the desired manner, being of the wrong hue. Compelled, therefore, to resort to the ordinary subterfuges of civilised warfare, they were hopelessly beaten with much slaughter; and the column from the north captured their only gun and thirteen eases of Cape brandy.

In the midst of all this fun, then, little wonder that all interest in the fate of Sergeant Jan Pieters, missing, should die a natural death. But the tale is on the border, and it illustrates one of the many disadvantages which attend the game of war, especially when played on all-against-all principles. It will bear re-telling. Sergeant Jan Pieters, when ordered to saddle up and carry a message into Vrystad. was highly elated. He half killed a compound boy (black) in pure joyousness of spirit. He could almost have shaken hands with him, had it ever occurred to him, so tolerant was his mood. But habit is everything, and his happiness found more natural expression in the hearty manipulation of a stirrup-iron, ilis soul leaped within him at the thought of all the possibilities which the situation offered. The V.C., a commission, six months’ leave on full pay to Europe, where he believed Paris was. and Paradise ; and the combined thanks of the Mayors and Corporations of Kronburg and Vrystad emblazoned on vellum. Therefore he bore himself with an air of very elaborate carelessness, and rode leisurely out of the camp, replying to the loudvoiced good wishes of his comrades with a brief “So long, boys,” and saluting his commanding officer with an air of ineffable condescension.

Picking his way carefully out of the township and into the tangle of hush which lay behind it, Sergeant Jan Pieters took out his pipe and proceeded to light it. He rode thus for some time, then after bearing to the left.

he gingerly threaded his way out of the bush into the nearly open veldt which lay beyond it. There he reined up his horse and pondered. Straight before him ran a sort of beaten track leading to Vrystad. Where he stood, the track branched off to Kronburg on the left, skirting the bush in its progress, and to a dismantled homestead which lav in a hollow to hie right. Here fires were burning, and n ,-group of Boers were sitting, dawdling over the midday meal. They numbered about fifty nil told, and

their horses were contentedly grazing at a little distance. Pieters, unseen, stood watching them for some time. Then he pocketed his pipe and pushed boldly forward. The Boers in the hollow continued their placid meal; the sound of their raucous laughter was borne softly to him by the breeze, and also the smell of half-roasted ox. He was just wondering whether they had thrown out any sort of a picket, when he became aware of a dirty felt hat showing above a yellow kopje. “If that yellow boulder,” he argued, “ could shelter one dirty felt hat, it could shelter twenty.” Wherefore he produced a large table napkin, the property of Kronburg's only hostelry, and held it high above his head.

The expected shot never came, and Sergeant Jan Pieters, highly contented with the result of his strategy, rode onward, meditating upon the foolishness of all mankind, especially of the members thereof who do not fire upon flags of truce. He was consumed by no feeling of shame. Fighting was fighting and cunning was cunning, and to the Verneuker the spoils. Thus, much contented, he folded up his peace-offering and continued his meditations.

It struck him. and he was much amused at the thought, that perhaps one of the very Boers whom he had so recently defrauded of an easy and valuable capture was his own father. The old man had a farm somewhere in the district, he knew: for, months before, he had received a. letter, the usual mixture of business and blasphemy, apprising h'm of the fact that a. fat Englishman had visited the barren farm in Griqualand, and hud paid over a large sum of money, exact amount unspecified, for the privilege of scratching the earth upon its surface. Whereupon, the Almighty had appeared to Jan Pieters senior in a dream, and had advised him to trek northwards, which he had done. And Jan the younger, was enjoined to quit the House of the Evil One and the companionship of the Uitlanders, and to trek northwards also. Jan had replied to that letter because he 'had loved his mother when he was a calf. But he 'had no notion of giving up his chances of a commission and the V.C. The last-named he hankered after because it condoned many little breaches of discipline, and furthermore enhanced a man’s value in the marriage market. The commission was (dear to him because of the memories which 'his mind held of the officers’ mess in King Williamstown and the rustling ladies who were for ever driving there and drinking tea and driving away again. Wherefore he sent merely filial messages to his parents; and 'hinted that he had received z manv offers of marriage, including one from

