Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Eleven.Tracked by the Enemy.It was in the last few days of October, when the hot season and the rains of South Africa were about to set in, that Jack Somerton and his friends at length found safety in the beleaguered town of Kimberley, after their stubborn and protracted fight in the farmhouse of the Russels. By this time the war had been many days in progress, for President Kruger’s ultimatum was despatched on October 9th, and hostilities had commenced on the afternoon of the 11th by an invasion of British territory.We have seen that to meet that invasion and to stem the flow of the jubilant Boers there were only some 20,000 English regulars in South Africa at the time; and to these the feat of rolling back the overwhelming forces of the burghers in Natal, the protection of our northern towns in Cape Colony, and the garrisoning of Mafeking and Kimberley was a practical impossibility. Yet, with the dogged pluck and determination for which their predecessors had ever been known, that small army had done wonders already.By October 6th, when war seemed so inevitable, 10,000 additional troops were ordered to be despatched forthwith to South Africa; and since the case was an urgent one, the regiments in India, which are always kept on a war footing, were mainly drawn upon.But to transport men, guns, horses, and ammunition from India to Africa, or across the 6000 miles of heaving water which intervene between England and Cape Colony, is no small matter. Indeed it is a gigantic undertaking. Transports have to be chartered and specially prepared; food, forage for the horses, arms, medicines, tents, clothing, and a thousand-and-one more items, all of great importance, have to be conveyed, and cannot be prepared in a minute. But in spite of all difficulties the 10,000 troops were soon afloat anden routefor the scene of the war.Contrast for a moment these almost insurmountable difficulties with those of the Boer nation with whom we were contending. For them the only items which called for special transport were guns and ammunition. For the burghers a train journey of some twenty hours, or a long march on horseback of, at the most, 200 miles, brought them to the borders, and all need, for the time being, of a commissariat train was obviated by the fact that each and every man carried on his own person, or attached to his saddle, sufficient ammunition and food to last him several days.But the fact that the Orange Free State had thrown in its lot with the Transvaal Republic called for bigger forces, and on October 7th, the day following the order for the above 10,000 troops, the Home Government gave instructions for the calling up of 25,000 of our Reserves, and the mobilisation of an army corps and of one cavalry division. Parliament was also summoned specially to meet on October 17th.Ten days were given for the Reserves to present themselves, and these ten days may be easily described as a time of intense anxiety to the nation.The old days of lifelong service in the army had disappeared, and now young men who joined the ranks did so for a few years only, after which they were in a condition of thorough military training, and were at liberty to go back to civil life as reserves. In this capacity they were paid a certain sum per diem for a limited number of years, and were liable during that time to be called back to don the queen’s uniform and carry a rifle should their country have need of their services. It was an experiment, and one for which England will never have cause to blame herself.The revival of the Boer trouble, the memory of Amajuba and Laing’s Nek, together with the fact that this present war was forced upon us against our wishes, sent a thrill of patriotic fervour through the length and breadth of the land.Almost 100 per cent of the Reserves answered the call, and the few absentees were for the most part at sea in merchant vessels. Nor was this all. When England found herself face to face with a gigantic struggle, that generosity for which all her people have been noted was shown on every hand. If the manhood of the country could respond so nobly to the call to arms, then they should be rewarded for it, and those who were left behind would make it their duty to care for the helpless wife and child.Everywhere employers showed their patriotic spirit by declaring that those of their servants who left for the war should find their places waiting for them when they returned. And not only that, a large proportion at once arranged to pay half wages to the wife or dependants of the reservist, thus lifting a load of anxious care from the brave fellows’ minds.Thousands of pounds were subscribed for the maintenance of the homeless refugees from Johannesburg and other places, and later on large funds were raised, so that the widows and orphans of all the gallant men of the army or navy who gave their lives for their country might never know what it was to want. Money privately subscribed provided hospital ships and beds, and in this manner our American cousins showed their friendship, for