When Jack and his two companions did not return to the Kopje Farm, much speculation was indulged in as to their fate by the men of the Auckland Rangers. It had been the intention of Major Salkeld to saddle up in the afternoon, but the non-appearance of Morton altered his plans, and a couple of hours were spent in reconnoitring by his scouts, but without success.
One of the Kaffirs asserted that he had heard shots fired in the Diamond Valley about noontide, but this statement led to no elucidation of the mystery connected with the disappearance of Trooper Morton and Jack.
Mr. Lovat, too, was uneasy. He knew that his son possessed an adventurous nature, for Jack during his hunting expeditions had been several times absent from home for a couple of days at a time, but it had always been with his father's permission.
Accommodation for the troopers was provided in various parts of the farm buildings, while Major Salkeld partook of Mr. Lovat's hospitality in the farmer's private apartments.
Sentries were posted at various points around the farm, and with anxious hearts the ostrich farmer and his wife retired to rest, but not to sleep. Mr. Lovat's fear was that the three missing ones had fallen into the hands of the Boers.
Dawn at last broke on the veldt. The night had passed without any alarms, and the quietness and solitude seemed oppressive.
Mr. Lovat and the major were early astir, the former directing the "boys" in the serving out of corn to the troopers' horses, while the latter looked after his men.
The little force were able to replenish their bandoliers from the ample stores which Mr. Lovat had in stock, so that each man now carried two hundred rounds of cartridges.
Soon after dawn, the troopers moved off, after taking a hearty farewell of their host and hostess, not forgetting Mary, with whom the Irregulars left many little mementos in the shape of gold coins of the realm, and which they insisted on her accepting—although against her father's wish.
Their route would be by Langeman's Nek, a defile to the west of Rheni Kop, and Major Salkeld had promised his men some fighting before they joined the bulk of the regiment.
The road was very difficult, and progress consequently was slow. Scouts were thrown forward in front and on the flanks, but for a few miles nothing unusual occurred.
The advance guard was suddenly seen to halt and dismount.
Shortly afterwards, one of the scouts signalled, "Halt! remain where you are. We are falling back."
Major Salkeld instantly halted his men, and ordered them to see to the magazines of their rifles.
The four scouts in advance presently came riding in, and the leader at once made his report to the major.
"Sir," began the trooper, "I fancy we shall see some fighting before long. The country in front is admirably suited for an ambush, and a horseman is rapidly approaching. Look, here he comes!"
Round the bend of a kopje, some seven hundred yards away, a horseman was seen galloping at full speed towards them.
The major at once placed his glasses to his eyes and gazed earnestly through them, after which he rode a little ahead.
"He is quite a youngster," exclaimed the major. "Why, it is the son of our worthy friend, the ostrich farmer, up at the Kopje Farm;" and the next moment Jack Lovat pulled up, mounted on a beautiful mare, which was flecked with foam.
"Sir!" gasped Jack, for he was almost breathless, "you are ambushed. Nearly two hundred Boers are waiting in Langeman's Nek for you. Go back at once, sir."
Jack's shirt and jacket were stained with blood, and Major Salkeld with some anxiety asked, "But you are wounded, my boy. What does this mean, and where do you come from?"
"Excuse me, sir," said Jack, "but we must retire into the donga. The Boers will soon be covering me with their rifles. If you had gone much farther, all of you would have been killed!"
The major wheeled round, and followed by Jack Lovat, returned leisurely to where his men, mounted on their horses, were awaiting him.
"Right about!" shouted the officer; "by fours retire to the donga;" and the troopers obeyed.
The retirement was effected in perfect order, without a shot being fired by the unseen enemy. Then the troop was halted, and Jack Lovat told his story in a few simple words.
The major opened his eyes in amazement as Jack narrated his adventures during the previous day and the past night.
"And you say that Morton is shut up in a cave in the Diamond Valley?" asked the officer.
"He was there yesterday afternoon, sir," replied Jack, "and I'm going to him as soon as I can. The Boers bound his ankles with wet hide. He may have been able to get out and crawl a little way, but I'm afraid not."
"And this commando of Boers, where is it?" demanded the major.
"The main body was about half a dozen miles from here last night, and a lot of burghers are holding Langeman's Nek, waiting for you now. I'm awfully hungry. Can you give me anything to eat?'
"Certainly, my lad," cried the major cheerily; and he took from his own haversack some sandwiches Mrs. Lovat had made specially for him, and handed them to Jack, who ate them with great relish.
For a few moments the major was undecided what to do; but after a little deliberation, he ordered his men to dismount. That done, he despatched a couple of scouts to the mouth of the donga.
The donga in which the troopers were now posted was about half a mile in length, and admirably situated for defence, if held by a fairly strong party. In the centre the ground, mostly of a rocky nature, was much broken, affording shelter for twice the number of men now under Major Salkeld's command, and it was towards this part that the officer determined to retreat. Jack's first inquiries naturally were about the inmates of the Kopje Farm, and he felt relieved when the major assured him that everything was right at the old homestead.
"One of the Kaffirs is missing, though," said the officer. "I forget his name. Symonds," turning to an officer, "what is the name of the nigger who went off soon after sunset last night, and had not turned up this morning when we left?"
"Moses, I think it is, sir," answered the trooper.
Jack Lovat stared somewhat rudely at the Irregular and said, "I thought as much! We had him from Van Donnop's. The beggar deserves shooting."
Moses was the only shady character in Mr. Lovat's establishment. Before the outbreak of the war, Moses, a Kaffir of immense strength and stature, had been a most exemplary character; but until news of the small disaster to the British in the armoured-train incident at Kraipan reached the remote district of Orangefontein, Moses on various occasions had asked permission to visit Van Donnop's farm, ostensibly for the purpose of seeing a negress employed by the Dutch farmer, and—Mrs. Lovat possessing as she did a sentimental nature—his requests were always acceded to.
"And so Moses has left the Kopje Farm, sir?" queried Jack. "It looks somewhat fishy. Upon my word, it seems as though Moses had some hand in the disappearance of my father's money."
The New Zealanders reached the broken ground and dismounted, and Major Salkeld awaited the appearance of his scouts, who were now hidden by a bend in the donga.
Presently the 'pip-pop' of Mauser fire was heard in the direction of Langeman's Nek, and the scouts bending low in their saddles, came at a rattling pace towards the place where their comrades were grimly and silently awaiting events.
One of the scouts, Burnand by name, had a ghastly expression on his face, and it was evident that he had been severely wounded, when he dismounted from his horse, as he tottered and fell on the ground.
"A little water, sir, if you please," he gasped, looking at his riding-breeches, which were drenched with blood. "I've been hit. Take my bandolier, for I'm——"
The trooper never finished the sentence, for when a water-bottle was being held to his lips, he gave a sigh, and died. He had been hit by a bullet in the stomach.
"Your report, Fielding, quick," said the major, addressing the other scout.
"The enemy are closing in on the mouth of the donga, sir," said the trooper. "If a dozen men are at once hurried forward, they may be able to check them."
"Now, men," cried the major, "I want no volunteers; there is no time for that. Sergeant Oliphant, pick twenty men quickly. The rest will remain here."