a General’s daughter, who was, however, too thin. At this point in his pious reverie. Sergeant Jan’s horse took a slanting leap at a small sluit, and the offside etirrupf-iron. broke. There was a flaw in the iron, and the compound boy’s head had done the rest. “Sis!” said Sergeant Jan Pieters, “but that boy will have to look out when I get back to laager.” Then he awoke to the fact that the sun had almost set and that a body of Boers, carrying a multi-eoloured flag of fearful and wonderful design, were upon him. His first instinct was to make a run for it, but inborn cunning told him better. He re'ned up easily and enquired in Dutch, and with a great air of friendliness, whither five drunken Shangans, riding Basuto ponies, had been observed in that direction by Mynheer Veldcornet or any of his command. The reply was both negative and surly, and was accompanied by a request that our hero should hand over his arms and consider himself a prisoner. With a very good grace under the circumstances, Jan complied, and presently found himself riding in rear of the column in company with two young Boers, both amiably drunk and unwontedly communicative. The commando. it appeared, was bound for a certain farm some five miles distant, within the British border, where a great demonstration was to be held in support of Afrikanderdom versus Enlightenment, and which it was confidently expected would be attended by all thei.ability and gentry of the neighbourhood. A resolution would be put favouring the proclamation of a United Dutch Republic from Victoria Falls to Robben Island inclusive; ami arrangements had been made for this motion to be carried, unanimously. The kaleidoscopic banner which led the procession was the standard of the new Republic; and it had been specially designed therefore by a German Jew of artistic temperament, who had, aspirations after freedom —and a salt concess'on. Then there was some coiifalA.lation at the head of the column, and the Veldcornet rode down accompanied by an extremely dirty burgher with grey sidewhiskers. At the sight of him a strangely puzzi-d look came into Jan’s eyes. Then he. wh-’stled, and. safe in the disguise of a big brown beard, chuckled softly to himself.

The situation was explained to him. Proceedings were in contemplation, which could have no possible interest to a rooibatje, and a policeman to boot. Therefore, he would be quarantined in an adjacent farmhouse under the charge of the owner thereof, the gentleman with the side whiskers. A guard would be provided as far as the farmhouse, and once there his movements would be adequately con-

trolled by Grey-whiskers and a loaded Mauser. Mr Policeman’s horse would accompany the column ; walking was too good for an Englishman, anyhow. As to Jan’s ultimate fate. Mynheer Veldcornet was not yet decided ; he would probably be shot. But Sergeant Jan Pieters only smiled softly to himself.

During the short journey to Greywhisker’s residence. Jan had little to complain of in the manner of his guardians. They were friendly almost to the point of cordiality. The guard consisted of the aforementioned twain ; and as these had made an equal division of Jan’s accoutrements and arms, they felt very kindly disposed towards him.

Arrived at the farmhouse, Jan was ushered into the living-room, which was also a most excellent hen-roost, and the young burghers took an effusive if triumphant farewell. Greywhiskers. after securing the door, then courteously offered his prisoner some refreshment, at the same time mentioning that there was no need to feel afraid. Jan assured the other that he did not —still smiling. Then he half-opened his mouth as though to speak, checked himself and murmuring. “ Wacht en beetje, wacht en beetje,” fell to devouring the black bread and biltong which had been placed before him. His host, drawing near, then informed him furtively and with many backward glances, as though he knew the very roosters on the beams loathed treason, that he did not hate the Rooineks—very much—himself. At this Jan smiled again and asked. Why ? “ Well,” said the farmer, “to tell you the truth, Englishman, I have a son with your people myself. He lives in the old colony, with the police, and he is married to a daughter of the Queen’s chief General.” “ Indeed,” said Jan. And he smiled again.

“Ja,” pursued the farmer, “and * hear she is very beautiful, only not fat. Now, myself, I like fat women. It is the sign of good health and a good heart. My present wife (I have had three. God be praised !) is the fattest woman in the district.”

Here Jan interrupted to inquire very anxiously after his -wife, and he seemed very pleased to hear that she was well. Her absence and that of his many daughters were explained by the farmer. The young ladies were attending the demonstration before referred to ; whilst the good mother was assisting, in the capacity of consultant, at some farm operations in the near vicinity. After further conversation, the farmer became greatly interested in Jan’s position and prospects. He was surprised to learn that his prisoner

was a full major, and furthermore that he was engaged upon very urgent and secret business. As he imparted this piece of information, the captain looked closely at his gaoler, and seemed more amused than ever. Into the eyes of our farmer came a greedy. crafty gleam. Tie looked down at his hands and then at the prisoner. The latter had thrown aside his jacket and disclosed a little wallet — the obvious receptacle for documents of State—attached to the rough leathern belt about his waist. The Pretoria war-ehest was very full —Grev-whiskers’ hands twitched—and He looked up. “ Urgent business, eh ?” “Very urgent,” in an important tone from the prisoner. Then with loud laugh. “ Why don't y——” “ Quick, look ! at your feet !” broke in the farmer suddenly. Jan looked down, expecting to see he knew not what. The other quietly raised his Mauser and shot him through the head. Grey-whiskers abstracted the pouch. 1 hen he raised the body very gently and laid it across a wooden settle. None surpasses your honest Boer in reverence to the dead.