The National tribune., 1901-06-13
CONVEYED BY "A, SPARK.
The Message of the Peaceful Boer to His
Brother in the Field.
Uondon Chronicle.)

which the trains run twice daily with
hOmely punctuality; where shopkceperS
grow fat in trade with the big Sarrisons
and officers fill comfortable billCts as Fro
vost Marshals, District Commissioners,
and what not, which are none the less in
state of actual siege. so far as their sur
rOundings go. In the streets and market
places, in the shops and pretty houses
there is nothing-saye the everlasting
topic of conversational indicate the
presence of war and the proximity of
an armed foe. Good-natured soldiers
lounge through the place, and guards
change with 4 clasp and rattle at
the corners of the streets. 1t looks rather
like Germany in khaki, and the good re-
lations which prevail between the town
folk and the soldiery highten the resem-
blance. Surrendered burghcrs, who have
buried their Sunday-best MauSerS and
temporarily suspended active operations.
smoke on their StoopS with an outward
air of patriarchal benevolence that dis
credits caution and invites good faith.
To them the Britisher, with his belts and
bayonetS, ranks and files, stars and
grades, is an ever-intercsting anomaly;
pushing creature to be tolerated to a GER
tain point, but to be sniped at and rushed
on proper occasion. They come and they
go, these burgherS, regarding oathS of
neutrality like the laws of the old con-
stitution, framed for the advantage, and
not for the oppression of the wise men.
This is view of the inside. Beyond
the pickets it is otherwise. From the
hills which rise abruptly like islands
standing out of the water, the gray, COM
fortress veldt rolls markedly to the very
skirts of the town. The skyline is bare
and clean as the edge of knife, and,
looking straight before one, one seems to
see the rim of the earth. An OK stalks
sOlemnly across his grazing ground, he is
and the sky. An innocent outlook, most
innocent outlook. Soinnocent and open that
the cossack post, striding slowly from one
boulder to another and back again-it is
well to have cover at hand-almOst per-
mits himself to think of homc-and that
girl In the Transvaal the night drops
quickly; lat one stride comes the dark"
The twilight, for the few brief minutes
that it lasts, is exquisite. 1t smoOthS out
the creases of the day, healing where the
sun has touched, easing where the dust
has stung, cooling the brain and comfort
ing the body. The cossack post does
think OF home; he remembers just such
another evening. Then talk was not of
war.
But-a light, mere spark, winks
across the miles. 1t might i,Ive been a
star, accommodating over the edge of a
cloud before making its debut at the
dance of the zodiac. On the other hand
it might have been Il signal lamp, an affair
of lenses and pivot the tongue of fate.
The cOssack posts home whisks aloft to
bide better while, and his eyes nail
themselves ON the point where that light
appeared and went out.
He waits, perhaps, five minutes. Then
it lodges up again. Dotdash, dash-dash-
dot, it says, blinking braZenly to his very
face. The code is n very strange one;
nothing is to be gathered from watching
the message. He shoulders his rifle and
steps briskly over the parched grass to-
ward his homeside man.. They are sig
mailing to the town, where some of the
patriarchical surrendered ones are max
ing the most of their time among the sol
dierS who do not practice keeping secrets
or having secrets to keep.
The light is announced from post to
post, and a clever young Lieutenant is
dragged from q card table to observe what
he is too clever to hope to understand.
They are men of arms, these soldiers, and
do not recognize the brain as a fighting
unit-yeti That will come; but only after
the next big licking.
Meanwhile a dear old boy with most
benevolent beard, and owning to 60 years,
despite his straight back and keen eye
and fresh cheek, is leaning out of a win
dow watching lamp flashing through the
darkness. His name is Petrus Johannes
COetZee, and he has four sons on com
mandO and three more buried down by the
Tugela. His wife and married daughters
are out yOnder on the farm, protected
from plunder and insult by the fiat of
Great Britain, and their eggs and poultry
are very comforting to the poor fellows out
in the hills with their rifles. His cattle,
it is true, were Communicated by an ir-
responsible brigadier, racing nOrthward
with his column to join French, but who,
nevertheless, found time to leave a receipt
i'll full, insuring generous payment. And
Petrus Johannes CoetZee finds the Brit
ish officer very affable and sympathetic,
and takes great interest in the army news
that he hears.
His friends, outside, carry on an af
fectionate correspondence with him. On
their side there is the hello and signal
lamp; on the other that marvellous ma
chine, the Kaffr telegraph. Kaflirs are
vermin, as we know, and much lower in
the scale Of creation than the oxen they
tend. This we have on the authority of
the Beers, who ought to know, for they
have hunted them, fought them, killed
them, used them, and learned them long
since. But the Boer has taught us as lit
tie of the inwardness of the Kaiiir as of
the source OF his armament. We work
the KafIir bodily, the Boer knows how to
enslave his soul.
A Kafiir wa KS out of the town toward
dusk in the direction of the location"
More than likely he is very fine KafIir,
with the limbs and trunk o. an Antinous
and a face of human intelligence. He
saunters, with the peculiar ->afiir swing
of the body, along the edge of the gutter,
for he has no place, by the adopted law
of the land, on the sidewalk, and passes
unobserved everywhere by the man with
the gun. Perhaps q policeman in khaki
and spurs stops him to inspect his pass,
or unless he be labeled human, he is mere
stray cattle. But that document is IN ex-
emplary order. He is in the employ of
- Brothers, rs laborer, and lives in
the location whittier he goes.
But before morning that Kaflir is eat
ing freshly killed beef and mealies, in the
laager on the hills, while Commandant
Van der Westhuizen eagerly peruses
certain letter, extending over several
sheets of paper. And Petrus Johannes
Coetzee. in his bedroom in the town,
looks over his pipe bowl and lifts up his
eyes to the hills whence cometh a certain
message in dots and dashes from a lamp,
advising receipt of his communication of
even date.
Nevertheless, the intelligence depart
ment offers to hammer you in two rounds
if you make any reference to "lucus non
luppndoD ~