Part 14 (1/2)
”Who are you, Englishman?” asked the second man gruffly, holding up a lantern to look at John, and speaking in English.
”I am the Bishop's chaplain, sir,” he answered mildly, trying desperately to look like an unoffending clergyman, ”and I want to get on to Pretoria with him.”
The man with the lantern inspected him closely. Fortunately John wore a dark coat and a clerical-looking black felt hat; the same that Frank Muller had put a bullet through.
”He is a preacher fast enough,” said the one man to the other. ”Look, he is dressed like an old crow! What did _Oom_ Kruger's pa.s.s say, Jan? Was it two carts or one that we were to let through? I think it was one.”
The other man scratched his head.
”I think it was two,” he said. He did not like to confess to his comrade that he could not read. ”No, I am sure that it was two.”
”Perhaps we had better send up to _Oom_ Kruger and ask?” suggested the first man.
”_Oom_ Kruger will be in bed, and he puts up his quills like a porcupine if one wakes him,” was the answer.
”Then let us keep the d.a.m.ned preaching Englishman till to-morrow.”
”Pray let me go on, gentlemen,” said John, still in his mildest voice.
”I am wanted to preach the Word at Pretoria, and to watch by the wounded and dying.”
”Yes, yes,” said the first man, ”there will soon be plenty of wounded and dying there. They will all be like the _rooibaatjes_ at Bronker's Spruit. Lord, what a sight that was! But they will get the Bishop, so they won't want you. You can stop and look after our wounded if the _rooibaatjes_ manage to hit any of us.” And he beckoned to him to come out of the cart.
”Hullo!” said the other man, ”here is a bag of mealies. We will commandeer that, anyhow.” And he took his knife and cut the line with which the sack was fastened to the back of the cart, so that it fell to the ground. ”That will feed our horses for a week,” he said with a chuckle, in which the other man joined. It was pleasant to become so easily possessed of an unearned increment in the shape of a bag of mealies.
”Well, are we to get the old crow go?” said the first man.
”If we don't let him go we shall have to take him up to headquarters, and I want to sleep.” And he yawned.
”Well, let him go,” said the other. ”I think you are right. The pa.s.s said two carts. Be off, you d.a.m.ned preaching Englishman!”
John did not wait for any more, but laid the whip across the horses'
backs with a will.
”I hope we did right,” said the man with the lantern to the other as the cart b.u.mped off. ”I am not sure he was a preacher after all. I have half a mind to send a bullet after him.” But his companion, who was very sleepy, gave no encouragement to the idea, so it dropped.
On the following morning when Commandant Frank Muller--having heard that his enemy John Niel was on his way up with the Cape cart and four grey horses--ascertained that a vehicle answering to that description had been allowed to pa.s.s through Heidelberg in the dead of night, his state of mind may better be imagined than described.
As for the two sentries, he tried them by court-martial and sent them to make fortifications for the rest of the rebellion. Now they can neither of them hear the name of a clergyman mentioned without breaking out into a perfect flood of blasphemy.
Luckily for John, although he had been delayed for five minutes or more, he managed to overtake the cart in which he presumed the Bishop was ensconced. His lords.h.i.+p had been providentially delayed by the breaking of a trace; otherwise, it is clear that his self-nominated chaplain would never have got through the steep streets of Heidelberg that night.
The town was choked up with Boer waggons, full of sleeping Boers. Over one batch of waggons and tents John saw the Transvaal flag fluttering idly in the night breeze, marking, no doubt, the headquarters of the Triumvirate, and emblazoned with the appropriate emblem of an ox-waggon and an armed Boer. Once the cart ahead of him was stopped by a sentry and some conversation ensued. Then it went on again; and so did John, unmolested. It was weary work, that journey through Heidelberg, and full of terrors for John, who every moment expected to be stopped and dragged off ignominiously to gaol. The horses, too, were dead beat, and made frantic attempts to turn and stop at every house. But, somehow, they won through the little place, and then were halted once more. Again the first cart pa.s.sed on, but this time John was not so lucky.
”The pa.s.s said one cart,” said a voice.
”Yah, yah, one cart,” answered another.
John again put on his clerical air and told his artless tale; but neither of the men could understand English, so they went to a waggon that was standing about fifty yards away, to fetch somebody who could.
”Now, _Inkoos_,” whispered the Zulu Mouti, ”drive on! drive on!”
John took the hint and lashed the horses with his long whip; while Mouti, bending forward over the splashboard, thrashed the wheelers with a _sjambock_. Off went the team in a spasmodic gallop, and it had covered a hundred yards of ground before the two sentries realised what had happened. Then they began to run after the cart shouting, but were soon lost in the darkness.