From Capetown to Ladysmith | Page 8

whole thing looks more like Arcady than
revolution.
The only sign of movement is that eight young Boers, theological
students of the Dopper or strict Lutheran college here, left last night for
the Free State for active service.
The Boers across the Orange river so far make no sign of raiding. Many
have sent their wives and families here into Aliwal North, on our side

of the border, in imitation, perhaps, of President Steyn, whose wife at
this moment is staying with her sister at King William's Town, in the
Cape Colony.
Many British farmers, of whom there are a couple of hundred in this
district, refuse to believe that the Free State will take the offensive on
this border, considering that such aggression would be impious, and
that the Free State will restrict itself to defending its own frontier, or
the Transvaal, if invaded, in fulfilment of the terms of the offensive and
defensive alliance.
Nevertheless there is, of course, very acute tension between the Dutch
and English here. No Boers are to be seen talking to Englishmen. The
Boers are very close as to their feelings and intentions, which those
who know them interpret as a bad sign, because, as a rule, they are
inclined to irresponsible garrulity. A point in which Dutch feeling here
tells is that every Dutch man, woman, or child is more or less of a Boer
secret service agent, revealing our movements and concealing those of
the Boers.
If there be any rising it may be expected by November 9, when the
Boers hold their "wappenschouwing," or rifle contest--the local Bisley,
in fact--which every man for miles around attends armed. Also the
Afrikander Bond Congress is to be held next month; but probably the
leaders will do their best to keep the people together.
The Transvaal agents are naturally doing their utmost to provoke
rebellion. A lieutenant of their police is known to be hiding hereabouts,
and a warrant is out for his arrest. All depends, say the experts, on the
results of the first few weeks of fighting.
The attitude of the natives causes some uneasiness. Every Basuto
employed on the line here has returned to his tribe, one saying: "Be
sure we shall not harm our mother the Queen."
Many Transkei Kaffirs also have passed through here, owing to the
closing of the mines. Sixty-six crammed truckloads of them came by
one train. They had been treated with great brutality by the Boers,

having been flogged to the station and robbed of their wages.
[Footnote 1: This chapter has been deliberately included in this volume
notwithstanding its obviously fragmentary nature. The swift picture
which it gives of flying events is the excuse for this decision.]

V.
LOYAL ALIWAL: A TRAGI-COMEDY.
THE CAPE POLICE--A GARRISON OF SIX
MEN--MERRY-GO-ROUNDS AND NAPHTHA FLARES--A
CLAMANT WANT OF FIFTY MEN--WHERE ARE THE
TROOPS?--"IT'LL BE JUST THE SAME AS IT WAS IN '81."
ALIWAL NORTH, _Oct. 15._
"Halt! Who goes there?" The trim figure, black in the moonlight, in
breeches and putties, with a broad-brimmed hat looped up at the side,
brought up his carbine and barred the entrance to the bridge. Twenty
yards beyond a second trim black figure with a carbine stamped to and
fro over the planking. They were of the Cape Police, and there were
four more of them somewhere in reserve; across the bridge was the
Orange Free State; behind us was the little frontier town of Aliwal
North, and these were its sole garrison.
The river shone silver under its high banks. Beyond it, in the enemy's
country, the veldt too was silvered over with moonlight and was blotted
inkily with shadow from the kopjes. Three miles to the right, over a rise
and down in a dip, they said there lay the Rouxville commando of 350
men. That night they were to receive 700 or 800 more from Smithfield,
and thereon would ride through Aliwal on their way to eat up the
British half-battalion at Stormberg. On our side of the bridge slouched
a score of Boers--waiting, they said, to join and conduct their kinsmen.
In the very middle of these twirled a battered merry-go-round--an
island of garish naphtha light in the silver, a jarr of wheeze and squeak
in the swishing of trees and river. Up the hill, through the town, in the

bar of the ultra-English hotel, proceeded this dialogue.
A fat man (_thunderously, nursing a Lee-Metford sporting rifle_). Well,
you've yourselves to blame. I've done my best. With fifty men I'd have
held this place against a thousand Boers, and not ten men'd join.
_A thin-faced man_ (_piping_). We haven't got the rifles. Every
Dutchman's armed, and how many rifles will you find among the
English?
Fat man (_shooting home bolt of Lee-Metford_). And who's fault's that?
I've left