"All right, sir," replied the sergeant, a quiet-looking man of thirty; and in a few seconds the non-commissioned officer, much in the same way as schoolboys pick a team of cricketers, selected twenty New Zealanders, who, headed by Major Salkeld and the sergeant, moved forward at a gallop towards the mouth of the donga overlooking Langeman's Nek.
"No; stay where you are," said the officer in answer to Jack Lovat's appeal. Major Salkeld's command to our hero was so peremptory that Jack was obliged to obey.
"Get your horses into shelter," were the major's last words to a corporal. "Possibly we may have to retire to this spot."
At breakneck speed Major Salkeld and his men hurried to the mouth of the donga. A volley of bullets, which luckily emptied no saddles, was the welcome they received.
On each side of the donga stretched low ranges of kopjes, diminutive in size, but offering good shelter from fire which might be directed from the donga.
The major at once dismounted his men, and four troopers led back the horses to a distance of some two hundred paces, on the instructions of the officer.
The remaining troopers fell prone on the ground, after which they crawled forward, sheltering themselves behind big stones and mimosa scrub.
"We cannot afford to lose a cartridge, men," cried the major. "Every bullet must find its mark, or we are done for."
"All right, sir," muttered more than one man; "we'll see to that;" and with strained vision they glanced along the kopjes, from which little spurts of flame occasionally issued—heralds of the coming storm.
"These beggars know how to fight," muttered the major. "No wonder our men were shot down in such numbers at Magersfontein."
The Boers blazed away at the tiny handful of men belonging to the Rangers, with scarcely any reply on the latter's part. The Irregulars were well up in the art of fire discipline, and did not mean to waste a cartridge. Occasionally a slouch-hat peeped from its hiding-place on a kopje, and the report of a Lee-Enfield testified to the quickness of eyesight possessed by the men from Maoriland.
The second casualty among the New Zealanders happened to a trooper named Jordan, a miner, possessed of an adventurous spirit, who, spotting an excellent target in the shape of a Boer whose head and shoulders were exposed, raised himself on his elbows in order to get a better sight, and as he fired, received a couple of bullets in his brain. Without an exclamation, the unfortunate New Zealander rolled over on his side—a dead man.
The spurts of flame from the kopjes came nearer, until at last a terrible cross fire was poured on the isolated position held by the few Irregulars.
"We can do no good here," said Major Salkeld in a voice loud enough to be heard by all his men; "we must fall back on the others. What say you, Sergeant Oliphant?"
A braver man than the sergeant never put on putties, and he answered, "Quite right, sir; we must get back to the other fellows;" and the order was given by the major to retire beyond the bend, where the horses were being held.
Luckily the long veldt grass concealed their movements, or the New Zealanders would have suffered more heavily than they did. As it was, during the short retirement, three men were hit—one killed outright, and the others dangerously wounded.
"We cannot leave these men here," said Major Salkeld; so the stricken troopers were picked up and carried to where the odd men were standing with the horses. The rifles which the wounded and dead had dropped when they fell were not forgotten.
The Irregulars were now out of the line of the enemy's fire, and no time was lost in retreating to where Jack Lovat and the remainder of the Irregulars were posted.
One of the wounded men succumbed shortly after reaching the place of shelter, so that the morning's fatalities up to the present totalled three out of a very slender force.
The horses, none of which had been hit, were picketed in a little ravine, and three men told off as guard, after which Major Salkeld saw to the defence.
An unpleasant thought flashed through his mind, and the brain message resolved itself into the question, "Are we in a death-trap?"
The sides of the donga were precipitous, and clad here and there with geraniums and heath of various species. Quartz rock of almost snowy whiteness peeped out, forming a striking contrast to the vivid red of the geraniums and the brown mottled surface of the heaths.
"Oliphant," said the major, addressing his sergeant, "do you think it politic for us to retire straight through the donga by the way we came, and retrace our steps to the Kopje Farm?"
A grim look was on the sergeant's face as he replied, "It would be, sir, if we could manage to do it."
"What do you mean, Oliphant?" queried the officer. "There will not be the slightest difficulty in the way, only I don't quite like the idea of falling back. It is against our traditions, you know."
"I thoroughly understand what you mean, sir," answered the sergeant; "but I am very much mistaken if even now both ends of the donga are not closed against us. I believe we are in a death-trap, sir."
"It doesn't say much for our scouting," muttered Major Salkeld; after which he added aloud, "Get the men ready to start, Oliphant. Poor Mason must be left for a time at least."
Two wounded troopers were in a bad plight. One had been shot through the lungs, but still lived, while the other, more fortunate, was suffering from a broken arm.
Jack Lovat when he realised the true state of affairs at once volunteered to remain behind with the trooper who was lying at death's door, but the gallant lad's offer was firmly refused by Major Salkeld.
The latter was in a terrible dilemma. If he and his little force left their present place of shelter, and a section of the Boers had crept round to the other end of the donga, it would mean almost certain death, or at the best surrender, and the men riding in the ranks of the Auckland Rangers had made a solemn vow when they landed in the country never to be taken alive.
The major made up his mind. He would remain; so he set his men to work to intrench themselves, after which he despatched scouts to each end of the donga.
Jack Lovat this time would not be denied, and along with Sergeant Oliphant made his way to the mouth of the donga leading to the Kopje Farm.
Two hundred yards from the entrance they dismounted and picketed their horses. Then on hands and knees they began crawling towards the mouth of the donga.
"I hope you have the safety catch of your rifle on," whispered Oliphant. "We must have no accidents."
"It is all right, Sergeant," replied Jack.
This part of the donga was covered with long veldt grass, nearly a foot high, and although it somewhat impeded their movements, it screened them fairly well from observation.
No signs of Boers could be seen, although Jack and his companion carefully scrutinised the ridges on both sides of the donga.
At length a peculiar noise was heard. It was something between a whistle and a cry. The two scouts fell prone and lay still. Presently Jack whispered, "See, Sergeant, on your right front. The place is swarming with Boers."
Scarcely had he finished speaking when the report of a volley rang through the donga. The bullets whistled harmlessly over the heads of the Colonial and his young friend. Involuntarily Jack turned his head. The two horses lately ridden by himself and his companion were lying stretched on the ground.
For a few minutes both lay still, not daring to move a limb, until a fierce fusillade broke out at the other end of the donga. This decided the sergeant, and he whispered, "We must get back, boy. We are hemmed in, but I think it best to fight it out together."
And so thought Jack. Although only a few hundred yards from their friends, it took the pair nearly half an hour to regain the intrenchment. They crawled on their hands, knees, and stomachs, wriggling like serpents in the long grass, and although both had several near escapes from being hit, they did not receive a scratch.
Things looked very black at the intrenchment. Three men were already lying in a last long sleep, while more than a dozen had been wounded.
The little band of New Zealanders was suffering from a heavy frontal fire, to which at any time might be added a terrible flank one.
Several horses had been killed, and the moans of the wounded men and their cries for water were heartrending. Major Salkeld, with a white face streaked with blood from a wound in the head, looked as grim and determined as ever.
