Hier staan ons voor die Heilige God van hemel en aarde om ʼn gelofte aan Hom te doen, dat, as Hy ons sal beskerm en ons vyand in ons hand sal gee, ons die dag en datum elke jaar as ʼn dankdag soos ʼn Sabbat sal deurbring; en dat ons ʼn huis tot Sy eer sal oprig waar dit Hom behaag, en dat ons ook aan ons kinders sal sê dat hulle met ons daarin moet deel tot nagedagtenis ook vir die opkomende geslagte. Want die eer van Sy naam sal verheerlik word deur die roem en die eer van oorwinning aan Hom te gee.

(Here we stand before the holy God of heaven and earth, to make a vow to Him that, if He will protect us and give our enemy into our hand, we shall keep this day and date every year as a day of thanksgiving like a sabbath, and that we shall erect a house to His honour wherever it should please Him, and that we also will tell our children that they should share in that with us in memory for future generations. For the honour of His name will be glorified by giving Him the fame and honour for the victory.)

Welgevonden, in the Northern region of Natal, as perceived by Jan Boddewijk's mind

The man clutched a book in his arms and gazed his eyes at the newcomer. A young scholarly man, that did not fit the rest of the churchgoers. Yet, like all other men, he could sense his connection to God. Everyone was indirectly connected to God, and he had an experience with God at ten years old. He was Charl (Sarel) Arnoldus Cilliers, a close aide to Andries Pretorius.

Sarel was a simple farmer at first glance, but he was instrumental during the Battle of Blood River. For he made the proclamation that motivated the men when they saw hordes of Zulu warriors surrounding them. Serving in the local Volksraad, he was a nondescript man. Only when Jan began digging up the influential men around town was, he able to find out that this simple man was extremely influential.

"Jan Boddewijk? If I remembered correctly, your father was with us during that great battle. He told me about his constant worries about you and your mother. I'm glad to see you today."

Sarel stretched his hand out, and Jan shook it.

"I like your work in teaching the natives the ways of God. Opening your arms to their presence, and constructing churches to enlighten them. Although I hear some alarming things, about your lack of attendance to the church."

Inwardly, the young Commando groaned.

"But lets us put that aside. Starting up a new town must be very difficult, especially as it becomes the new trade hub."

Sarel invited Jan into his house, where the kids were running about. Crops could be seen swaying in the wind as the winds blow. Sturdy trees dotted the farm, and some stumps lay on the ground, cut down some time in the past.

Sarel called out to his wife, who prepared two simple cups of water and they went to a small meeting room. Thanking him for the drink, Jan sipped his cup.

"So how can I help you today, Commando? Need help dealing with Pretorius? He might be intimidating, but he cares for the best of the Republic."

"It would be improper for me as a new Commando to not pay respects to the notable men around the Republic. Especially since you have all contributed so much to the Port Mpande project. Your timber was used to make numerous houses for residents, for example."

Sarel decided to change the topic.

"When I first saw you at the Volksraad for the first time, you were meek. I suppose it was a frightening experience, being surrounded by very strong-looking guys when you were as thin as a twig. You relied on Joren, another boy who rarely goes to Church," Sarel frowned, and took a sip of water.

"But as a good Christian who helps someone in need, he helped you along and introduced you to his various networks. You could not speak Dutch, but you were learning. On the last day, you could speak simple phrases. No surprises come from a scholar like you. And here you are, speaking perfect, fluent Elfrikaans."

"Although you could give the exterior of a Dutchman, in your interior, I see an Englishman. For example, I heard from numerous sources that your men speak English amongst themselves. You have even invited missionaries from the Cape to establish churches in your land. But no matter how much you try to be English, ultimately, when an Englishman looks at you, they'll see you as a Dutch."

Jan began tapping the table in thought.

"There are a rather alarming number of Anglican churches in your little township. Most of your residents are Dutch, so I hope you will consider them by constructing by Dutch Protestant Churches."

Sarel started silent, observing the young man before him.

