At
this time the procuring of passes and permits became the order of the day,
and it is inconceivable the amount of red-tape that had to be gone through
in the process.
For women living alone and having no menfolk to send to the offices, this
was especially annoying.
Hours were spent in waiting, and applicants were frequently sent from one
official to another, and from one department to another, on unimportant
matters.
This brought Hansie into touch with the very men whose society she had
resolved to avoid.
It
took her three or four hours to get a permit for her bicycle and as many
days to get permission to retain her Colt's pocket-pistol, for the officers
in charge of the rifle department refused to let her keep it and she
eventually decided to go straight to head-quarters, viz. the Military
Governor, General Maxwell.
Orders had very rightly been issued that all firearms should be delivered to
the military authorities, but in this case Mrs. van Warmelo thought an
exception should be made, because two unprotected women, living in an
isolated homestead, could hardly be considered safe in times of such great
danger unless sufficiently armed and able to defend themselves.
Other matters, of minor importance, could be overlooked, but it was to this
question of retaining weapons that she and her daughter owed their
acquaintance with the charming and affable Military Governor.
The two women were received with great courtesy, and when they had explained
that they had a Mauser rifle in their possession, a revolver, and a pistol,
begging to be allowed to keep them for self-defence, General Maxwell
instantly granted them permits for the revolver and pistol, but asked them
to give up their rifle. He gave them a written promise, signed by himself,
that the rifle would be returned to them after the war—which promise, I may
add, was faithfully kept. General Maxwell asked many questions about their
fighting relatives, and, when they were departing, said he hoped they would
come straight to him if at any time they got into trouble.
This kindness opened the way to many subsequent visits, and brought about a
friendly understanding between the officials in the Governor's Department
and Mrs. and Miss van Warmelo.
The latter, upon whom naturally devolved the task of procuring the necessary
passes and permits, was always well received, and never kept waiting,
although she made no secret of her feelings towards the British, and frankly
gave vent to her opinions on every subject connected with the war. This
state of affairs was brought about all the more easily by the fact that
General Maxwell and his A.D.C., Major Hoskins, invited her opinions on every
possible occasion.
Mutual respect, and a sincere desire to alleviate the suffering caused by
the war, formed the basis of the somewhat incongruous friendship between the
high British official and the Republican girl, especially as time went on
and the appalling problem of the concentration camps presented itself. Then
it was that General Maxwell, pacing up and down in his office, his brow
drawn with care, and every movement betraying his distress, frankly
discussed the situation with Hansie and invited her confidence. As she had
no secrets of importance at this time, these interviews were marked by a
spirit of mutual understanding, and she learnt more and more to admire and
respect the Governor for his humanity and nobility of character; but the
time was soon to come when the demands of her land and people called her to
more dangerous fields of labour, and then it became difficult, well-nigh
impossible, to meet the searching eye of the Military Governor.
Her visits became less frequent, of her own free will, and in time ceased
altogether.
Soon after the rifle incident Hansie had to call on General Maxwell, as
Secretary of the Pretoria Ladies' Vocal Society, for a permit to hold
rehearsals. She found him alone and disengaged, for a wonder, and so
evidently pleased to see her again that she entered into conversation with
him unhesitatingly.
After she had explained the object of her visit and apologised for troubling
him about such a trifle, she told him that she had been informed in other
Departments that as there was no institution for granting permits to hold
rehearsals, she would have to get a special permit from the Military
Governor.
"Why," he exclaimed in surprise, "can you not rehearse without a permit?"
"No," Hansie answered laughingly. "Do you not know that two or three may not
gather together except in the name of the Governor under the new regulations
and since the execution of Cordua? Why, we may be conspiring against your
life instead of rehearsing our songs, and at the present moment we can
hardly put our noses out-of-doors without being asked whether we have
permits for them."
"You are right," he answered; "I did not think of this. Well, you may have
your permit on condition that you promise to talk no politics and to be in
your own homes before 7 p.m."
Hansie gave the promise on behalf of the vocal society, and yet another
war-permit was added to her curious collection! With all the friendliness
existing between the Governor and herself, I do not for a moment think that
they ever trusted one another completely. Were they not both good patriots?