they equipped and despatchedThe Mainefor the treatment of our wounded.To even mention each and every one of the incidents which showed the fervid patriotism of the people, and their intense loyalty to and love for their beloved queen, would be impossible.But no description of our preparations for this war is complete without a reference to the splendid patriotism of our colonies and of our home volunteers. Unasked, they clamoured loudly to participate in the struggle, and while for the time being our own citizen soldiers were not accepted, contingents of splendid men were welcomed from Canada, Australia, and New Zealand.Thus it will be seen that England prepared for war, a war which it was confidently expected would be of short duration. An army corps was mobilised, and those who, by family ties or by reason of their civil duties, were compelled to stay at home, saw to their particular part of the patriotic work.And then, when all was ready, they first of all despatched Sir Redvers Buller, one of our finest veterans, to take command of the accumulating army in South Africa, and afterwards, for many days in succession, accompanied the soldiers in shouting, cheering thousands to Waterloo Station, and sent them off on the first stage of their long journey with many a “God-speed!” and with hoarse cheers which showed how truly their good wishes went with them.And who amongst us who formed one of that crowd did not feel a strange rising in the throat and an inability to say exactly all we wished to those who were leaving England—perhaps for the last time? We longed to join the gallant fellows, and when we saw one of them turn aside for the moment, just to brush away the tears that would come, and get his lips steady again ere he bade a long farewell to his weeping wife and, most likely, to the infant in her arms, our hearts prompted us to step forward and wring his hand, just to show him that we thought all the more of him for his feeling.Those were stirring scones indeed, and that great lady and the country for whom all our gallant troops were about to sail over the sea will never, never forget them. What happened to those brave men and officers we despatched will be described in due course. The surprising strength of the enemy, their careful and long-thought-out preparations, and their modern and overpowering armaments will be spoken of, as will the painful events which led to England’s awakening. For the present we shall leave her with the eyes of all her people at home and in the colonies turned hopefully and anxiously to that far-off field of battle, while we return to Jack Somerton and his friends in Kimberley.On the morning after their safe arrival in the town, Tom Salter took Wilfred and Jack to the conning-tower erected in the De Beers compound and pointed out the various points in the defences. It was a remarkable scene. In all directions were huge mounds of débris removed from the diamond mines, and these, with the help of ample native labour, had been converted into fortresses, while outside all was an entanglement of barbed wire completely surrounding the town. From their elevated position they could look down on every post, and to Jack, who had been in the town many times before, and indeed to anyone, it was most strange to see the townsmen and regulars manning the defences or scouting outside, while down below them 10,000 natives laboured in the huge compound, delving for the diamonds which after all might fall into the Boers hands.“Just shows what we think of those fellows,” laughed Tom Salter, jerking his thumb in the direction of the Boer laagers. “They have been round us since the 14th of this month, and they’ve done nothing but look on all the time. If we were in their places I expect we should just make one big rush to take the town; but your Boer hates that kind of work, and so is content to look on while guns are coming from Pretoria. Then, I expect, they will make us jump a little.”“How many men have you here?” asked Jack.“About 3000 all told,” answered Tom. “We are under the command of Colonel Kekewich, and Cecil Rhodes is here to keep us company. A good number of our force are colonial troopers and volunteers, but we have the 1st Battalion of the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment here, besides a few gunners and engineers. I can tell you, my boy, we shall be a pretty tough lot to conquer. Why, only a few days ago we made a sortie towards Macfarlane’s Farm in the north, and bagged a number of the Boers, including Commandant Botha. We had 3 killed and 21 wounded—not a great loss when you consider the work we did. It was grand fun, and I’ve no doubt, now that Cronje has given Mafeking up as hopeless and come down here, we shall give them another taste. Now tell me all the outside news. How did you get across to Johnny’s Burg, and what have you been doing since? Last night you spoke of Glencoe and Ladysmith. ’Pon my word, Jack, you are just like the proverbial bad penny. You seem to turn up all over the place.”Jack laughed heartily at Tom Salter’s remark, and then proceeded to