CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It was a bright bustling morning in Spitsdorp; men hammering and sawing at rebuilding, the street crowded with families chatting alongside the troopers who saddled horses. Busy as he was organizing the departure, Harry took in the clump of Boers around Vilberg on the front verandah.
The cornet’s heavily bandaged leg was propped up by a stool. Dirk went over to pay his respects, but saw the talk was serious, and held his tongue. Advokaat Boergaard seemed to be holding court. “To paraphrase von Clausewitz, politics is the continuation of war by other means.” The men thought about that, then had a quiet chuckle.
He went on, “The British always win wars but lose the peace. They’ll soon leave us to our own devices, running this new corner of their Empire any way we choose. But if we’re not careful, the stay-at-home softies in Pretoria will take over the Volksraad at the expense of us who did all their fighting for them.”
He looked into each bearded intent face. “It’s up to veterans like us to make sure that the right people get elected. Ones holding ‘Wit Baasskap’ ideals. Only total white supremacy can keep the kaffirs in their place, and prevent too many uitlanders arriving to thin pure Afrikaner blood. You would be fine as one of our voices, Laurens.”
Vilberg shook his head. “All right for lawyers like you, Gabriel, who know the political back-room game. Besides, you came through the war whole.” He pointed at his shattered leg. “I’ll be lucky to survive the army surgeon’s knife. Even then, I’d not be much of a prospect for standing to make speeches.”
“Ag, what better badge of honour for a candidate than a battlefield peg-leg? All the more reason for folk to vote for you. We thought enough of you to lead us on the veld, so why not be our elected politician next?” The commandos rumbled their agreement, and pressed forward to urge him.
Ino murmured to Boergaard. “I have to get on my way to Natal now, friend. Before the locals come after me about shooting that two-arsed jackal of a Burgemeester. But if you ever need a strong arm to help at election time, just send for me.” He shook hands and slipped away through the crowd.
Glumly, Boergaard watched him go, then turned back to widen his argument. “To see how it’s being done, just look at crafty Jannie Smuts. At it already, smarming around Lord Milner, using all the trickery he learned in London. Doesn’t let a little detail like having burned his way across Cape Province stop him changing alliances overnight now the war’s over.” He snapped his finger. “You could get a seat easy as that!”
“Well, let’s just see how I feel after the operation.” Vilberg nodded at Dirk. “Now there’s the sort our country’s really going to need. Young men who’ve proved they have guts. You’ve a big future ahead, if you put your mind to it, penkop.”
“Me?”
“Surely. A good war record, notches on your gun, able to take care of bandits, too. Big land-owner family into the bargain. By what Gabriel says, you’re perfect to sit in the Rikstaad one day.”
Dirk made a face, but felt suddenly purposeful again. Boergaard said, “Just think about it, the pair of you. We’ll talk again.”
The commandos made their gruff farewells for now, vowing to stay in touch. They left the verandah slowly, most with no place in particular to go. Vilberg said to Dirk, “If we both end up in politics, man, may the Lord have mercy on our souls.” He raised his foot and grimaced, “Meantime, give me a hand aboard Milner’s meat-wagon.”
Man, his veld-cornet had called him, like an equal. Dirk put Laurens in among the wounded kakies, and went to stand tall beside Hiram at the verandah rail. Marthe was wearing a new kappie, brightly flowered as any young girl’s.
Scayles came hobbling down the steps from the von Gliewitz house and Harry gave him an arm to lean on. Deneys and Neave hovered to help, and she said, “You’ll be sore for a while yet, but right as rain in no time.” She handed a cushion to the MP, and dimpled, “To rest your poor brains on the bumpy ride.” He had to clear his throat twice before thanking her.
“Oh, you’re entirely welcome, Mister Policeman. But if you’re ever stationed in Ireland, you might think of me first before you act rashly anytime.” She wiggled fingers to Harry, “Toodle-oo for a bit.” Baroness von Gliewitz skipped back to duty inside her cottage hospital.
