With Steyn and De Wet

by F. F. Pienaar

"Pity they were too sharp for us this time," I said to the Postmaster.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," he replied, "we caught up their report of the engagement just after they entered the town. It seems they had a pretty severe loss. Ours was slight, but one lyddite shell burst over a group of horses and killed twenty."

"And what is the situation now?"

"Well, all our forces are here in the mountains now, and we can hold out for years. There are only two passes; they are strongly held, and the enemy will never get through them. We tried to get our prisoners to take parole, but they refused, so we have driven them over the Drakensberg into Natal. Last, but not least, the traitor Vilonel is here, waiting for his appeal to be heard."

This Vilonel, a young man of prepossessing appearance, had been one of the most promising officers, and had early been promoted to commandant. Whether through overweening ambition on his part or not I cannot say, but Vilonel, accused of insubordination, was thenceforth given the distasteful and inglorious task of commandeering. He wearied of this, and applied for active service, but in vain. Then, smarting under a sense of injustice, he took the fatal step—deserted. Not content with this, he wrote a letter out of the British camp to one of our field-cornets, urging upon the latter to surrender. The letter fell into the hands of one of our Intelligence officers, who forthwith replied in the field-cornet's name, asking Vilonel to meet him at a certain secluded spot. Vilonel kept the appointment, accompanied by a British major, and both were made prisoners, the major protesting energetically against what he was pleased to consider as a breach of the rules of warfare, but his captors begged to differ, reminding him that all's fair in love and war, especially in dealing with traitors and their associates.

Vilonel was tried at Reitz, and sentenced to five years, the judge remarking that he was lucky to get off with his life. The prisoner did not think so, and applied for leave to appeal. This was granted, but owing to the nature of the subsequent military operations the Court had not found time to sit, hardly time to pause, in fact.

When the day finally arrived for the appeal to be heard the little court-room was crowded with interested spectators. Judge Hertzog presided, assisted by two young advocates, Messrs. Hugo and Cronjé, and Advocate De Villiers represented the State. The prisoner, who conducted his own defence, asked for a postponement. This was refused. He then made an able statement, asserting his innocence of any evil intentions, pleading that he had acted as his conscience dictated, and eloquently praying the Court to reconsider his sentence. It was a painful moment when the presiding judge, after a whispered consultation with the assessors, turned to the prisoner and confirmed the sentence, adding, in his clear, incisive voice, that the name of Vilonel would remain an eternal stigma upon the fame of the Afrikander race. One could not help feeling a thrill of compassion at the tragic end of such a promising career. To-day a noble patriot, to-morrow a black traitor, despised by the lowest of his countrymen!

President Steyn's wife and family were installed in a house in this village, but the President himself preferred to camp in the veld and share the lot of his burghers.

With him were nearly all the members of the Government, if we except those who had chosen to remain behind in Bethlehem, and who, from what their delighted friends heard, had been compelled by the British to foot it all the way to Reitz. We went out to the camp, and reported ourselves. It was now bitterly cold, the snow-topped Drakensberg keeping the temperature at an uncomfortable proximity to zero. But the men were nearly all well provided with warm khaki uniforms reaped at Roodewal, the mountains were full of cattle and corn, and we felt that we could easily hold these almost inaccessible heights against the British cordon formed outside.

But it was fated otherwise. A despatch rider arrived from the Transvaal; the situation there urgently demanded the encouragement of Steyn's presence. To leave this impregnable stronghold and venture across the open plains below needed all the boldness of De Wet, all the steadfast courage of Steyn. These leaders had never been known to falter; they did not falter now. Everything was arranged in the utmost secrecy. For a few days there was a hurrying to and fro of commandoes, and then one morning De Wet's laager was seen to have disappeared.