tell him about his adventures since leaving Kimberley. Then Tom in turn told him all that had happened during his absence.It seemed that Kimberley was by no means unprepared. Both Government and the De Beers Company had poured supplies and arms into the town, and there was sufficient to last for many weeks. The water-supply had been cut off, but there was plenty to be obtained in the town, and there was therefore no fear on that point. Altogether the inhabitants were faring better than might have been expected. All food was to be had at standard prices, and they were protected by a force which, if not too ample, at any rate made up for their lack of numbers by a dauntless determination to hold the town.No one was allowed to leave the neighbourhood of the defences or to enter the town without a signed permit, and this was strongly adhered to, for, as in Mafeking, and indeed in our camps in any part of South Africa, spies swarmed everywhere.But if the garrison were determined to hold the town, they were equally prepared to make the time pass easily. Mr Cecil Rhodes, the administrator of Rhodesia and at once a brilliantly clever and most popular man, dispensed hospitality on every side. He gave dinners and dances to enliven the people, and at one of them, which occurred on the night after their arrival, Jack was present with the Russels, and waltzed with Eileen to the strains of inspiriting music. Then they slipped out, and, climbing on a mound near by, stared across the veldt at the Boer laagers and then back at the defences of Kimberley, all easily distinguishable under the rays of a glorious moon.“How lovely it all looks in this light!” said Eileen gently. “What a pity that there should be such a thing as war! But I can see it is necessary, for if the English troops did not fight they would be driven out of the country, and then none of us would be safe. I am sorry about the old home too. I loved it and the flower-garden; but it was far better to defend it as we did than give in to the Boers. Jack, do you know I have never really thanked you for all you did, and for saving me from that brutal man. Only last night Father said that we owed our lives to you. I am proud of you, Jack! Shake hands!”Jack was astonished. He stuttered, grew confused, and then dropped Eileen’s hand as though it were a hot coal, for he was a bashful lad, and in a terrible fright all the time that Eileen would burst into tears or throw herself in his arms in the excitement of the moment.“Oh, never mind what I did, Eileen!” he blurted out. “I’d have done it for anyone else; and Wilfred deserves your thanks as much as I do. Now let us go in.”Eileen obeyed, feeling glad that she had at last thanked her preserver. She had met Jack many times, and had come to know that he was a plucky, good-looking young Englishman. That he had taken her thanks so brusquely did not jar her feelings. She understood him, and knew that though he did not show it he was really gratified. Therefore, taking his arm again, she returned to the dancing-room, and five minutes later she was watching her stalwart hero waltzing round, with a light in her dark eyes which, had he seen it, would have set his heart beating. But Jack had other matters to think about, and on the following morning approached Tom Salter on the matter.“I came up here to act as a despatch-rider,” he said, “and I want you to help me. I know the country all round as well as anyone, and ought to be able to get through. Whom ought I to apply to?”“No need to apply to anyone,” answered Tom. “I saw one of the officers last night, and told him all about you. News came in three days ago from the south, and you also brought information when you came. What we want to know is how Mafeking is getting on, and I expect you will be asked to ride in that direction. It will be ticklish work, my boy, but it seems to me that you are specially suited for it, for you have already ridden more than once in the enemy’s country. Come with me now to head-quarters and I will send in your name.”Jack followed him through the town, and a few minutes later was shown into the commanding-officer’s rooms. Here he was cordially greeted, and before anything was said about the ride to Mafeking he was urged to tell the officers present all about the defence of Mr Russel’s house. Then he was asked whether he was willing to ride to the north with despatches.Jack answered that he was, and promised to be ready to set out that evening.“Very well,” said one of the officers, “we will have the despatches ready for you. Come here at dusk and you will find a good horse waiting to carry you. Above all, do not let anyone know that you are to start. There are spies everywhere.”Jack promised to observe this precaution, and without even dropping so much as a hint to Wilfred, who joined him a few minutes later, walked all round the defences of the town.Late in the afternoon he filled his bandolier, saw that the magazines of his rifle and pistol were prepared, and then walked into the room where the Russels, Tom Salter, and Wilfred were. There was now no reason for keeping his mission a secret, and as he joined the party in a cup of afternoon-tea he told them that he was about to set out for Mafeking.Wilfred’s face at once showed his disappointment, for he would have gladly accompanied his friend; while Eileen went suddenly pale to the lips, and almost dropped her cup. But she recovered herself quickly, and said good-bye cheerfully.