Vrouw Grobelaar and Her Leading Cases

P >> Perceval Gibbon >> Vrouw Grobelaar and Her Leading Cases

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"Next day Mynheer van der Poel took Christina into a kraal,
and when she had confessed her meetings with the
Englishman, he gave her a sound beating with a stirrup-
leather, and told her that for the future she must not go
alone outside of the house.

"'And either I or one of your brothers will always be at
home,' concluded the old man, 'so that if this Mynheer Dunn
comes, he will be shot.'

"So Christina for upwards of a month never saw her
Englishman. Of course the matter was a great scandal, and
her people said as little as they could about it; but,
nevertheless, it got about, and the number of visitors to
the farm for the next week or two was astonishing. But call
as often as they pleased, the Englishman stayed away and
they saw nothing of him.

"But one morning when daylight came Christina was missing.
They looked about, and there was no trace of her, but in
the road outside there was the spoor of a cart that had
halted in passing during the night.

"'It is plain enough,' said the old man 'She is with her
Englishman at Bothaskraal. Sons, get your rifles, and we
will ride over.'

"But on the way they had to pass Morder Drift, and thinking
only of the shame to their house, they rode altogether into
the water, none looking ahead. There had been rains, and
each man was compelled to give all his care to guiding his
horse through the torrent, while holding his rifle aloft in
one hand.

"When they were thus all in the water together they heard a
shout, and the Englishman on a big horse rode down to the
water's edge. He had a gun at his shoulder covering them
all, and they headed their horses up-stream and halted to
hear him speak.

"He was prideful and contemptuous. 'Six of you,' he cried,
'no less than six, who have come out to kill one man, and
the whole lot bottled up in the middle of a ditch and
waiting to be shot. The first one that moves his rifle till
I give permission dies.'

"Not one of them answered, but all kept their eyes on him.
Old Mynheer van der Poel had a cartridge in his rifle, and
he touched his horse with the spur under water that it
might fidget round towards the Englishman.

"'Well,' said the man on the bank, 'if I shot each one of
you as you sit, I should be in my right, and not one could
blame me. But where I come from one does not shoot even a
duck sitting, and I am going to let you go. You shall have
a chance to do the thing decently, so come back and fight
me openly. Or,' and he laughed as he spoke, 'you can do it
another way. I am leaving this cursed country shortly with
Christina. See if you can get at me and kill me before
then. It's a fair offer; but I warn you you'll find it a
dangerous game, and there'll be blood-letting on the one
side or the other.'

"He drew back his horse a little, still covering them with
the rifle. 'Now,' he cried, 'drop your guns into the water,
and you can go. Drop them, I say!'

"One by one the young men let their rifles fall into the
stream; but the old father fumbled with his finger.
Suddenly there was a shot, and the Englishman's big horse
shied at the spurt of mud at his feet. Of course the old
man could not shoot without aiming.

"Then the Englishman brought round his gun, and the old
man, sitting on his horse, with the water streaming over
his saddle, knew that a tremble of the finger would send
him to God.

"'But that you are Christina's father,' said the
Englishman, in a voice as clear as falling pebbles, 'I
would put a bullet through your white head this minute.
This time, though, you shall go alive, but by--! you shall
have your ducking.'

"And dropping his muzzle, he suddenly shot the straining
horse through the head, so that it fell immediately, and
the old man was plunged out of sight in the rushing water.

"When he got to the bank, fifty yards down the stream, the
Englishman was gone.

"They went home soberly, all busy with thoughts of their
own. When they neared the home kraals the father spoke.

"'This is a business to be wiped out,' he said. 'This shame
cannot rest with us. For my part, I could not pray with a
clear mind and that Englishman alive.'

"They all agreed with him, though, as Koos admitted, with
the death-rattle shaking him, they were all dreadfully
afraid of that big swaggering man. The old man had done a
fair share of fighting before, and at Potchefstroom, as he
said, he had killed three rooineks, so he was ready enough
for the business.

"But the young men had only been out against the Kafirs,
and there is not very much in that.

"Now old Mynheer van der Poel was not such a fool as to
risk his life or the lives of his sons in fighting the
Englishman. The war against the rooineks had made him slim;
for it is chiefly by wits and knowledge that the Boers have
beaten the English. So instead of going out to be shot like
a fool, he made a plan.

"You know how Bothaskraal lies. At the back of it there is
nothing but the Kafir country and the thorn bush; and if
you would get to the dorp, or to the road, or to the
railway, you must cross the Dolf Spruit, and for miles the
only crossing place is Morder Drift. So at Morder Drift
they set a watch, four in the day time and three in the
night, never losing sight of the drift.