His men had not wasted a cartridge, for they knew that the exhaustion of their bandoliers meant death or surrender.
One young trooper, Coke by name, who through love of adventure and fighting had thrown up a splendid appointment in the Bank of Australasia, received a mortal wound in the stomach as he slightly rose to twist round his bandolier.
With a blanched face, he turned to Major Salkeld and gasped, "I'm done for, sir! Take these;" and with great difficulty and increased agony he wrenched off his bandolier and handed it to the officer.
"One drop of water, before I die!" muttered the poor lad; but water there was none within fifty yards, and the open must be crossed before that could be obtained.
"I'm going for some water," said Jack Lovat, laying down his rifle, and heedless of the officer's remonstrance, Jack coolly collected half a dozen water-bottles, and leaving the shelter of the intrenchment, ran forward in search of the precious fluid. Thoughts of danger possibly entered his mind, but the desire to alleviate the sufferings of his wounded comrades was paramount.
The peculiar 'phit-phit' of Mauser bullets whisked round his head, but he ran steadily on, untouched by the nickel messengers of death. Then the fire suddenly ceased, and Jack filled the water-bottles and returned to the intrenchment.
"My lad," cried Major Salkeld, "you deserve a hundred Victoria Crosses. I will see, if we get safely out of this, that you shall not go unrewarded."
A white flag fluttered in the breeze not three hundred yards away, and a couple of Boers holding the signal of truce, advanced.
"Shall I go and meet them, sir?" asked Oliphant.
"Yes, do," replied Major Salkeld; "see what they want. But no surrender. That is our motto. They must not see our weakness."
The sergeant stepped forward and met the Boers half-way. He had heard plenty of tales concerning white-flag treachery, but he knew that if anything happened to him, his fall would be speedily avenged, for a dozen deadly levelled rifles in the intrenchment would speak with fatal effect.
"We demand your surrender," said one of the Boers to Oliphant, a heavily-bearded man, with a by no means unpleasant cast of countenance. "There has been enough bloodshed, and you have proved yourselves brave men. You have no chance, and will surely all be shot down. Veldt-cornet Steyn wishes me to express his admiration of your fighting qualities. Are you the officer in charge of this detachment?"
"I am only a subordinate," answered Oliphant. "I cannot make or even discuss terms."
"Then return to your commanding officer, and tell him that if his force does not surrender within ten minutes, firing will be resumed, and then God help you."
Oliphant bowed, and returned to the intrenchment.
Major Salkeld on hearing the sergeant's narration of the brief interview with the Boers, exclaimed, "We do not surrender. Not an Aucklander yet has been captured by the enemy. We will fight to a finish."
A few minutes later, the Boers again opened fire upon the brave New Zealanders, now sadly diminished in number.
We must now return to Trooper Morton, whom we left bound in a cave in Diamond Valley. His wound was a painful one, and having lost a quantity of blood, he naturally felt somewhat weak.
The Boers had taken good care to secure his ankles. The hide with which they were bound was tied and knotted while wet, and, quickly drying, caused great pain by its contraction.
He raised himself into a sitting posture and began fumbling with the hide rope. He might as well have tried to snap bands of wrought iron. He was hungry as well, so he turned to the strip of biltong which the Boers had thrown to him when they departed.
"I suppose they take me for a cannibal," he muttered, looking at the dried ox-flesh. "However, I'll see what it is made of. I daresay I shall need all the strength I can muster before I reach my troop—if ever I do. I really don't want to make another acquaintance, while alone, with these beggars."
The biltong proved palatable, and Morton, possessing a healthy digestion and not being fastidious, made a satisfying meal of the unaccustomed food.
His next action was to crawl out of the cave, and with some difficulty he made his way to a little rivulet that ran along the base of one of the sides of the donga. In the bed of the stream were pebbles of various sizes, and after assuaging his thirst, he began to search for a sharp-edged stone.
For some minutes he was unsuccessful, but at last perseverance brought its reward, and he discovered a triangular-shaped piece of quartz. With this he began sawing at the rope, but he found the hide tougher than he had bargained for.
He hacked at his fetters until darkness set in, and by that time had only succeeded in severing a single strand. Two more must be cut before he could regain his freedom.
He resolved to snatch a few hours' sleep, so he crawled to a depression, a couple of hundred yards distant from the cave, and lay down. The night was bitterly cold, and the Southern Cross gleamed brightly above him. At last he fell asleep, and when he awoke streaks of yellow light were shooting upwards into the sky from the eastern horizon.
He again set to work on the hide rope, and before the sun had reached the point midway between the zenith and horizon was a free man. His ankles were sore and swollen, and taking off his stockings, he bathed his feet in the clear water of the stream, after which he felt better.
Then his mind turned to the pebble hidden within the recesses of his breast pocket. He took it out and examined it with interest and more than ordinary care.
"A few more like this," he muttered, "and I shall be able to open the finest shop in Auckland."
His knowledge of precious stones, and more especially diamonds, told him that he had secured a magnificent specimen of crystallised carbon. He retraced his steps to the place where he had found the diamond, passing on his way the dead body of poor Pete, and although his only implement was the three-edged piece of quartz, he was fortunate enough to find four additional stones, not so large as his first discovery, but still of great value.
Sounds of distant rifle-firing fell upon his ears, desultory at first, then in volleys. Like Jack Lovat, Morton had a pair of keen eyes and ears, and was well able to find his way about, so he soon located the scene of fighting.
He knew that the firing proceeded from an opposite direction to that of the Kopje Farm, and came to the conclusion that warfare was going on in that particular quarter. He would make the best of his way to Mr. Lovat's farmstead, where, if his comrades had departed, he could obtain a mount, and possibly a pair of boots. After that, he would try to rejoin his troop.
Quick locomotion was out of the question, for his feet were already blistered and bleeding, from contact with camel-thorns and pieces of jagged rock.
He was making for the summit of the kopje overlooking the farm, when a couple of Kaffirs suddenly appeared, and came running towards him. The natives halted, but Morton beckoned to them, and after some display of hesitancy, they came up.
The trooper was instantly recognised by the Kaffirs. They proved to be two of Mr. Lovat's "boys," Simon and Daniel.
Simon, who was a little fellow of singularly grotesque appearance, called out, "Baas, don't go to de Kopje Farm. It is in de hands ob bad Boers. Dey hab killed all de oder 'boys' 'cept Dan'l an' myself."
"What!" exclaimed Morton, "have our men left the farm?"
"Dey went dis mornin', baas," answered Simon. "Dere be hundreds ob de Boers. Dan'l ah' me got away through de bush, or we would hab been murdered as well. If only Baas Jack had been at home, dis would not hab happened; but de old baas no show fight, and de Boers are now up at de Kopje, eatin' an' drinkin' eberyding in the place."
"Hold hard, my dear fellow! Not quite so fast," said Morton; "you talk too quickly. I want you to tell me what has happened."