Hansie knew by the questions he asked her that he was trying to extract
information from her, and the Governor only told her as much as he thought
she could use to his own advantage.
On
this particular occasion, when he parted from her, he asked in a fatherly,
I-take-such-an-interest-in-you way whether she ever heard from her brothers.
"No," she exclaimed in innocent surprise. "How can I?" (and at the time she
spoke truth). Whereupon he sympathetically murmured something about "a very
trying time for you."
Permits everywhere and for everything!
Men were stopped in the streets to show their residential passes, private
carriages were held up and the occupants requested to produce their permits
for vehicle and horses, and cyclists had to dismount a dozen times a day at
the sign of some khaki-clothed figure patrolling the streets.
The first British officers to cross Harmony's threshold as visitors and
equals were a colonel and a young captain, who both came from Wynberg with
letters of introduction from Mrs. van Warmelo's daughter, Mrs. Henry Cloete.
After the long months of irregular correspondence, always severely censored,
it was such a relief to get news direct that the bearers were welcomed
gratefully.
They called again, and the dignified presence of the Colonel soon became a
familiar sight at Harmony. With him it was quite possible to converse, for
he avoided every painful topic with the utmost tact and good-breeding, but
the Captain was a veritable firebrand, and many were the heated arguments
carried on during his visits.
As
the weary, weary months dragged on, and the most sanguine could not see the
end of the terrible war, it seemed as if feeling grew stronger and the power
of endurance lessened.
Even the occasional visits of the British officers became trying to the van
Warmelos, and one day her mother asked Hansie to request the Captain not to
come again, valiantly retreating to the garden when next he called, and
leaving her daughter to fight it out with him alone.
"I
am very sorry," he said, "but what have I done?"
"Nothing," Hansie answered, "but you see it is against our principles, and
we would like you to wait until the war is over——" The hateful task was
over, and the Captain took his departure, not to return again.
Hansie refused obstinately to go over the same ground with the Colonel. He
came so seldom, and he was such a kind and courteous old gentleman, that it
seemed unnecessary to put an end to his visits, and in time his own good
feeling told him to discontinue them.
It
was in the summer of 1901, when the days at Harmony were spent in the
fruit-laden garden and great jars of apples, pears, peaches, and figs were
being canned and preserved for winter use, that thoughts strayed most
lovingly and persistently to the two hungry brothers in the field.
"Where are they, I wonder?" was a frequent exclamation. "Did they ever reach
the Boer commandos, and oh, when shall we hear from them?"
Great were the rejoicings when Dr. Mulder, who was on his way to Holland,
and had got permission from the British to pass through Pretoria from the
Boer lines, arrived at Harmony with the news that he had seen the two van
Warmelos in the English camp at Nooitgedacht, after its capture by the Boers
under General Beyers. They were well and in good spirits then, and the
delight their mother and sister experienced at seeing some one direct from
the Boer lines can only be appreciated by those who know what it means to a
Boer to be a captive under British martial law.
At
this time Pretoria was almost completely surrounded by the Boers, and every
precaution was being taken against a possible attack. Deep trenches were dug
all round the town, electric wires put up, while the hills bristled with
cannon and searchlights played from the forts incessantly at night.
The realities of war were forced upon one by the increased activity on the
Eastern Railway line to Delagoa Bay, plainly visible from the side verandah
at Harmony, and, daily, train loads passed of armed soldiers, or Boer women
and children being brought in from the devastated farms.
Armoured trains and Red Cross carriages steamed in and out, horses, cattle,
provision loads—everything that could remind one of the fierce strife raging
throughout the land.
At
this time it became evident that a thief or thieves were helping themselves
at night to thoroughbred fowls and fruit at Harmony, and Mrs. van Warmelo
asked the sergeant-major of the Military Mounted Police to consult with her
about catching the miscreants.
She suspected Kaffirs—certainly not the troops encamped about the place, for
a more orderly set of soldiers it would have been hard to find. Their
behaviour was always so exemplary that they were now and then rewarded with
baskets of fruit and vegetables from Harmony's overflowing abundance.
