When I returned to Capetown I found the
S.B. quite one of the Botha family, being addressed by everybody by
his Christian name. He played lawn-tennis and billiards daily with the
General, and should he prove refractory (a not infrequent occurrence)
the General had only to threaten, "I shall have to make you smoke
another of my black cigars, Billy," for the S.B. to capitulate
instantly with a shudder, for he had gruesome recollections of the
effects one of these powerful home-grown cigars had produced on him
upon a previous occasion.
When we sailed from South Africa, Mrs. Botha came down herself to the
liner to see that Billy's cabin was comfortable, and that he had all
the appliances he required, such as hot-water bottles, etc., and she
presented him with a large parcel of home-made delicacies for his
exclusive use on the voyage home. Nothing could have exceeded her
kindness to this afflicted lad, of whose very existence she had been
unaware three months earlier.
Before we had been at sea a week, the S.B. managed to get a sunstroke.
He grew alarmingly ill, and the ship's doctor told me that he had
developed tubercular meningitis, and that his recovery was impossible.
I gave the S.B. a hint as to the gravity of his case, but the boy's
pluck was indomitable.
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