"Well, baas," replied the Kaffir, "Moses an' Pete and Baas Jack hab been missin' sin' yesterday, an' the missis and little missis hab been crying all de night an' day too. I know your face, baas. I saw you yesterday before Baas Jack an' Pete went away, an' den Moses sneaked away; an' oh, baas, dings are in a bad way at de Kopje Farm. De Boers hab taken Bessie, an' Juno, an' Jess, an'——"
"Look here, Simon Peter, or whatever your name is, you are spinning too long a yarn for me. Just answer me one or two questions. First, when did the Boers arrive at Mr. Lovat's?"
With the peculiarity habitual to Kaffirs, Simon began counting his fingers in a rapid manner, after which he replied, "Dey came two hours after de captain an' his men saddled up an' went away."
"How many Boers are at the Kopje Farm?" queried Morton. "Try and tell me exactly."
Again the native's fingers began the counting process.
"Well?" demanded Morton.
"I should say one hundred an' half dat number, all men wid some led horses. Dey killed all de 'boys' 'cept Pete, Moses, Dan'l, an' myself. It was horrible; but de baas would not fight, an' we got away. But where are your boots, baas? Your feet dey are bleedin', too, an' you look bad. Wounded?"
"Yes, a trifle, 'boy'—not much," replied Morton. "Have you any arms with you—knives or anything of that kind?"
Daniel, who was a forbidding-looking Kaffir considerably over six feet in height, pulled out a revolver from his trousers' pocket, and handing it to the New Zealander, said, "Dis belongs to Baas Jack, but I spec he is dead."
Morton took the weapon in his hand and examined it carefully. The pistol was branded with the mark of the British Small Arms Company, and was new and of heavy calibre.
"Any cartridges?" queried Morton.
"Plenty ob dem, baas," answered Daniel, producing a box which the trooper found contained fifty rounds. The Kaffir took the cartridges from a shooting coat that had evidently belonged to Mr. Lovat.
"You keep dat, baas," said Daniel, "if you will let us go wid you. We dare not go back to de Kopje Farm. I will now make you a pair ob boots dat will be all right."
Before Morton could say a word, the Kaffir plucked a number of large leaves from a shrub of the plantain species, and within a very short time, with the aid of a little string, had manufactured a pair of presentable sandals—if somewhat unshapely, at least comfortable.
"Now, baas," said Daniel, after he had fitted on the foot-gear, "do de boots suit? Dey will not last long, but better dan nothin'."
The New Zealander burst into a loud laugh, despite the seriousness of his position, and assured the Kaffir that he was delighted with the boots.
"Will you 'boys' go with me to the Kopje Farm?" asked he, as he rose to his feet.
The eyes of both Kaffirs rolled in their sockets, showing an unusual proportion of white, and Simon, the loquacious one, said with a splutter, "No, baas, a thousand times, no. Dan'l an' me likes a good fight, but a sjambokking first, and shootin' de next minute, don't suit dese two boys at all."
The strangely assorted trio, after Morton had rested a few minutes, set off in the direction of Orangefontein; Daniel, who knew the country well, leading the way, while the trooper and Simon followed in the rear.
Again Morton tackled his Kaffir companion about the commando of Boers who had so unexpectedly arrived at the Kopje Farm soon after the departure of the New Zealanders.
"Do you mean to say there was not the slightest attempt to show fight when the Boers arrived, Moses?"
"Dat is not my name, baas," replied the Kaffir, with some heat. "My name Simon. Moses no good at all—always up at Van Donnop's over de veldt; worse dan a Boer."
"Never mind what your name is, my good fellow," observed the trooper. "The Boers could not come from the Kopje?"
"No, baas; no road dat way. Dere be three paths up to de farm—one straight from de valley, an' de oders on what you call de right an' left flanks. De Boers came up on de left flank, while your boys went away by de right. We first saw de Boers when dey were a long way off."
"But you said that the 'boys' with the exception of yourselves had been killed. What makes you think that, Simon?"
"I dink nothin' at all about it, baas; I am sure." Here the Kaffir's eyes dilated widely. "From our hiding-place in de bush, Dan'l an' me saw one ob de 'boys' run into de ostrich kraal. A Boer ran after him an' shot him down. Den several oder shots were fired, and we knows what dat means. Den we see de missis and de little missie wiping dere eyes wid aprons. Dis is a bad mornin' for us, baas."
"All right, 'boys,'" said Morton; "you go along with me. Have you any knives?"
Daniel produced an ugly-looking bowie knife from a sheath which he had concealed inside his somewhat scanty shirt, and held it up for the white man's inspection.
"That will do," said the New Zealander. "And now heigho! for Orangefontein and my comrades of the Auckland Rangers!"
"Baas, can you tell me where young Baas Jack is?" asked Daniel.
"He is a prisoner in the hands of the Boers, my lad," answered Morton; "but I trust that before long we shall come across him. I think I——"
The New Zealander halted, for the sound of heavy rifle-fire could again be heard proceeding from some place a few miles distant in the right front.
"Fighting is going on," muttered Morton. "Hang my ill-luck! I am always out of the show,"—a statement which was by no means a correct one, seeing that Major Salkeld's favourite scout had been in more skirmishes probably than any other Irregular in the army.
Morton directed the two Kaffirs to look in the direction whence the reports came; but the keen vision of Simon and Daniel could detect no flashes of flame, and in these days of smokeless powder no haze hangs over scenes of fight.
The country was wild in the extreme—granite-peaked kopjes interlaced with innumerable little dongas met the vision, gaze where you would. The kopjes, whose sides and bases were clad with geraniums and heath of various kinds, formed a glorious mosaic against the steel-tinted blue of the African sky. Everything in Nature was sublime, and stood out in relief against the awful passions of men, who were striving might and main to imbrue their hands in their fellow-creatures' blood. War has its romance, its temporary glitter, but also its awful, black shadows in the shape of untold physical and mental suffering, endured by those who are compelled to serve under its sombre flag.
The firing continued, and Trooper Morton, irresistibly impelled by the sheer love of fighting innate within him, veered out of the track which Simon vehemently declared led to Orangefontein.
The New Zealander's temporary foot-gear had given way, and the two Kaffirs, while the Irregular rested, went in search of fresh leaves, taken from a bush of the plantain species, in order to patch up the old or manufacture a new pair of shoes.
The Kaffirs as a race are endowed with an extraordinary range and quickness of vision, and before Simon and Daniel had completed their self-imposed task, the latter's keen eye noted something on the horizon away to the right, which for the moment disturbed his peace of mind.
"Aasvogel, baas; dead people somewhere near!" said the unsophisticated Kaffir, as he advanced towards Morton, who was examining his still swollen ankles.
The vulture of South Africa, like the steed mentioned in Holy Writ, can smell the battle from afar, and little did Morton imagine that the hideous birds of prey were even now hovering above the bodies of his late comrades, proved friends in many a fight.
Farther away to the right still edged Morton. His adventurous spirit was yearning to be in the middle of the fray, but his Kaffir companions were not imbued with the same enthusiasm.
Presently the trio struck the Orangefontein road leading from Land Drift, and Morton called a halt. The biltong had given out, and the Kaffirs were empty-handed. Daniel, however, was equal to the emergency. His keen eyes detected some white flowers growing on the veldt, and his bowie knife was out in an instant.
