56 kilometres North of Harrismith, the 150 men of Jan’s Commando force, 20 Flight Commando and 13 artillery wagons moved forward. The force was supplemented with additional wagons, consisting of the families they picked up.
Before they packed up to leave, the farmer, henpecked from his wife, begged to have them bring him along, since it was likely they would perish by their lonesome. They lacked cattle, and their farm was ravaged by the Khoikhoi, it was likely they would starve.
Jan, seeing no point in bringing them along, decided to hold an open election. Gathering all the Boers in the centre of the camp, he told them about the motion they would be voting on today. All they had to do was to raise their hands, and he would count them. If the number of hands reached 50% or more of the total amount of Boers, the motion would pass. Naturally not all 150 people he brought along voted. 13 wagons consisted of 2 elf servants each, so that subtracted 26 from the sum. This left around 124 eligible voters.
One man asked, “Will we be squeezing the families with them into a wagon? If it is, I’ll vote nay”
Jan shook his head.
“Why should we have them inconvenience us? Construct other wagons. Iron might be lacking, so it might need regular maintenance, but it's fine. All it needs to do is to get them in the town, and they’ll do their best to live.”
The men nodded in agreement.
Voting commenced, and naturally, the option to bring them along won by a landslide. Only a few cheeky Boers decided not to raise their hands, to the jeers from their surrounding mates.
They spent a day camped there in a laager, working on constructing a wagon. The men viewed the farmers and their families with distrust due to their prior experiences, so they didn’t bother to hand them weapons. Instead, they made small talk with the once rude man, who now acted so meek once he understood his circumstances.
For quick construction, they didn’t bother adding iron rims and used hardwood as a rim to the wheel. It wouldn’t last long, but they could always take quick stops to repair it. The second was that they shifted oxen from the wagons to the new wagon to pull them along. Travelling speed would take a hit, but they were in no rush. Jan was worried about the ox being overburdened with their heavier load due to the decreased distribution, but the Xhosa servants did not seem too worried.
The group went into the town of Warden and traded with the farmers and the elves nearby. They asked the farmer’s family whether they wanted to get off, but they shook their heads. They didn’t want to stay near such a small town. After a few days of trekking with the big group, they realized they wanted to have the security of many Boers around them. They wanted to be in Potchefstroom, where they heard Hendrik Potgieter was a generous man, as generous as Pretorius in Natal.
They didn’t bother telling them about their relations with Pretorius and left them in the dark. So, the group traded with the natives, Sotho and Zulu, who intermarried with one another. Luckily, their Xhosa servants could converse with the Zulu merchants just fine. So, bartering a couple of muskets away, Jan decided to be generous and trade for a couple of oxen and iron to return the travelling speed to what it once was before.
The one thing he was too embarrassed to say was that even if he lived with the Zulus for quite some time, the truth was that he still couldn’t tell the difference between Sotho and Zulu. He was sure to take that to the grave, and not be killed by some drunk Zulu in a bar where he blurts it out accidentally. All he got was the Zulu greeting taught by Nokuthula, which helped screen who was who.
After spending a couple of days touching up the wagons and maintaining them, the group left the town.
Taking a detour from the path to Zoutpansberg, they headed in the direction of Potchefstroom. The one thing they noticed in the region, was that there was a distinct lack of homesteads the closer they got to Potchefstroom. Second, the numerous elves were watching their trek with suspicion.
“Just now, we were mostly dealing with Sotho and Zulu, but here the Tswana elves dominate. Now, I don’t know why they are tracking us. Perhaps Potgieter had made some agreements with the natives here,” Veldkornet Pietje saddled up to Jan’s wagon and explained.
The Commando looked towards his other Veldkornet, Russell, and waited to see if he had anything to add to that.
“I wish we could have parlayed with them. But I don’t think our servants would be able to open communications with them. It’s like that Sotho incident all over again,” Russell remarked.
Pietje shook his head.
“I was not scared of the Sotho attacking. But here, I fear the Tswana. They outnumber us by a lot. The Zulus don’t have much of a presence here. They weren’t as depopulated as the Sotho. Without Sarel or anyone that could counter magic, I doubt we’ll be able to replicate the Battle of Blood River if we get into a fight.”
