"Yes, I know." Hansie _could not_ withhold those words.
"You know!" he exclaimed in great surprise. "Do _you_ know General Botha?"
"Yes, indeed. And what is more, he is _my_ General."
The soldier looked at her in ludicrous amazement.
"Are you a Boer? You don't look like one, and I never heard any one speak better English."
"I don't know whether what you are saying is meant as a compliment to me, but I don't like being told that I don't look like a Boer, and I certainly would not be pleased if you took me for an Englishwoman."
The poor Tommy looked troubled and muttered something about "no offence meant, I am sure."
"Now please go on and tell me more about the General. Did you hear anything of what he said to Lord Kitchener?"
"Nothing, miss, except when he went away. They shook hands very hearty-like and the General said, 'Good-bye; I hope you will have good luck.' That was all."
"Good luck! What do you think he could have meant?"
"We don't know, miss, but we think he meant good luck in Natal, for Lord Kitchener went yesterday and I hear there is some talk of peace."
Hansie sat silent for a long time, turning these things over in her mind.
"But what is all this accursed war about, miss? We soldiers know nothing except that we have to fight when we are ordered to do so."
"Of course you know nothing. An English soldier is nothing but a fighting machine, not allowed to think or act for himself. Discipline is a grand thing, but Heaven protect a man from the discipline of the British army. The war? I will tell you if you want to know. The war is a cruel and unjust attempt to rob us of our rich and independent land, and England is the tool in base and unscrupulous hands. You suffer too, I know, and all my heart goes out in sympathy to the bereaved and broken-hearted Englishwomen across the seas. Their only comfort is their firm belief that their heroes died a noble death for freedom and justice. Did they but know the truth! They died to satisfy the lust for gain and greed of gold of mining magnates on the Rand."
"Suffer, miss! As long as I live I will not forget that march from the colony, through Bloemfontein to Pretoria. Fighting nearly every day and marching at least thirty miles a day, on _one biscuit_. There was no water to be had! Will you believe that for three days not a drop of water passed my lips? And I heard the other fellows say, not once, but a thousand times, 'Would to God that a bullet find me before night!' Our tongues were hanging from our mouths and our lips were cracked----"