Michael Dun - 22. Chapter 22

The stubborn old Boer with the tall black hat and round, white beard sat on the front stoep of his house in Church Street. The wise old man, a national hero who had killed a lion in his childhood and taken down the British at Majuba. Here was the man that forced the great British colonial power to recognise the independence of the Transvaal and he would make sure it stayed that way. Here was the man whom Peter had come to see.

Two guards stood at the lions One of them accompanied him to the President who sat on the front stoep. Beside the President stood a translator, a young English gentleman who wore a neat bowtie and a black suit.

The President spoke only two words in English, “Please, sit.”

“Why, thank you. Thank you, Sir.” Peter sat and the President glared at him, taking in the roughness of his khaki hat, soiled white shirt, and cotton trousers. Peter removed his hat quickly and sat forward. The President spoke and the translator repeated his words in English.

“You say you have important information for me. What is this information?”

Peter Sheffield gulped and held his breath.

"It has to do with the Rand. You have heard about the controversy surrounding Henry Norse, well, there is more, Mr. President. More goings on than you will ever imagine.”

The President lit his old pipe and puffed away. “What makes your information so special, Mr. Sheffield? Sir, I have my agents placed across the Rand, what more should I know?”

A knock on the door interrupted them and the President shouted in anger. “Who is it?”

His secretary, an older, balding man, announced there was a messenger whom he ought to see right away. The President was not accustomed to this kind of interference, however, whatever this messenger had to say, had to be important enough to disturb his meeting with Peter Sheffield. He excused himself and went into the parlour. Michael stood there, shaking from nervousness.

“What is the meaning of this?” The President boomed, “I am busy.”

Michael introduced himself and presented to him a piece of paper signed by Field Coronet Jan Meyer, requesting the arrest of Peter Sheffield for arson, the murder of John Mansfield, Thokoza, and most recently, Charlie.

All these allegations were punishable by hanging. The President took the paper and read it. Folding it, he returned it to Michael. “He will be questioned here, in Pretoria. You will tell your Field Coronet that the matter is in my hands now.”

He called two guards and told them to arrest Peter Sheffield on the allegations as charged, then retreated into the house.

 *

The diggers of Randjieslaagte built homes of mud and reed and very soon families had gathered. Von Brandis urged the Kruger government to announce the election of a digger’s committee, and the 25 candidates on the list voted in Ignatius Ferreira as chairman. On December 8^th, the Volksraad sold the stands and a new village was born.

Commissioner Von Brandis officially declared that the village would be named Johannesburg.

Michael bought stands 937 and 938 not far from the newly erected market square, for four hundred pounds. Joost Haysteck, the auctioneer, gladly exchanged the deed of sale for cash.

Every day, after a full day’s shift at the mining compound, Michael rebuilt his home. But he was sad, lonely, and weary. Danie and Gordon helped him, but Danie’s hands just would not correspond with his brain. He was forgetful; he would redo his tasks several times before satisfaction. Michael attributed this to the loss of his wife and child in one swoop of the sword of Damocles. But he was fighting back, and Michael admired him for it.

Gordon had suffered loss too, and he had made good as a mason and found laughter the best medicine, although he too was sad. They were living a far more stressful existence in Africa than in England. From a bag he brought out a tight fitting corset, garter, stockings, ornate red shoes fit for royalty, a wig, make-up, a wide floral dress, and matching fan and parasol. He applied the make-up under the shade of a large tree, holding the mirror to his face he painted a large dimple on the left cheek. And when he appeared in front of Michael and Danie as a woman, they were caught off guard.

“Good afternoon, young gentlemen. Oh my goodness it is hot.” He said, in a high pitched voice that came out like a cuckoo calling her mate.

Michael responded with a meek, “Hullo, Ma’am…” And removed his hat.

Danie nodded.

“Well, what can we do for you? We are rather busy as you see.”

“Yes, yes. Where is Mr. Atkinson, prey do tell.”

“To Johannesburg for supplies. He left earlier this morning. Do you wish to speak with him on some personal matter?” Michael wanted to know.

“Oh, dear. That is such a pity. ” Then his voice changed, “Fooled. Both of you absolutely fooled.” And he burst out into laughter.

Michael’s mouth widened, “I do not believe it. Is that you, Mr. Atkinson?”

“Yes. Like it?” He paraded around them, showing off his dress, fan, and parasol. “Oh, and the shoes are red.” He said, revealing ornate flat heels on hairy feet.

“Well, I will be a monkey up a tree!” Danie exclaimed, then burst into laughter.

“I…sometimes dress up…as a woman. Brings out all the …frustrations.” Gordon pouted. “You may call me Geraldine. Closest to Gordon I could find, dears. Now do invite me in for a drink or whatever it is you do.”

Michael laughed. And for the first time forgot about his problems.