“No matter what. We cannot show that fear to them. Keep pace and trek forward at the same speed. Any sudden adjustments would indicate fear or whatnot. We cannot let them know we are prey; else we will be hunted.”
This time, the Tswana elves massed in larger numbers than the Sotho people, Jan couldn’t help but feel afraid like the rest of the Boers.
“It’s likely a show. One of their chiefs will come and parlay. Politics,” Russell postulated.
Sure enough, it seems the Tswana mass was a smokescreen, as the elves parted ways to make way for a big delegation. Small shields with a giant pole in the centre sticking out moved forward as the large mass of spears moved about.
“They want to parlay, it’s good. They likely won’t want to kill us,” Pietje remarked, calming the men in the wagons down. They still held tight to their guns, anticipating a fight.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Pietje hand me and Russell a horse each. Since this is the first impression, we must not look like poor trekkers, and instead, look like proper warriors.”
Pietje nodded and got two of the horsemen to donate their horses to them. A laager was quickly formed, and the men huddled in the centre, their guns pointing at the outside of the laager.
Like the trekkers of old, Jan rode forward with his Veldkornets on their Dutch ponies and looked down at the elves coming to their camp. The Tswana warriors bunched up in reaction, and Jan’s first thought was that it was the perfect time to wipe them out in an artillery barrage.
“Potgieter?” The female chief asked and the Boers exchanged glances.
“Yes,” Jan replied in Elfrikaans.
“We can lead the way to Potchefstroom,” The chief beckoned, waving her hands.
“Why are they doing this?” Pietje asked as the elves led them forward of their wagons.
“I think they made a deal with Potgieter, any trekkers seeking to settle in Potchefstroom will be guided by the local Tswana elves. That way, the elves won’t have Boers settle in their lands. It’s a win-win for both parties,” Rusell offered.
“The fact that the Tswana Chief even picked up Elfrikaans shows that relations must be very close. I wonder how Potgieter can accomplish all of this?” Jan contemplated.
“If you ask me, it’s no different from Pretorius’ relations with the Zulu. Mpande and his chiefs have close ties with Pretorius. Potgieter is close to the Tswana elves. If you want to have a peaceful life, then you better cosy up to the locals,” Pietje explained.
They led them for quite some time, and the journey was smooth. No fights, just simple trekking. Every time the men made camp in a laager, they would look at the Tswana elves outside the camp, also looking at the Boers inside the laager.
He had Pietje lead the education of the rural Boers. They started with their bibles, the only book any man brought out here. They were Dutch bibles, and progress was slow. He didn’t want to lead their education; he was afraid he would be caught out as a faithless fraud. Jan stuck to the books he brought along, which were in Dutch as well, that discussed the history of the VOC. Due to not being a native Dutch speaker, he trudged along slowly among the rest of the trekkers.
He didn’t expect them to become scholars and be able to read academic papers on it. But he at least wanted them to recognize Latin Characters. An educated workforce and army are a must. They can think and comprehend instructions better, increasing their effectiveness. Ask the Prussians what they thought of education and warfare.
A couple of kilometres from Potchefstroom, the Tswana elves broke away and told them to go straight in a certain direction and warned them not to deviate from it. It was easy to tell what would happen if they did otherwise.
The closer they got; they saw more wagons belonging to other Boers travelling to the famed Potchefstroom. Like the crowd heading to Natal, a similar group headed to Potchefstroom. They were trekkers trekking away from British domination of Cape Colony. Pretorius and Potgieter’s rivalry were well known.
The two established Boer Republics each, and trekkers had both to choose from for security or live like the traditional trekkers of old, by themselves. Now, Pretorius was more famous due to the Battle of Blood River, so many more who sought greater protection would follow under him. But Potgieter would not lose out to his more famous rival. Fewer trekkers headed his way, resulting in better land for those who chose to settle in his Republic.
The landscape was like Pietermaritzburg. Flora was abundant, and the wildlife was flourishing. Ostriches, zebras, antelopes, and gazelles were grazing by the outskirts. Farms and fields were set up by trekkers, taking advantage of the lush environment of the bushveld.
The large size of their trekker group attracted eyes, and farmers were worried about the large trekker group showing up. They reached for their guns, and likewise, Jan’s group reached for theirs.
One man got on his horse and ran to the centre of town.