"The English have the most resources, so I invited them to construct churches for me. If you wish that there are more Dutch Protestant churches, then they are free to construct them in my lands, if they are discussed with my men, subject to their approval."

"What I wish…" Sarel spoke, cutting Jan off from speaking more, "is that you spend some of your resources in constructing such churches, instead of relying on the charity of others. As your father has relayed his concerns to me during the trek, you are an Englishman at heart. You love England, and rather be an Englishman. But they are not good people. They have ulterior motivations. Are you not afraid that the English might have too much influence in your little town? Making everyone speak and learn English, what if one day instead of choosing to be under your rule, they would rather be under the United Kingdom's rule? Those English missionaries might sound helpful and seem charitable, but they work for England."

"I worry about the increasing English influence. And I worry most about your little Port, as it has become extremely important for all of us."

The preacher looked at him, asking him with his eyes to explain.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"The English are wealthy. And whether we admit it or not, we are reliant on England. When we set foot on these lands, we bear English arms. Our produce is bought by English traders. Our currency is the pound sterling. No matter what, we are too economically dependent on England. We might as well prosper with them, instead of against them."

Sarel stayed silent.

"As you wish young man, I shall not interfere with the way you manage your town. But tell me, other than today's social call, do you have any other matters you wish to discuss."

Although they had a frosty discussion just then, Sarel acted as friendly as they first met. Jan hoped that he will not mix personal and private matters, and that dislike of how he ran things would turn into a dislike of him.

"Sarel, tell me, what do you think about the Volksraad?"

Sarel's wife came into the room and took their empty cups away. The sounds of children playing outside could be heard until the door closed.

"It's a lovely place where we can discuss how to best run things. I'm afraid that the implementation by the Commandoes has been rather slow. You were there Jan, and you also didn't implement anything that was discussed. Especially my proposal on the construction of Dutch churches."

Jan shrugged, "It was months ago. Memory is fickle, and there are many things to remember. A summary of the events sent to every Commando would be useful. But you also think that the Volksraad is an ineffective institution."

"It's hard to make it effective. For that, we will need to summon every Commando around the country and have them discuss. Forget about even gathering perhaps half of them, it would be an uphill battle to enforce the matters discussed."

"Then how would you propose to change it?"

"You see, Jan. I do not see any way to change it. We are too decentralized. A system of communication between the disparate towns would have to be first established. Before we can even talk about changing it."

"So, you're proposing a Post Office, the problem would be finding someone to fund such an initiative."

"Well son, but I know someone interested in funding such an initiative. And that certain someone sits right before me."

Jan pointed to himself in shock, rebutting, "Me? Why would I need to fund such an initiative?"

"You are the Commando of Port Mpande, an important trade hub in this Republic. All Boer goods must flow through you. It is in the merchants that reside in your town and your interest to maintain a Post Office so that you could track the flow of goods to your port. Plus, rather than making house calls to every Boer, it would be easier to message them this way."

Sarel wisely smiled. As expected for a man that served as an aide to Andries Pretorius, he was both wise and intelligent. He understood men well, or else he could not have pulled off the stunning victory during the Battle of Blood River.

"I heard from my father that Pretorius somehow was able to establish a no-magic zone during the Battle of Blood River. It was done through you right, Sarel? How did you do it? Especially since we're surrounded by magic users, such an ability is extremely useful when trekking."

"All I can say is that it must be done by a very pious man. Perhaps if you go to Church every Sunday, God will grant you such an ability."

"Jan." Pretorius greeted, putting away his papers. He seemed relaxed and at ease, unlike his previous busy self that had to rush around everywhere.

"Good day Pretorius, I would like to have a ledger detailing all known locations of Commandoes currently residing in the Republic's territory."

Pretorius began digging through his papers and books and retrieved a book. Looking at its title, he asked Jan, "What for? Do you wish to contact these men? Some of these men are independent trekkers who settle in these lands and have no allegiance to me. So, I urge caution when initiating contact."

Jan reached for the book as Pretorius handed it over to him. Grasping the hard book cover, he flicked the pages and was greeted with cursive writing. Blanching his face with confusion, he traced the words line by line and flicked through the pages.