"Somethin' good to eat, baas," he said, as he knelt down and began digging the ground round the flower roots. Presently he unearthed what appeared to be ground nuts. These he handed to Morton, saying, "You try dese, baas; dey are not bad eatin', an' you neber get tired after you hab made a meal ob dem."
The trooper responded to Daniel's invitation, and although the roots possessed a stronger pungent odour than he liked, he assuaged his hunger with them, and felt decidedly better after his meal.
Simon and Daniel squatted themselves down a few paces distant, for a Kaffir never partakes of food with a white man, and Morton threw himself on the veldt, on which at this part heath grew very plentifully, and stretched himself out.
Like the long continued rolling of thunder, rifle-firing had been heard by the three refugees, but all at once there was a fierce crackle, followed by a few intermittent shots—then silence.
"Baas!" cried Simon, running towards Morton, "some horsemen are comin' dis way. Dey be five." The Kaffir held up his hand, and continued, "Dey belong to you, baas. Kaffirs can see a long way."
Morton's heart seemed to leap into his mouth as he listened to Simon. The news seemed too good to be true.
"I can see nothing, Simon," said the trooper, shading his eyes and looking down the valley, in the direction pointed out by the Kaffir.
"Dere, baas, dere!" exclaimed Simon excitedly. "Dey be comin' straight for us;" and at last the New Zealander was able to distinguish five moving figures, advancing at a rapid trot towards them.
Morton was not exactly a religious man, but he felt devoutly thankful when five minutes later he found himself shaking hands with men belonging to his regiment whom he had not seen for a week.
They were scouts belonging to the B Troop of the Rangers. Rumours of a disaster to Major Salkeld's troop had reached headquarters, and instead of proceeding to Springbokfontein, Colonel Malcolmson, the commandant of the Rangers, with two Maxim guns and four hundred men, was even now in search of the missing troop.
Luckily the scouts had with them two led horses, so that Morton was enabled to obtain a mount. Simon and Daniel declined the offer made to them by Morton and backed up by the scouts. They would take their chance on the veldt. Morton knew that the blacks could fight well when in laager, but they had very little stomach for warfare when waged in the open field.
Before parting with the Kaffirs, the horsemen gave the two "boys" a supply of biscuit, after which they left them.
The six New Zealanders proceeded towards the spot where the firing had been heard. Everything was now quiet, and as they proceeded Morton detailed in a few words his experiences since Major Salkeld had left the main body.
"We are encamped in a valley about two miles from here," said the sergeant of the scouts, in answer to an interrogation by Morton. "Everything is in light order, and we got word an hour ago that Major Salkeld is in a tight corner, so we have been sent round here to find out what we can, and report at once. I never in all my life saw such country for manoeuvring in. A fight may be taking place not half a mile away, and you can see nothing. After what you have told us, I'm afraid the major has not only lost the number of his mess, but also that of his troop. Hullo! here comes a fellow. What does it mean?"
A few seconds later, a New Zealander, whose horse was foam-flecked and panting with exertion, rode up.
"Retire at once!" cried the new-comer. "Ah, Morton! is it really you? Glad to see you, I'm sure."
The speaker was a young lieutenant temporarily attached to the New Zealanders from the South African Light Horse.
"We have located the enemy, Sergeant," said the officer. "Now, right about!" and omitting the red tape, "trot! canter!" the seven Britishers rode hard for the Colonials' camp.
Morton, handicapped though he was with his plantain-leaf slipper—for by this time he had only one left—was not the last man to reach the camp of the New Zealanders.
The baggage and Maxims were left behind under a strong guard, and Morton, who had no difficulty in securing a pair of boots many sizes too large for him, which of course was a necessity, and a Lee-Enfield with its accompanying complement in a fully loaded bandolier, found himself once more on the warpath.
The scouts, who undiscovered, had located the Boers, led the way, and the force, nearly three hundred strong, approached the valley where Major Salkeld and his little band of heroes for hours had fought against an infuriated and stubborn foe.
An ominous silence reigned, but ahead on the several kopjes, isolated bodies of horsemen, few in number, could be seen retreating westward.
"Is this to be a repetition of the Gordon case?" asked Colonel Malcolmson of Captain Bryan, a young Irish soldier of fortune, who had served in Ladysmith during the early stages of the war. "Are we always to be too late? I pray that we may not be so now. Major Salkeld and his men are worth a king's ransom."
"I hope the present tense will hold good, sir," said the Irishman grimly. "The enemy have evacuated their positions, which looks bad."
Things did look dark, for when the colonel and his men arrived at the mouth of the donga where Major Salkeld had been trapped, thousands of empty cartridge-cases were found strewing the ground. The cases took the form of five-chambered Mauser clips.
In the middle of the donga, the relieving force found the remnant of Major Salkeld's troop, and tears came into the eyes of the bronzed warriors as they gazed upon the inanimate forms of the gallant lads from Maoriland, stretched behind the little breastworks formed by nature.
Some of the men still clutched their rifles, fingers on triggers, with foreheads wrinkled and savage-set lips. These lay on their stomachs, and had been hit while in the act of taking aim.
Others had rolled over in their last dying agony, and in their hands were clutched pieces of veldt grass and gravel.
Were there any survivors? Yes! A boyish form struggled to its feet and saluted the colonel, as he stood gazing in awe and wonderment at the little field of carnage. The form belonged to Jack Lovat, who merely said, "I'm pleased you have come, sir. We have done the best we could."
With the exception of the solitary wound he had received on the previous day, Jack Lovat amidst the continuous whistling storms of bullets, had not received a scratch. Major Salkeld was not killed, but had received a severe wound in the leg which floored him. Sergeant Oliphant had succumbed to a bullet through the brain not long after the commencement of the fight.
Nineteen troopers had been slain outright, four wounded mortally, while six more had been incapacitated. Jack Lovat was the only fighting survivor of the so-called little affair at Langeman's Drift.
The wounds of the living were at once attended to, and the dead reverently buried, Colonel Malcolmson officiating as chaplain and chief mourner.
In a consultation with Major Salkeld, the colonel said, "And you think, Major, that this commando will concentrate at the Kopje Farm?"
"I have no doubt about it, sir. I believe that even now the farm may be occupied by rebels," answered the major. "You have a splendid guide in young Lovut, the son of the owner. He is a young hero, and deserves a thousand Victoria Crosses. Take him with you, sir, and attack at once."
"Your advice is good, Major," said Colonel Malcolmson. "I am so sorry you can't come with us."
That was a physical impossibility, and no one felt more chagrined than the gallant Major Salkeld.
In our next chapter we shall describe the attack on Kopje Farm, and its results.
When the Boers advanced on the Kopje Farm, Mr. Lovat deemed the policy of non-resistance to be the wisest course to pursue. Against the overwhelming numbers of the Boers there would not have been the slightest chance of a successful defence, although Pat O'Neill counselled holding the place at all costs. Perhaps it was as well that Jack Lovat was an absentee, as he certainly would have backed up Pat's suggestion.
But Mr. Lovat, weakened in mind and body by his wound, yielded to his wife's entreaties to allow the Boers to take what they pleased, hoping that by so doing he would get rid of them the sooner.
