Torres the barber were among the audience.
“Come, come,” said Farquhar, the mayor. “We’ve got enough to worry about without falling out amongst ourselves.”
“That’s right,” said the military censor, Major Mott, who was representing the army. “We’ve all got to work together. It’s the only way.”
The occasion of the meeting had come out of an earlier request by the council to General White—namely, that he communicate to Joubert a message asking that all wounded and non-combatant civilians in the town be allowed to evacuate southward. This the General had done—reluctantly, since it smelt of cowardice.
Major Mott now had the paper sent back by Joubert in his hand. He read it out to the assembled company: “Respecting your request that the townspeople may be allowed to leave for the South, this I cannot possibly agree to. The wounded, with their attendants and doctors, may, as requested by you, be taken to a chosen place, and I shall agree that the people of the town shall also be removed there. The numbers of the civilians must be communicated to me and the removals of the wounded and civilians must be effected within twenty-four hours of the receipt of this, and the locality must be distinctly marked. I must further make it a condition that under the name of civilian there must not be sent out any who have taken up arms against the Republic.”
People were shouting by the time Mott had finished. “How dare he make such demands?” said one. “We shall not be dictated to in this way,” said another.
And then the Major continued: “General White has agreed to these terms, and suggested the establishment of a neutral camp at Intombi Spruit. He advises the town to accept the proposal.”
Again there were cries of indignation. One man flamboyantly pulled out his white handkerchief and said, “This is not my banner. I am a patriot and shall not be known by the name of coward. It is right that we should put our lives in danger for the Queen.” Then, with theatrical defiance, he flung the kerchief on the floor.
Others, in particular those who had suffered injury to family or property from the bombardment, were all for leaving the soldiers to it and getting out from under the shadow of shell.
Leo Kiernan was one of those who spoke in favour of accepting the offer.
“It would be criminal not to allow non-combatants to take advantage of this arrangement,” Bella heard him saying. But her father was again roundly shouted down by Grimble. He was one of the local farmers (mostly fruit, with a bit of arable thrown in), and a leading light in the Carbineers, the settlers’ volunteer force.
“We humble ourselves too much to ask for the forbearance of such scoundrels,” he now said. “I suppose we shall be knocked about a good deal, but, well, I am getting old, and care little about danger these days. I will not leave my property.”
“Sir, there are other lives at stake than your own,” said Bella’s father. “They must be considered.”
Archdeacon Barker—who, tall and dog-collared, had the benefit of divine authority—eventually carried the day. “Our women and children shall not go out under a white flag. They shall stay with the men under the Union Flag, and those who would do them harm may come to them at their peril.”
There were loud cheers—though not from Bella’s father, who looked cross. The decision having been made, the townsfolk filed out of the hall, the low chunter of their discussions filling the interior air until, as they passed out into daylight, it was swallowed up by the noise of horse and soldier and the distant boom of shell. It was too far away to be the Boers…could it, wondered Bella and a hundred others, be Buller?
As she walked back to the hotel behind her father, Bella reflected that he was a respected curiosity in Ladysmith. Various women had set their cap at the widower, but he had rebuffed them all; the only intimacy he kept was his own, and the only
“Come, come,” said Farquhar, the mayor. “We’ve got enough to worry about without falling out amongst ourselves.”
“That’s right,” said the military censor, Major Mott, who was representing the army. “We’ve all got to work together. It’s the only way.”
The occasion of the meeting had come out of an earlier request by the council to General White—namely, that he communicate to Joubert a message asking that all wounded and non-combatant civilians in the town be allowed to evacuate southward. This the General had done—reluctantly, since it smelt of cowardice.
Major Mott now had the paper sent back by Joubert in his hand. He read it out to the assembled company: “Respecting your request that the townspeople may be allowed to leave for the South, this I cannot possibly agree to. The wounded, with their attendants and doctors, may, as requested by you, be taken to a chosen place, and I shall agree that the people of the town shall also be removed there. The numbers of the civilians must be communicated to me and the removals of the wounded and civilians must be effected within twenty-four hours of the receipt of this, and the locality must be distinctly marked. I must further make it a condition that under the name of civilian there must not be sent out any who have taken up arms against the Republic.”
People were shouting by the time Mott had finished. “How dare he make such demands?” said one. “We shall not be dictated to in this way,” said another.
And then the Major continued: “General White has agreed to these terms, and suggested the establishment of a neutral camp at Intombi Spruit. He advises the town to accept the proposal.”
Again there were cries of indignation. One man flamboyantly pulled out his white handkerchief and said, “This is not my banner. I am a patriot and shall not be known by the name of coward. It is right that we should put our lives in danger for the Queen.” Then, with theatrical defiance, he flung the kerchief on the floor.
Others, in particular those who had suffered injury to family or property from the bombardment, were all for leaving the soldiers to it and getting out from under the shadow of shell.
Leo Kiernan was one of those who spoke in favour of accepting the offer.
“It would be criminal not to allow non-combatants to take advantage of this arrangement,” Bella heard him saying. But her father was again roundly shouted down by Grimble. He was one of the local farmers (mostly fruit, with a bit of arable thrown in), and a leading light in the Carbineers, the settlers’ volunteer force.
“We humble ourselves too much to ask for the forbearance of such scoundrels,” he now said. “I suppose we shall be knocked about a good deal, but, well, I am getting old, and care little about danger these days. I will not leave my property.”
“Sir, there are other lives at stake than your own,” said Bella’s father. “They must be considered.”
Archdeacon Barker—who, tall and dog-collared, had the benefit of divine authority—eventually carried the day. “Our women and children shall not go out under a white flag. They shall stay with the men under the Union Flag, and those who would do them harm may come to them at their peril.”
There were loud cheers—though not from Bella’s father, who looked cross. The decision having been made, the townsfolk filed out of the hall, the low chunter of their discussions filling the interior air until, as they passed out into daylight, it was swallowed up by the noise of horse and soldier and the distant boom of shell. It was too far away to be the Boers…could it, wondered Bella and a hundred others, be Buller?
As she walked back to the hotel behind her father, Bella reflected that he was a respected curiosity in Ladysmith. Various women had set their cap at the widower, but he had rebuffed them all; the only intimacy he kept was his own, and the only
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