"In this manner they waited a month till the evil night
came. It was a night sent by the devil's own design, a
gruesome, cloud-heavy, sulphurous night, and at the drift
were the old man, Koos, and the lad Hendrik. Koos was on
watch among the bushes; the other two crouched below the
bank out of the wind. A little rain dribbled down, and of a
sudden Koos whistled like a korhaan.

"The two got their rifles and went down into the water on
foot, the old man up stream, the lad down, stepping
carefully, for the stream was very strong and pulled at
their waists dangerously. Koos walked into the road, above
the water and in the shadow, and waited.

"Three horses came down the other side of the drift, and
three persons on them. The one was the Englishman, the
other was Christina, the third a Kafir. In the darkness of
the drift they could not see the watchers, and in the swirl
of the water they could not hear the click of the rifles.

"Into the water they rode, and then Koos, who had a
magazine rifle, suddenly stood up and shot the Kafir. He
screamed and fell into the water, and his horse turned and
galloped on.

"'Keep still, Mynheer Dunn,' cried Koos. 'A movement and
you are dead. Better raise your hands, I think. That is
right. Now, Christina, ride out of the water on this side.'

"'Stay where you are, Christina,' said the Englishman.
'Sir,' he called to Koos, 'you have trapped me sure enough,
and I ask and expect nothing. But what are you going to do
to Christina?'

"'Are you Christina's husband?' asked Koos. 'Are you
married to her?'

"'I am,' answered the other.

"'That is well for Christina. Otherwise she would be shot.
We have little patience with wrongdoers, I can tell you.'

"'But what are you going to do with her?'

"'I? Nothing at all,' answered Koos. 'She is no longer my
business. It will be for Christina's father to decide what
shall be done to her.'

"'Will you promise--' began the Englishman; but Koos
laughed.

"'I promise nothing,' he replied. 'In a few moments you
will be dead, and past bargaining. Christina, ride on.'

"'Stay a moment,' called the Englishman again. 'I will ask
you a favor, anyhow. It is not well to refuse a dying man,
and perhaps in a few moments I shall have more power over
you. So I beg you, spare Christina.'

"'I promise nothing at all,' answered Koos. 'I am not
afraid of ghosts.'

"'I wasn't thinking of that,' said the other. 'So I have
nothing to gain whether by talking or holding my tongue?'

"'Nothing at all!'

"'Very well; if that be the case, take that!' and very
suddenly he snatched a pistol--one of those things which
hold six bullets--from his pocket and shot Koos in the leg.

Christina screamed as her horse bounded and carried her
forward out of the water. Koos did not fall, but caught it
by the rein and dragged her from the saddle. He held her
close, with his left arm about her and his rifle in his
right hand, pistol-fashion.

"'Shoot again, rooinek,' he cried mockingly. 'You will be
sure to hit one of us.' And then he fired.

"At the same moment Mynheer van der Poel, in the water up-
stream, fired, and the Englishman fell on to the bow of his
saddle. The horse dashed down the water, and Koos, gripping
the screaming girl, heard young Hendrik shoot again.

"There was silence for a minute then, and Mynheer van der
Poel climbed out of the water and called to Hendrik.

"'Have you got him?' he cried.

"'Yes,' answered the boy; 'I am holding him up, but he is
still alive.'

"'Can he stand?' cried the old man.

"'No,' came the answer from the water.

"'Then drown him,' commanded the father. 'I will come down
and help.'

"When he had climbed down into the water again Koos laid
the girl down. She was still white; her senses had fled.
Presently as he was binding his leg he heard the father
say--

"'Now raise him a little, and I will shoot again to make
sure'; and immediately the sound of shot burst out. At this
the girl opened her eyes, and Koos, looking at her, saw
with astonishment that she smiled.

"'Have you killed him, Koos?' she asked very gently.

"'Be quiet,' answered Koos.

"'But tell me,' she persisted.

"'Yes.' he replied at length.

"She closed her eyes and sighed. 'That was cruel,' she
said; 'I loved him so.'

"But she sat up again as the old father and the lad dragged
the body out of the water.

"'Four wounds,' panted the old man. 'Not one of us missed.
That was very good, considering the darkness.' And as he
flung the bleeding corpse down he turned upon Christina.

"'Here,' he cried, calling her by a dreadful word of shame.
'Here is your husband.'

"'Father,' said young Hendrik, 'there is money in his
pockets. If I take it people will say this was done by
Kafirs.'