The section of Christian Uys's commando, now split into several parts, which had unceremoniously thrust itself upon the master of the Kopje Farm, was under the command of a veldt-farmer named Maestral, whose hatred against the British was of a very pronounced type.
He had entered the precincts of the Kopje Farm without encountering the slightest resistance.
Simon and Daniel, as related before, had fortunately escaped.
Mr. Lovat's stores were ransacked, and articles of food and clothing wantonly destroyed. The ostrich farmer had a plentiful supply of spirits, mostly in the shape of Scotch whisky, and the marauders helped themselves with willing hands, and before long, discipline became hopelessly lost.
Maestral, the field-cornet, although possessing a cruel and vindictive temperament, was an abstemious man, and argued, but in vain, with his intemperate burghers.
"We shall have to pay dearly for this," he said, addressing a rough-looking burgher named Wessels, who was one of the ringleaders in the acts of destruction.
"Very likely," said Wesseis, with a brutal leer. "We have had a rough time of it lately, so I for one mean to enjoy myself, whenever the opportunity offers. The chance may not occur again."
Pat O'Neill could not conceal his anger and chagrin as he witnessed the looting that went on, but a hint from a gray-whiskered Boer, that flesh and bone are not proof against bullets, induced the Irishman to keep a still tongue in his head. So all that Pat could do was to set his teeth and bear it.
Several of the younger members of the commando had turned the ostriches loose, but Field-cornet Maestral's threat of using his sjambok had a salutary effect, and the birds were re-penned after several exciting chases.
The rifles and ammunition found in the storehouse were confiscated by the Boers, and the latter were on the point of resuming their wild orgies when a couple of burghers dashed up on horseback and inquired for the field-cornet. The bloodstains on their horses' flanks showed that they had ridden hard.
"Well?" demanded Maestral. "You bring good news, Emil Behrens?"
The Boer thus spoken to dismounted from his panting steed, and exclaimed, "We have finished off a lot of the rooineks, but"—this was added in a whisper—"a big force of them is advancing on this place. The commandant has ordered the other section of the commando to scatter, and afterwards concentrate near Doom Spruit. Commandant Uys has told us to acquaint you with the news, and also to ask you not to hold the farm, as the Rangers will attempt to retake it, even if it costs them many men."
Field-cornet Maestral was a man endowed with a large bump of cautiousness, and after listening to the scout's statement, he with some difficulty assembled his section of the commando and addressed a few words to them. His quick eye noticed that the potent spirit imbibed by nearly all his burghers had taken effect and that their gait was unsteady.
The Boer officer told the burghers the news he had just received from the scout Emil Behrens, who stood by his side, and informed them that it was his intention to evacuate the farm. Loud cries of dissent arose, and as Maestral did not possess the personality of a De Wet, he naturally felt, and was, powerless in the hands of his burghers.
Meanwhile a strange action was being performed by Pat O'Neill. The Dutch settler who built the Kopje Farm had during its erection constructed several large cellars, the ramifications of which extended under many of the rooms as well as the ostrich kraal.
The element of fear had no place in Pat's mental constitution, and while the field-cornet was addressing his men, the Irishman disappeared. Through a secret trap-door in a corner of the storeroom floor, he descended into the enormous cellar. From his pocket he took out a small lantern in which was a piece of tallow candle. He carefully lighted the candle, and placed the lantern within a niche in the wall.
Three large barrels stood in a corner of the cellar, and the barrel lids were removed by Pat without any difficulty, for the simple reason that the worthy Irishman had seen to a little necessary "prising" process soon after Major Salkeld's men had left in the morning.
With a large scoop, Pat began to bale out a black substance on the floor. The substance was gunpowder! Quite coolly the Rorke's Drift man laid a train leading from the barrels to the foot of the ladder, and with grim satisfaction viewed his work in the dim light.
"Bedad!" he muttered, "this will give the spalpeens a shock worse than King James av ancient memory might av got." Then taking out a long piece of gutta-percha fuse, he inserted one end in the train of powder, and ascended the ladder steps carrying the other end of the fuse with him. This end he fixed between the interstice formed by the floor and the trap-door.
Pat was just in time to see a little of the fun going on between the field-cornet and his burghers, and chuckled gleefully to himself.
Several gray-haired doppers were backing up their leader's proposal that the farm should be evacuated, but the fumes of the whisky were seething in the noddles of the majority of the Boers, and their only longing was to get more of the potent spirit, regardless of consequences.
If Commandant Uys had been present, things might have happened differently; but discipline had altogether fled, and the only answer to the field-cornet's command was the demolition of several additional bottles of the fiery fluid. After this, the burghers got completely out of hand.
Pat O'Neill made his way to the dining-room, where he found his master, Mrs. Lovat, and Mary.
"This is a bad day for us all, sorr," said Pat respectfully. "These heathens are clearing out all we have on the place. They are drinkin' harder now, sorr, than anything I've ever seen in the dear ould counthry across the sea. I've got the ould barker wid me, sorr, an' if they insult Pat O'Neill, they'll have to look out. You are not well, sorr; remain here until I return, for you can do no good among the murtherin' rascals. Oh, yes, sorr, I will take due care av myself."
Pat, like the majority of his versatile countrymen, was eloquent in speech, and he added, "The first man, sorr, who dares to lay his dirthy fingers on you or the missis or Miss Mary, I'll——"
Pat's sentence was left unfinished, for the sharp crackle from rifles broke out seemingly in all directions, followed by loud yells and shouts in the Dutch tongue.
"Begorra!" ejaculated honest Pat, "it's our bhoys, sorr. Maybe Master Jack, the darlint av my eye, is wid them. No, sorr, you must not move from here. You are not well enough. The saints be praised! afther all, Pat O'Neill is about to see a good fight once more before he shuffles off this mortal coil, as the poet says."
Saying this, Pat walked to the door of the dining-room, took out the key, and after closing the door, locked it, making temporary prisoners of Mr. Lovat and his little family. The ostrich farmer was a captive in his own house.
Wild confusion now reigned in the farmyard. Bullets were whistling all around, and a dozen Boers lay stretched on the ground, dead or mortally wounded.
In a wild stampede, the Boers climbed over the walls, only to receive a heavy fire which dropped several more burghers. Several of the Boers were hopelessly intoxicated, and made no show of resistance.
"The Boers climbed over the walls.""The Boers climbed over the walls."
"Hands up, you scoundrels!" yelled a stentorian voice. "At them, boys! Down with the rascals! Hurrah!"
The speaker was Trooper Morton, who carrying his rifle in his left hand, dashed forward in pursuit of the flying burghers. Close behind him was Jack Lovat, full of courage, and several troopers of the corps of Rangers, all eager to engage the enemy in a hand-to-hand conflict.
The Boers showed little fight, and the excellent disposition of his men by Colonel Malcolmson, which was largely due to information given by Jack Lovat, led to the surrender of several burghers, without a single casualty on the British side.
Among the captured was Piet Van Donnop, who along with Emil Behrens had been sent by Christian Uys to warn Field-cornet Maestral.