Deneys looked elegant in a baronial striped shirt and tailored trousers. He offered his palm to Scayles. “Should I be making tracks for a secret hideaway, you think?”
“No need.” Glen shook hands briefly. “What you did was as a serving officer in wartime. The MPs’ll take no official action against you now.”
Deneys helped him settle into the ambulance cart, then Scayles said thoughtfully, “There is one thing, though. I’ll have to identify you by name as the spy. Just to clear up the case. Sha’n’t cause you any botheration, but it might help boost my record a bit.”
Osseboom and Lanyard swapped an amused glance, then shook hands firmly. “You two heading back to Bloemfontein?”
“Yes, I still have to get my OFS army discharge. Besides, Neave’s already set on walking down the aisle at Sacred Heart Cathedral.” Deneys smiled wryly. “Expect an invite next spring to a ceremony only slightly less grand than the Coronation.”
Carolus raised his hat stiffly among his flock, and Harry nodded back. “The Predikant’s going to be busy at his altar, too.”
“Yes, at least something good’s come out of this madness. Neave and I’ll surely come to watch you tie the knot.”
“Great, look forward to it.”
The ambulance cart was filling up with Boers and soldiers mixed together. McKay lay there gray-faced, but cheerful enough to josh with bandaged Haywood and Bramah about the likelihood of early demob and passage home.
Bethany hitched her blue chambray skirt and stepped up on the hub to reach Lascelles. “He told me what you did, probably saved his life.” She kissed him on both cheeks. “I want you to know, if I ever have a daughter, we’ll call her Margery.”
“Oh, I say, rah-ther! Then I’ll jolly-well hop back to see her!”
“Hey, meisie, that’s enough canoodling with these rough squaddies. You never know where they’ve been!” Harry looped his good arm around Beth’s waist to lift her down, and held her close. “Time to go.”
Bertil handed the pony’s reins to him, and he raised a foot to the stirrup. Beth said, “God speed, my love.”
He swung into the saddle. “Thanks for taking care of Molly while I’m gone.”
“She has a home at Vincennes for life. Besides, it’ll give you a reason for coming back.” They smiled at each other.
“Then get ready for a long honeymoon. I want to show you off to my folks in BC.”
From the stoep, Marthe called, “You better hurry, too. So we can have a double wedding.”
“No more’n a month, Lanyard,” Hiram growled down at him. “I don’t aim to wait any longer making up for lost time.” Marthe went pink with pleasure, and linked his elbow.
Bethany whispered, “Quicker you leave, sooner you return to me, sweetheart.” Harry scooped her up in his arm, and they kissed for a long moment. His troopers whooped and whistled in their saddles, as townsfolk laughed, clapping.
One boy waved Jiggy’s plumed hat, “‘Bye, Tommies!”
“Don’t forget us’Canucks too, kid.” Bramah called.
“Then, so long, cowboys!”
“Hear that, guys? At least try and behave as if you’re still in the army.” Sergeant Coveyduck allowed himself a faint smile, and chivvied them into straight column of twos. “Remember now, bags of swank.”
Lt. Harry Lanyard looked along their ranks, his last patrol, the finest men he’d ever led. He called, “Let’s go! And give us a tune, Bronco.”
He snapped up a parting salute to the crowd, then waved his palm ahead. “For-waard!” Ponies snorted eagerly, harnesses jingling, and their hooves padded off down the dusty street.
Black and white alike, people of Spitsdorp found themselves joining in with the Canadians who rode away singing,
“It’s soldiers of the Queen, my lads,
Who’ve been, my lads, who’ve seen, my lads.
And when we say we’ve always won,
and they ask how it is done,
We’ll proudly point to every one,
of England’s soldiers of the Queen!”
THE END.
For the Author’s Postscript and further information about the
Second Anglo-Boer War, continue reading on for another 10 pages.