"'Take it then,' said the old man, and when the boy had
emptied the pockets he bade him throw the money into the
stream.

"Then they mounted and rode away, but not homewards. They
rode across the stream to cross it twenty miles down, that
their spoor should not betray them.

"And as Koos told me, while his eyes glazed, he turned and
looked back, and there he saw Christina with the
Englishman's head on her lap, looking after them with a
face that set him trembling."

As the old lady concluded I passed an arm round Katje.

A GOOD END

One of the most awe-inspiring traits of the Vrouw Grobelaar
was her familiarity with the subject of death. She had a
discriminating taste in corpses, and remembered of several
old friends only the figure they cut when the life was gone
from them. She was as opinionative in this regard as in all
others; she had her likes and dislikes, and it is my firm
belief to this day that she never rose to such heights of
conversational greatness as when attending a death-bed. It
is on record that more than one invalid was relieved of all
desire to live after being prepared for dissolution by the
Vrouw Grobelaar.

On the evening following the burial of Katrina Potgieter's
baby, which died of drinking water after a surfeit of dried
peaches, the old lady was in great feather. Never were her
reminiscences so ghoulish and terrifying, and never did she
hurl her weighty moralities over so wide a scope.
Eventually she lapsed into criticism, and announced that
the art of dying effectively was little practiced nowadays.

"I hate to see a person slink out of life," she said. "Give
me a man or a woman that knows all clearly to the last, and
gives other people an opportunity to see some little way
into eternity. After all, there's nothing more in dying
than changing the style of one's clothes, and even the most
paltry folk have some consideration as corpses. I can't see
what there is to be afraid of."

"I don't think that," observed Katje. "Even if it wasn't
that I was soon to be dead and buried, the whole business
seems horrible. Fancy all the people crowding round to look
at you and cry, while they talked as if you were already
dead. When Polly Honiball was dying, old Vrouw Meyers asked
her if she could see anything yet. Ugh!"

The old lady shook her head. "That's not the way to look at
it," she replied. "A good death is the sign of a good life;
or anyhow, that's how people judge it. It's as well to give
no room for talk afterwards, Katje. And as for the mere
death, no good Christian fears that. Why, I have known a
man seek death!"

"Did he kill himself?" inquired Katje.

"Kill himself! Indeed he didn't. That would be a crime, and
a dreadful scandal. No, he took death by the hand in a most
seemly and respectable way, and his family were always
thought the better of for it.

"Yes, I'll tell you about it. It will be a lesson to you,
Katje, and I hope you will think about it and take it to
heart.

"The man I am talking about was Mynheer Andries van der
Linden, a most godly and prosperous Burgher, whose farm was
on the High Veld. All the days of his life he walked
uprightly, and married twice. His sons and daughters were
many, and all good, save for one sidelong skellum, Piet,
his second son, who afterwards went to live among the
English. He had cattle and sheep at pasture for miles, and
a kerk on his land, where his nephew, the Predikant, used
to preach. And by reason of his sanctity and cleverness
Andries grew richer and richer till the Burghers respected
him so much that they made him a commandant and a member of
the Church Council.

"All prospered with him, as I was telling you, until one
day it seemed as if God's hand had fallen from him. He was
smitten with a disease of which not the oldest woman in the
district had ever seen the like, and his own flesh became a
curse to him. The very marrow in his bones bred fire to
feed on his body, and he lay on his bed in the torments of
hell. For weeks he writhed and screamed like a madman,
tossing on his blankets and tearing at his body, or
struggling and howling as his sons held him down for fear
he should injure himself in his frenzy. The whole thing was
very terrible and mysterious; and it was said among the
farms that Andries van der Linden could not have been so
good after all, or God would not thus visit him with such a
scourge.

"For myself, I never believed this, and what he afterwards
did will show that I had the right of it. Still, good or
bad, the affliction was undeniable, for I myself heard him
screaming like a beast as I drove to Nachtmaal.

"The malady lasted for months, and all herbs and pills that
were given him did not an atom of good. Even the Kafirs
could do nothing, though Klein Andries, the old man's
eldest son and a good lad, caught a witch-doctor and
sjamboked him to pieces to make him help. In short, the
illness was plainly beyond mortal cure, and the old man at
last came to see this.

"I should have told you that he had times of peace, when
the agony forsook him, and left him limp like a wet clout.
Then he would sweat and quake with terror of the pains that
would return; and so pitiful was his condition that he
could not even listen with a proper patience to the reading
of Scripture or the singing of David's psalms. You will see
from this what a terrible visitation to a God-fearing man
this illness was.