Pat O'Neill was almost beside himself with delight at again meeting his young master. Jack's first salutation was, "Where are my father, mother, and Mary, Pat? I trust they are all right?"
"I saw to that, Master Jack," answered Pat. "I locked them for safety in the dining-room;" and the Irishman conducted Jack to the apartment.
The meeting between our hero and his parents was an affecting one, for the latter believed that their son was dead.
The captured Boers were at once disarmed by Colonel Malcolmson's troopers, and the Free Staters placed under a strong guard.
Jack had an interview with Piet Donnop. The young Dutchman told our hero that much of Commandant Uys's information had been derived from Moses, who had met his just deserts. The renegade Kaffir had been shot, with several others in the service of the Boers, during the attack on Major Salkeld's men in the donga.
After the dead had been buried, Morton and Jack took a stroll through the storeroom, and Pat O'Neill came up to them.
Respectfully saluting, the Irishman said, "Sorr, you see that," pointing to a thin black tube protruding from the trap-door. "Do you know what that manes?"
The two friends glanced at the fuse, and Pat seeing that the New Zealander was smoking, added, "Plase put out your pipe, sorr. It is rather dangerous."
Wondering greatly what the ex-soldier meant, Morton obeyed; and Pat raising the trap-door, said, "If things had gone wrong at the Kopje Farm, I would have blown the place to smithereens, an' meself into the bargain. By the Rock av Cashel, not one av the spalpeens would have escaped! Now, most likely, we shall have peace."
"You're a good fellow, Pat," observed Jack, with a smile. "I think, however, the sooner you get things squared up, the better it will be for all of us."
"I know what ye mane, Masther Jack. I'll put the stuff all right;" and shouldering a spade, the Irishman began to ladle the deadly-looking powder into the barrel.
"That is better," said Jack, as after having finished his task, Pat replaced the trap-door.
A few minutes later, Colonel Malcolmson held a hurried council of war in Mrs. Lovat's drawing-room, and the gallant colonel invited the intrepid Morton and our friend Jack to be present and take part in the proceedings.
It was determined to go in pursuit of the scattered remnants of Christian Uys's commando; but before this was done, Piet Van Donnop was brought before the colonel for examination.
Piet had a somewhat crestfallen air, as he surveyed the group of Britishers.
"You are a burgher of the Free State, I presume?" interrogated the colonel.
Van Donnop glanced at Jack Lovat, and a red glow suffused his bronzed features.
"I am waiting for your reply, burgher," said Colonel Malcolmson brusquely. "I trust that my Dutch is good enough for you to understand?"
"I am a Cape Colonist, sir," answered Piet sheepishly.
"A Cape rebel, you mean," observed the colonel sternly. "How comes it that you are caught in the act of bearing arms against His Majesty's Government?"
"I am fighting for my own side, sir," answered Piet boldly. "I took up arms because I was asked, and thought I was doing what was right."
"And you know what may be your fate—yes, your possible or rather probable fate?" was the next interrogation.
"I do not," replied Van Donnop, "and I care very little."
"I scarcely wonder at that," said the colonel. "You certainly seem to have been undergoing a bad time of it lately. Have you been here before? I mean before the war commenced."
"I know him well, sir," put in Jack Lovat, anticipating Piet's reply. "He was kind to me when I was captured by the Boers. You will be lenient with him, sir?"
Invited by Colonel Malcolmson to say what he knew about the prisoner, Jack told the officers of the friendship that had existed between the two families before hostilities began, and begged the colonel to be lenient with Piet. He urged that the young Dutchman, like many other settlers in Cape Colony, had been led astray by Boer emissaries.
Before being dismissed by the council, Piet felt that his life would be safe. He knew that by the rules of civilised warfare, he, as a rebel, had no claim to clemency, and noted with gratitude Jack Lovat's appeal on his behalf.
The Boer prisoners had been temporarily imprisoned in the largest ostrich kraal, and a guard of twenty troopers with loaded rifles placed over them. Several of the burghers were sleeping off the effects of their late carouse, so that the task of guarding them was a comparatively easy one.
Pat O'Neill now assumed full authority as foreman of the Kopje Farm, and with more swagger than was perhaps absolutely necessary, chaffed the Boers about their inability to hold a little ostrich farm. Nor were his eyes and hands idle.
"The dirthy beggars!" muttered Pat. "They're fond av loot, an' why should not Pat O'Neill, late av the ould 24th, not follow suit?" And to Pat's credit be it said, he proved a competent detective.
Towards evening, Colonel Malcolmson set off in pursuit of Commandant Uys's scattered commando, and to his great satisfaction, our friend Morton, now a full-blown sergeant—a rank conferred by Colonel Malcolmson on the field—was left in command of the guard, entrusted with the defence of the Kopje Farm, and the due supervision of the Boer prisoners recently captured.
The troopers left in charge of the Kopje Farm, after the rest of the Rangers departed, had many reasons why they should congratulate themselves on their admirable temporary quarters. The New Zealanders for months had lived "hard," as it is termed in soldier language. Now they were, as a trooper expressed it, "in clover."
Most of the men serving in the ranks of the Rangers were gentlemen by birth, and many had had a university education. Sheer love of adventure had drawn them from the Antipodes to South Africa, and certainly during the whole of the unfortunate campaign no corps serving under the Union Jack did more yeoman service than the lads from Maoriland.
True, they had their failings. Never expecting quarter themselves, in the hot rush of fight, their warlike instincts caused a few, but very few, regrettable incidents. The conflict over, they were the most generous of opponents, treating the wounded and captured Boers with the utmost kindness.
Peace reigned at the Kopje Farm. All outward traces of the late conflict had been removed before sunset, and Mrs. Lovat had so far recovered her spirits that she ventured to walk across to the kraal where the captives were confined.
To the wounded Boers, Mary Lovat was the model of kindness. With her deft fingers she applied linen bandages to their wounds, brought them beef-tea made by her own hands, and was most assiduous and tender in her attentions.
War is an awful thing. The colours that depict it must always be of a sombre, if not ebon hue, and Mary Lovat that night earned the gratitude, often audibly expressed, of the burghers, smitten, though not mortally, by the fire from the rifles of the Auckland Rangers.
Pat O'Neill, war-seasoned old veteran that he was, acted as Mary's trusted adjutant. He was here, there, and everywhere; at one moment giving a wounded Boer a drink of lemon water, at another listening to the whisperings of a delirious burgher uttered in strange tongue, about his late home on the Modder River.
All that was possible under the circumstances was done. Colonel Malcolmson, with generous forethought and self-denial, left his assistant surgeon at the Kopje Farm. His principal medico, Dr. Rennie, had elected to remain behind with the few surviving wounded at Langeman's Nek.
As the sun was setting, Jack Lovat and his friend Sergeant Morton took a stroll round the farm, and their conversation turned to the subject uppermost in the New Zealander's mind—diamonds.
"The place you call Diamond Valley is teeming with stones, I am positive," said Morton decisively. "I'm going to explore the place to-morrow, if nothing turns up to prevent me."
"With not the same results as before, I hope," observed Jack, with a laugh.