"It is not an exhaustive list. And more trekkers are heading to the Natal and beyond due to decreased danger thanks to the negotiations with the Xhosa."

"Pretorius, what do you think of establishing a postal service in the Republic?" Jan thumbed through the pages, taking note of the various names here. English, German, and French in origin. All mostly hailed from Europe.

"We will need men to survey the lands. And we also will have to demarcate whose lands belong to who. Especially for two neighbouring Boers, where their influence ends is a delicate matter to deal with. And let us not discuss sending postal to another in another town, with wildly different standards of housing."

"Why not let such a system be decentralized? All the Postal Service has to do is send mail to a certain town. Then let the Commando and their subordinate Veldkornets send the mail to the right location."

"Then who will run it? My men have their fields to tend to, and I already have a lot on my plate dealing with affairs in Pietermaritzburg."

"We could utilise the already existing trade links," Jan unfurled a map of the Natal region. Pointing at the location of Port Mpande, his finger stretched to Pietermaritzburg.

"Traders frequently go between these two locations. Giving them a small fee to carry the cargo along with their caravans will not be too expensive. Of course, the one wanting things to be delivered will have to pay for the service."

"Are they trustworthy? Important mail could get lost."

"I don't think you would send important mail through these traders. You would get one of your men on horseback to personally deliver it for you. But the system of using traders to deliver them could be scaled up. How about large cargo like a tonne of wheat? You could spread it among multiple traders to deliver the goods to the intended recipient."

Pretorius nodded but moved his finger to the inner regions of Natal.

"The regions inland are more isolated, and traders are few. Using such a system would cause mail to take months. To run a postal service well, I would like the time taken to deliver mail to be similar across similar distances across the country."

"There is not much one can do about that, even the postal services of large nations like France and Great Britain will take much more time to deliver postage to rural areas," Jan shrugged, but Pretorius continued.

"This would be a fine foundation to establish a postal service. But I wish that instead of such informal arrangements, it would transition to a more formal arrangement over time. Whether it be a company specialized in handling mail or a service run by the local government, they would be preferable to this proposed system. However, I will leave it for the upcoming Volksraad meeting, I assume you will be attending in your father's stead? Or your father will personally be attending?"

The young man almost wanted to slap himself but stopped before he realized where he was. He completely forgot about Volksraad affairs because the place was more like a social event rather than the legislative branch of the country. That was how useless whatever stipulations were proposed there. That didn't mean it was completely useless as for a man like him, he needed some friends in this country.

"Look at my son, the bigshot Commando coming home to see his father after so many months. Forgot about me already after you have your little town to play ruler with?" His father smirked and gazed at Jan who dismounted his horse.

"How can I forget about you, since you provided the support for me to become Commando in the first place?" Jan's eyes lingered over the fields still worked by the slaves and turned back to face his father.

"You must be here for some reason, whaddya do you want? I have given you a lot of money for you to muck around with the native elves, so don't ask me for more." His father reached for his pipe and puffed out a ring of smoke.

"Will you be attending the Volksraad?"

"Why should I? I don't feel like going. Why? Are you interested? Aren't you busy managing Port Mpande? Forget about the Volksraad, it's a waste of time."

"But I am interested in attending."

"So, you can get 2-pound sterling a day? I'm pretty sure I sent you more money than that. Only those small fries who got elected off some horseshit go there for that reason. Those are the kind of people you will meet with. Just there to collect their salary and change nothing overall."

"But Sarel Cilliers attends it."

Jan paused as his father pondered his words.

"Sarel?" His father shrugged upon hearing his name, "Ahh… the unofficial pastor during our trek. I suppose he's going there to mostly socialize. Last I heard, he is staying somewhere in the far North. I wonder why he doesn't choose to stay in Pietermaritzburg and meet with his old comrades."

"I met with him to discuss some matters previously. He runs a small farm in Welgevonden and makes some money off timber. I had purchased some timber from him through merchants when constructing the town."

His father nodded in acknowledgement.

"I see. Well then, go collect the 2-pound sterling in my stead."