Pietje ordered the men to pull back. They would camp by the outskirts and wait for the man running the town to show up. The farmers were relieved and watched as the group pullback. Wagons separated themselves from the group, the trekker families they rescued from the Khoikhoi. They entered the town, looking to claim a plot of land for themselves. Jan’s group could only wait.
Forming a laager, Jan felt déjà vu from his time hiding in St Lucia. It looked as if a medieval army was digging in for a siege.
A lone Flight Commando galloped to their camp, dismounting from his horse. The rider hollered in Elfrikaans, “Please state your leader’s name, affiliation, and the reason why you’re here.”
Jan got up from his seat in the wagon and put away the books he brought along. Getting out of the wagon, he dismounted and looked at the rider nervously looking around the camp.
“The name’s Commando Jan Boddewijk, and we’re affiliated with Andries Pretorius. We’ll like to meet with Hendrik Potgieter.”
The rider grimaced upon hearing the name of Potgieter’s rider but nodded and mounted his horse once more. He galloped off. The man had a stoic expression and almost symmetrical facial hair. His upper lip was clean-shaven, but his chin grew a jungle. A simple sunhat sat on his head. Dressed in overalls, and khakis, he met the glance of Jan.
A group of Flight Commandoes galloped back to their camp soon after. The one at the head of this formation was the man himself.
“I heard that a group of trekkers affiliated with Pretorius was looking for me. Does Pretorius have anything he wished to convey? He didn’t have to send such a big group to convey a message.”
“On the contrary, we came here on our behalf. We will be heading to Zoutpansberg. We are temporarily camping here as a stopover.”
Potgieter’s face grimaced upon hearing the word Zoutpansberg. The other riders’ faces distorted as well.
“You ought to know, that the men there are known as Back-veldt Boers. It’s a lawless place, and full of men who don’t care about the law. Any agreements made with them will be broken.”
“Tell me more.”
“I know what you’re after. The gold, ain’t it? I have traded with them a couple of times and supplied them with things they desire,” Potgieter retrieved a gold nugget from a pocket and revealed it to the men before them.
If Jan wanted to keep it a secret, well, the cat is out of the bag now. All the men with him looked towards that gold nugget with greedy eyes. His Veldkornets, Russell and Pietje, could not help but lust over that nugget as well.
Jan kept his cool.
“You give them weapons in exchange for gold, I believe. There is not much they need from you. They live like traditional trekkers of old. The only things they come back for are our ammunition and guns.”
Potgieter grinned.
“Correct. Buy a couple of them from British merchants and swap them for gold. They ask where I got the gold from. I tell them Zoutpansberg. I believe that’s where all the rumours come from. But who wants to go to Zoutpansberg? I tell every man this when they lust after the gold, you will only get yourself killed. Why would the Boers there wish to share their wealth? Better to live as traders and get their gold than fight for it.”
“You still want to go? With one glance, I can tell you won’t make it. You and your little party won’t be able to survive a fight against those trekkers. They fight like the natives, usually the shrubbery as cover and ambush any newcomers. Hell, even the Tswana elves have no wish to go there.”
“Commando, this is my advice. You see, I am also a greedy man. I would have fought and taken the gold by force if I knew I could. But my attempts have all failed, and thus I chose to settle here, far away from the Zoutpansberg Boers to not be perceived as a threat, but close enough to engage in trade.”
Potgieter was almost as renowned as Pretorius, and his words made sense. His men also had second thoughts. Did they want to die for gold? Even Hendrik Potgieter admitted that he couldn’t secure the Zoutpansberg for himself, should they do it?
Jan sighed.
“Potgieter, let’s take this conversation in private. Away from prying ears.”
A beautiful town hall was constructed in Potchefstroom, and its exterior was painted white. By its side was a Church, when asked about it, Potgieter replied, “Some men from Pretorius settled here and insisted on building a Church here. I thought why not let them construct it.”
Settling in his seat, Potgieter prepared a cup of tea for Jan.
“The gold has allowed us to have some luxuries in the frontier. I hope you enjoy this cup of tea. The merchant told me it was very good. If it’s bad, I will never purchase tea from that man ever again.”
Jan picked up the cup of tea and took a sip.
“It’s good.”
“I think the same too,” Potgieter remarked.
Spreading his hands on his desk, he gestured towards Jan.
“So, tell me, why did you come out here instead of staying by Pretorius back in Natal?”