"I shall take my chance," said Morton, smiling as he spoke. "I'm convinced from what I saw that a valuable diamondiferous reef is in existence in the valley. I would wager my bottom sovereign—only unfortunately I haven't got one to stake—to next to nothing that a fortune awaits the man who exploits the place. It is worth a try, at any rate, and I'm going to make the venture in the morning, and chance another capture."
"We'll go together, then, Sergeant," said Jack; "and if luck comes in our way, we'll share and share alike. Most of the valley belongs to my father, and if anything turns up, I know he will be awfully glad to get back to the old country."
"Nothing to prevent it, I can assure you, my lad," observed Morton. "Who knows what is lying hid in this wonderful valley of yours? Perhaps it may contain more diamonds than are in the Kimberley district."
Sergeant Morton was optimistic. He had already in his possession stones which he estimated bore a face value of two thousand pounds.
"We'll go and have a chat now with father and mother," said Jack; and the two friends made an adjournment to the room where Mr. and Mrs. Lovat were seated, discussing the strange drama that had been enacted at the Kopje Farm during the past few days.
The night passed without alarms. Sergeant Morton and Jack never slept, but spent their time in visiting the sentries judiciously placed around the farm by the former. During the night a couple of wounded Boers succumbed to their injuries, and were buried in the little paddock behind the house, now a miniature cemetery.
"Bedad, sorr," said Pat O'Neill to Jack after the burial, "this brings back ould times—when I was twenty years younger than I am to-day. Do you know, sorr, that I thought my blood was gettin' a bit thin, but by the powers, I'm spoilin' for another fight. Maybe, though, it won't come off. By the way, sorr, did the masther get back those five hundred sovereigns the dirthy curs robbed him of at Jagger's Farm?"
"I'm afraid father won't see them again, Pat," replied Jack. "The poor beggars are welcome to keep them. They have had a stiffish time of it lately. I hardly think they will make an attack on the Kopje Farm again. What is it, Pat? Why are you fumbling in your waistcoat?"
"I've got a bit av loot, Masther Jack," answered Pat. "No, sorr, not your father's sovereigns;" and the Irishman drew out a dirty chamois-leather bag.
Dipping his hand into the bag, Pat withdrew ten Kruger sovereigns and showed them to Jack.
"Been looting, I see, Pat," said Jack laughingly.
"Well, sorr, they took the masther's gold," observed Pat, with a grin, "an' thinks I, as the ould sayin' goes, fair exchange is no robbery. Av course, sorr, I've been on the look-out for a bit av loot. You will take the coins, Masther Jack?"
"No, no, my dear fellow; keep them yourself, if your conscience will allow you."
"I'm not a thafe, sorr," said Pat. "I only thought that all was fair in love an' war—although, the saints be praised, Pat O'Neill has never been such a fool as to fall in love wid any woman yet."
"I meant no harm, Pat," observed Jack. "You get more fiery as you get older."
"All right, Masther Jack; I'll stick to the money until your father gets back his five hundred pounds. But I got something else from the burgher I took these from."
"And pray what is that?" inquired Jack.
"Only a few glass stones, sorr," replied the Irishman; and he stretched out his palm, on which reposed a dozen or more little "glass stones."
"I think they're diamonds, sorr," said Pat, "but I'm no hand at knowing jewellery."
Sergeant Morton was passing on his way to the ostrich kraal, and Jack called to him.
"Hullo, Lovat! What is it?" inquired the Colonial. "Anything the matter?"
"Kindly look at these glass stones, as Pat calls them," said Jack; and Morton glanced at the pebbles, after which he looked significantly at our hero.
"You might point out the burgher from whom you got these, Pat," said Jack. "I should very much like to see the fellow who is fond of carrying pieces of glass about with him."
"Then they are only glass, sorr?" inquired the Irishman, a shade of disappointment creeping over his face.
"I can hardly say they are glass, at the present time, Pat," replied Jack. "However, I want to see the burgher from whom you took the crystals."
"All right, sorr," observed Pat, with alacrity. "Come wid me, an' I'll show you the burgher. He's a rough-looking customer, and big enough to eat the three av us up."
Saying this, Pat led the way to the ostrich kraal. The imprisoned Boers looked very dejected, and anything but the fierce fighters recently serving in Christian Uys's commando.
Pat walked up straight to a Free Stater of immense size and stature. The Boer possessed a most forbidding countenance, and scowled as Pat approached.
"This is the man, sorr, I took the coins an' crystals from," said Pat.
"Then hand the coins back to him. They belong to him," observed Jack.
Pat at once handed over the Kruger sovereigns to the big burgher, whose face instantly assumed a suaver expression.
"We British try to be just," said Jack in Dutch. "I am sorry that my father's servant took the money from you. Do you mind telling me where you obtained these?" Saying this, Jack showed the crystals to the burgher.
"I picked them up in a sluit not far from here. I thought they would make a necklace for my daughter."
"And you know what they are?" inquired Jack.
"Crystals," answered the Boer. "They are very plentiful in my country, but have not the same yellow colour as these."
"Will you sell them to me?" asked Jack.
"No, I will not take anything," answered the burgher; "I will give them to you. You have restored my money, and I am content."
Jack Lovat was honest, and as he turned away with Sergeant Morton, said to the Boer, "I will see you again."
Jack and his New Zealand friend returned to the house, and for an hour were shut up in the former's room.
Morton examined the crystals very carefully, while Jack awaited his verdict with considerable anxiety. At last the New Zealander spoke.
"They are diamonds, Jack, sure enough, but not of the same quality as the stones I possess, or the one Kaffir Pete gave you. You see these have a yellow tint distributed unevenly throughout their substance. If the tint had been deeper and of a uniform nature throughout, the pebbles would represent a value of three thousand pounds at least. The majority of them are fractured, too. I should hand them back to the Boer. After you have done that, we'll make tracks for Diamond Valley. I don't suppose we shall meet with the same adventure as we did before. The place seems quiet enough now."
Jack acted on Sergeant Morton's suggestion, and offered to restore the stones to the Boer from whom they were taken; but the latter, to our hero's surprise, refused to accept them, saying, "Keep them; I can get more when I return to my own country. I thank you all the same for your kindness."
An hour later, after a consultation with his father and mother, Jack stood under the verandah of the farmhouse, waiting for Sergeant Morton, who was making an inspection of the sentries and guards. It was a beautiful day, and the sky was without a cloud. Brilliant sunshine flooded the scene, and down in the valley the heat hung quiveringly above the veldt.
Only a few hours had passed since a scene of bloodshed and violence was being enacted at the Kopje Farm. Now all is peaceful and still, while the silence is almost oppressive.
Leisurely Sergeant Morton sauntered up to where Jack was standing, and in his rear stalked Mr. Lovat's faithful henchman, Pat.
"All is serene, Jack," said the New Zealander, as he came up. "I don't think we shall see or hear anything of our fellows until evening. So come along. I've told Pat to be on the alert, and to bring us word instantly should any change in the situation take place."
"You understand, Pat," said Jack to the Irishman, who was standing at attention, "if any one turns up, you will at once come over the kopje to us. Here are my glasses, and be sure you keep a sharp look-out."