It
was therefore perfectly natural that the sergeant-major should hurry over to
the house, indignant and sympathetic, to listen to Mrs. van Warmelo's
grievances and to lay plans for the capture of the cunning thief.
That he came at dawn seemed evident, for though the police watched every
night, they never caught sight of him, and yet there were fowls missing
every morning. Things were beginning to look rather suspicious when, in
spite of the vigilant watch kept by the police, there were only nineteen
fowls left of the sixty. Mrs. van Warmelo made up her mind to watch for
herself.
Early next morning, when a fine white cock had disappeared, she set out with
one of the native servants, and, following the track made by the white
feathers the bird had lost in its struggles, she came upon the thieves' den.
An ideal spot in a little hollow by the riverside, surrounded by trees and
shrubs! A small fireplace, a few old sacks and tins and a mass of feathers
and bones told their own tale, and Mrs. van Warmelo went home well
satisfied.
The sergeant-major, when he heard her story, said he thought it would be
better to catch the thief red-handed in the fowl-run than to surprise him in
his den, and the police were set to watch again that night.
In
the morning two fine hens were missing! The remarks then made at Harmony on
the vigilance of British soldiers in general and Military Mounted Police in
particular were complimentary in the extreme.
Then Mrs. van Warmelo sent the boy to reconnoitre, and he soon came running
back in great excitement, with the news that the thief, a young Kaffir, was
sitting beside a fire, eating fowls.
Armed to the teeth, the police set forth to capture him, and soon returned
with the miscreant. Such a sight he was! Glistening with fat and covered
with feathers, and, as one of the soldiers remarked, "with a corporation
like the Lord Mayor." He was handcuffed and taken to the police camp, while
the men had their breakfast before escorting him to the Charge Office.
Suddenly there was a fearful commotion.
The culprit had slipped off one of his handcuffs, crept through the wire
fence unobserved, and was flying like the wind through the garden towards
the river.
After him, in wild confusion, jumping over shrubs and furrows, followed half
a dozen soldiers, a couple of natives, Carlo, and I don't know how many
other dogs.
He
was captured by the brave corporal as he was dashing up the bank on the
other side of the river, and brought back to the camp, with his hands tied
securely behind.
One month's imprisonment only and a change of diet were prescribed for him
at the Charge Office that day.
This incident, though exciting at the time, would not have been worth
recording here were it not for its connection with what happened afterwards.
Whatever suspicions the military may have had of intrigues at Harmony, these
must have been removed by the fact of their having been requested by the
inmates themselves to keep a watch over the property.
So
the way was being unconsciously prepared for subsequent events.
As
fruit was also being stolen from time to time, the soldiers maintained their
watch over the garden, well knowing that their vigilance would be rewarded
by a full share of the good things, while they would be the losers if the
pilfering were allowed to continue.
When it became evident, a few months later, that another thief was helping
himself to her fowls, Mrs. van Warmelo made up her mind to catch him
red-handed, without the assistance of the Military Police.
She decided that he would not come back at once, and gave him two days to
digest his spoil, and on the third day she got up very early in the hopes of
being on the scenes before him, ready to receive him when he came.
She had only been in the garden a few moments when she saw some one, in a
stooping posture, running swiftly towards the fowl-run. A moment later and
he had seen her. He turned and ran in the opposite direction, Mrs. van
Warmelo following closely on his heels, loading her revolver as she ran and
calling out, "Stand, or I fire." On being warned a second time he stopped
and turned round. Mrs. van Warmelo demanded what he was doing on her
property, and he answered in good English that he had lost his way, upon
which Mrs. van Warmelo offered to show him the way, and ordered him to march
on ahead. With the loaded revolver between his shoulders, the culprit was
forced to obey, and Mrs. van Warmelo had the satisfaction of handing him
over to the sergeant-major "all by herself."
To
save himself, the wily thief turned Queen's evidence and offered to conduct
the police to a place where drink for natives was brewed and sold, but the
soldiers, not relishing the idea of his escaping scot-free, first gave him a
good thrashing before handing him over to be further dealt with by the
Provost-Marshal.