"So he made up his mind. One morning early, while quietness
was with him, he called for Klein Andries and bade him shut
the door of the room.

"'Andries,' he said, 'I have been thinking the matter to a
finish, and I am determined to have an end to this
torment.'

"'Have you found any means?' began Klein Andries.

"'Listen,' said the old man. 'It is plain to me, that I
shall gain no cure on earth, and I have decided to die. So
I shall die at the end of a week about two hours after
sunrise.'

"Andries was of course very much taken aback. 'I do not
understand,' he said. 'You cannot mean to kill yourself?'

"'Of course not,' answered the old man. 'That will be your
part.'

"'How do you mean?' cried Andries.

"'I shall lie here in my bed, with clean pillows and fresh
sheets, and the best coverlet. Our people will all be
here,--you will see to that,--and when I have spoken to them
and shaken their hands, you shall bring in your rifle--'

"'That will do,' said Klein Andries. 'You need tell me no
more. I will not do it.'

"'But you are my first-born,' said the father.

"'It is all the same; I will not do it.'

"'Then you can get out of my house, with your wife and your
children, and go look for a stone on which to lay your
heads.'

"'That is very easy,' answered Klein Andries, quite calmly.
'No doubt we shall find that stone you speak of.'

"'And I will get Piet to do it,' said the old man.

"'No,' replied Klein Andries. 'Piet shall not do it.
Nobody shall do it. I will not have it done.'

"'Andries,' said the old man, 'you and I must not talk
thus. I am your father, and I tell you to do me this
service. Say rather, I ask it of you. It is no more than an
act of kindness to a stricken man; your hand on the gun
will be the hand of mercy.'

"'But I cannot do it,' cried out Klein Andries in a sort of
pain.

"'You will do it,' said the old man. 'Remember you are the
eldest of my sons. You will do it, Andries?'

"'No,' said Andries.

"'You will do it?'

"'No!'

"'Then, Andries,' said the old man, half raising himself as
he lay, and pointing a finger at his son--'then, Andries,
eldest son and dearest and all, I will curse you.'

"For a full minute the two looked each other in the eyes,
and then Klein Andries let his hand fall on his knee like a
man beaten and broken.

"'It shall be as you say,' he answered at last. 'I will do
what you ask, but--it will spoil my life for me.'

"'Thank you, my son,' said the old man, sinking back.

"'Oh, I will do it,' said Andries. 'But I hold it a sin, a
black and bloody sin, that I commit with open eyes and a
full knowledge. But I will do it.'

"So the thing happened, and all that week before his death
the old man suffered little. As he said himself, his last
taste of life was sweet in his mouth. He thought much upon
his grave and the manner of his burying, and would often
talk with Klein Andries and Piet, and give them directions.

"'I will not be buried in the kraal,' he said one day. 'My
sister Greta never had any love for me, and I had just as
lief not disturb her. Put me on top of the hill there; I
was always one for an open view.'

"From where he lay he could see through the window the
place where he desired to be buried, and the grave of his
cousin Cornel, dead twenty years before..

"'Put me, then, on top of the hill,' he said, 'and I shall
be able to overlook Cornel. He has a head-board with a
round top, so you will give me two boards, one at my head
and one at my feet, both with round tops. You would not
have that carrion triumph over me?'

"'It shall be done,' said Andries.

"'And you might carve a verse on my headboard,' the old man
went on. 'Cornel has only his name and dates, and no doubt
he counts on my having no more. His board is only painted;
see that you carve mine.'

"'I do not carve letters very well,' began Andries, 'but--'

"'Oh, you carve well enough,' said the old man. 'Very well
indeed, considering. You won't have to do very much. There
are plenty of short verses in the Psalms, and some--very
good ones, too--in Proverbs. The Predikant will soon choose
a verse of the right sort. Say a verse, Andries; it is not
much.'

"'I will see to it,' said Andries.

"Then Piet, whose mind was a dunghill, had a horrible
thought. 'But what about the water?' he cried, for the
stream from which they took their drinking-water ran past
the foot of the hill.

"'You must draw your water higher up, answered the old man.
'If I were not about to die, Piet, and therefore under a
need to judge not, lest I be judged, I would cut down your
oxen and sheep for that. Go out; I will say what I have to
say to Andries.'

"When Piet was gone he went on. 'Remember, Andries, a bare
four foot, no more. I would not wish to be late when the
dead arise. Just four foot of cool earth, and a black
coffin with plenty of room in it.'

"'I will take care,' replied Klein Andries.

