Mafeking Road by Herman Charles Bosman Read Free Book Online Page B

burgher of the Republic, I knew what my duty
was. And that was to get as far away as I could from the place where, in the sunset, I had last seen English artillery. The other burghers knew their duty also. Our kommandants and veldkor-nets had to give very few orders. Nevertheless, though I rode very fast, there was one young man who rode still faster. He kept ahead of me all the time. He rode, as a burgher should ride when there may be stray bullets flying, with his head well down and with his arms almost round the horse’s neck.
    He was Stephanus, the young son of Floris van Barnevelt.
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    There was much grumbling and dissatisfaction, some time afterwards, when our leaders started making an effort to get the commandos in order again. In the end they managed to get us to halt. But most of us felt that this was a foolish thing to do. Especially as there was still a lot of firing going on, all over the place, in haphazard fashion, and we couldn’t tell how far the English had followed us in the dark. Furthermore, the commandos had scattered in so many different directions that it seemed hopeless to try and get them together again until after the war. Stephanus and I dismounted and stood by our horses. Soon there was a large body of men around us. Their figures looked strange and shadowy in the starlight. Some of them stood by their horses. Others sat on the grass by the roadside. “Vas staan, burghers, vas staan,” came the commands of our officers. And all the time we could still hear what sounded a lot like lyddite. It seemed foolish to be waiting there.
    â€œThe next they’ll want,” Stephanus van Barnevelt said, “is for
us to go back to Mafeking. Perhaps our kommandant has left his tobacco pouch behind, there.”
    Some of us laughed at this remark, but Floris, who had not dismounted, said that Stephanus ought to be ashamed of himself for talking like that. From what we could see of Floris in the gloom, he looked quite impressive, sitting very straight in the saddle, with the stars shining on his beard and rifle.
    â€œIf the veldkornet told me to go back to Mafeking,” Floris said, “I would go back.”
    â€œThat’s how a burgher should talk,” the veldkornet said, feeling flattered. For he had had little authority since the time we found out what he was talking to the kaffirs for.
    â€œI wouldn’t go back to Mafeking for anybody,” Stephanus replied, “unless, maybe, it’s to hand myself over to the English.”
    â€œWe can shoot you for doing that,” the veldkornet said. “It’s contrary to military law.”
    â€œI wish I knew something about military law,” Stephanus answered. “Then I would draw up a peace treaty between Stephanus van Barnevelt and England.”
    Some of the men laughed again. But Floris shook his head sadly. He said the Van Barnevelts had fought bravely against Spain in a war that lasted eighty years.
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    Suddenly, out of the darkness there came a sharp rattle of musketry, and our men started getting uneasy again. But the sound of the firing decided Stephanus. He jumped on his horse quickly.

    â€œI am turning back,” he said, “I am going to hands-up to the English.”
    â€œNo, don’t go,” the veldkornet called to him lamely, “or at least, wait until the morning. They may shoot you in the dark by mistake.” As I have said, the veldkornet had very little authority.
    Two days passed before we again saw Floris van Barnevelt. He was in a very worn and troubled state, and he said that it had been very hard for him to find his way back to us.
    â€œYou should have asked the kaffirs,” one of our number said with a laugh. “All the kaffirs know our veldkornet.”
    But Floris did not speak about what happened that night, when we saw him riding out under the starlight, following after his son and shouting to him to be a man and to fight for his country. Also,