"'Very well, do as I have told you, and I shall be very
well off. I shall sleep without pain till the last day, and
perhaps dream in peace about the verse on my head-board and
the round tops.'

"Although I like a man to take it bravely, I can very well
understand that that week must have been a terrible one for
Klein Andries, who, though a good lad, and a wealthy man at
this day, never was particularly quick at taking up an
idea. He went about with a bowed head and empty eyes, like
a man in mortal shame; and I believe that never since has
he quite cast off the load his father laid on him. Not that
I see any harm in the affair myself.

"Well, in proper course the day came, and Andries van der
Linden lay in his bed between the fresh sheets, propped up
with fine clean pillows. His people had come from near and
far, for the curious story was well known, and they were
proud of their kinsman. They crowded the room in which he
lay, all in their best clothes, a little uneasy, as most
folks are on great occasions, and all very quiet.

"Old Andries van der Linden was free from pain, and spoke
to them all in very cheerful and impressing words. As he
lay among his pillows with his white hair thrown back and
his beard on his breast, he was a fine man to see--a picture
of a good and a brave man. He read aloud from the Bible,
and then prayed awhile, giving out his words grandly and
without a quaver. Then he shook them all by the hand and
bade each one good-bye.

"'Now, Andries,' he said, and lay back smiling.

"Klein Andries stood at the foot of the bed with his rifle
resting across the rail, but he dropped his head with a
sob.

"'I cannot,' he said, 'I cannot.'

"'Come, Andries,' said the old man again. 'Come, my son.'

"Then Klein Andries caught his breath in his throat and
steadied the rifle. The old man lay calmly, still smiling,
with fearless eyes.

"'Close your eyes,' said Andries hoarsely, and as the old
man did so he fired.

"The windows of the room were blown outwards and broken,
but the shot was a true one, and the work was well and
workmanlike done."

"It must have spoiled the sheets," observed Katje.

VASCO'S SWEETHEART

"As to that," said the Vrouw Grobelaar, answering a point
that no one had raised, "it has been seen over and over
again that sin leaves its mark. Do you not trust or avoid a
man because there is honor or wickedness in his face? Ah,
men's faces are the writing on the wall, and only the
Belshazzars cannot read them.

"But the marks go deeper than a lowering brow or a cruel
mouth. Men may die and leave behind them no monuments save
their sin. Of such a case I remember one instance.

"Before my second husband was married to his first wife he
lived out yonder, on the Portuguese border, and in the
thick of the fever country. I have not seen the place, but
it is badly spoken of for a desolate, unchancy land, bad
for cattle, and only good to hunters. My second husband was
a great hunter, and died, as you know, through having his
body crushed by a lion. The people out there are not good
Boer stock, but a wild and savage folk, with dark blood in
them.

"I only know this story from my second husband, but it took
hold of me, as he used to tell it. There was a family in
those parts of the name of Preez. No relation to the Du
Preez you know, who are well enough in their way, but Preez
simply,--a short name and a bad one. They were big holders
of land, with every reason to be rich, but bad farmers,
lazy hunters, and deep drinkers. The Kafirs down there make
a drink out of fruit which is very fiery and conquers a man
quickly, and these people were always to be seen half
drunk, or else stupid from the stuff. Old Preez, the
father, in particular, was a terrible man, by all tellings;
full threescore and ten years of age, but strong, fiery,
and full of oaths. My second husband used to say there was
something in the look of him that daunted one; for his hair
and his beard were white, his face was savagely red, and
his eyes were like hot coals. And with it all he had a way
of looking on you that made you run from him. When he was
down with drink and fever he would cry out in a terrible
voice that his mother was a queen's daughter and he was a
prince."

"I have heard of the people you speak of," I said. "They
are half-Portuguese, and perhaps the old man was not wholly
lying."

"Um! Well, prince or not, he married in his youth a woman
of the half-blood, and begot of her a troop of devils. Five
sons he had, all great men, knowing not God and fearing
none of God's works. And after them came a daughter, a
puling slip of a thing, never meant to live, whom they did
to death among them with their drinking and blaspheming and
fighting.

"My second husband told me tales of that family that set my
blood freezing. He had his own way of telling stories, and
made you see pictures, as it were. Once, he used to say,
for a trifle spoken concerning them and their ways, they
visited a missionary by night, dragged him from his bed,
and crucified him against his door, while his wife clung to
the old man's knees and besought the mercy they never gave
and never got. Even the wild folk of the countryside were
stricken with the horror and impiety of the deed; and it
says much for the fear in which the Preez family were held
that none molested them or called them to account.

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