“Good-bye, Jack!” she murmured earnestly. “Take care of yourself, for we should all be sorry if you were captured.”“By Jove, old chap,” Wilfred broke in impetuously, “I wish I were going with you! It will be awfully flat here without you to liven us up. I only hope we shall have plenty of fighting while you are away. Good-bye, and if you meet any of the Boers just give them fits! You’re well able to.”Frank Russel and Tom Salter slapped him heartily on the back and wished him luck, and in another moment he was striding up the street, with clanking spurs, looking a typical young colonist, and one, moreover, well able to take care of himself.Arrived at the head-quarter office, he was shown in, and accosted by the same officer as before.“Here are your despatches,” he said, producing a thin piece of tissue-paper very finely written upon, “and now we must decide where to hide them. It is an important document, and if it fell into the Boers’ hands would do us a large amount of harm. What do you think of the puggaree round your hat for a hiding-place?”“Well, it seems to me,” replied Jack, “that that is just the kind of thing they would search. I have been thinking about it as I came along, and believe that a far safer place will be in the case of my Mauser pistol. Here it is, under my arm, and it has already escaped detection.”“Splendid! Of course that will be far and away the best place,” exclaimed the officer. “And now, in case the Boers should capture you, here is a letter stating that you are a despatch-rider acting for the British. Without that they would probably shoot you as a spy. Now you can start as soon as you like. If you reach Mafeking in safety, tell the boys there that all goes swimmingly with us, and we hope it is the same with them. Well, good-bye, Somerton, and the best of luck go with you!”They shook hands, and Jack clattered downstairs and into the street, where he found a shaggy-looking horse waiting for him. In a moment he had vaulted lightly into the saddle, and was riding away towards the nearest gate which lay to the east. He had chosen this purposely, for had the Boers obtained an inkling of the direction in which he was to ride, the telegraph wire which was at their service between the two beleaguered towns would have warned all the burghers to look out for him. At the gate he was challenged, and on giving a special pass-word, which he had been instructed to use, a lamp was flashed for a moment on his face, and he was allowed to proceed.“Good luck to yer, mate!” said the sentry who had received the countersign. “Give our best respects to the chaps up north, and tell them we’re having a fine time down this way. Ta, ta, old horse! Mind the palings as you go out; they are a bit inclined to scratch yer.”“So long, Joey!” laughed Jack cheerfully, recognising the sentry as one of the volunteers he had met the night before.Cantering on he carefully avoided the high fence of barbed wire, and, riding through an opening in it, was almost immediately challenged by a picket, and was compelled to pull up suddenly, to find a couple of bayonets pointed at his chest.“Gently, boys!” he called out in a low voice. “You’ll be sticking those things through me next time. I’m Jack Somerton, and ‘Buller’ is the pass-word.”“Right; ‘Buller’ it is,” was the answer. “Pass on, Jack, and go easy when you get half a mile away; there’s a lot of our dear Boer friends prowling about over there.”Jack thanked the man for his advice, and cantered on again. Then he pulled up, dismounted, and led his pony along over the grass, pausing every now and again to listen and search the darkness in all directions. At this moment the search-light from the town was suddenly turned on, and passing well above his head was flashed across the veldt in front of him, and then all round till it fell upon the same spot again.Jack stopped where he was and followed it carefully with his eyes. Again it flashed round the town, and then was suddenly cut off, leaving everything in absolute darkness. Springing on his pony, Jack touched it with his spurs and galloped ahead, and did not draw rein again till he had ridden a good five miles. Then he dismounted for a few minutes, and having allowed the animal sufficient time to rest, jogged on at a gentle canter, the most comfortable pace at which to cover a long distance. There was no difficulty about keeping in the right direction, for his rides with Tom Salter had taught him how to make use of the stars as guides, so that he went on for several hours with a short halt here and there, and by three in the morning found himself well on the way to Vryburg, and only a few miles to the west of the railway.By this time the clouds on his left hand were already beginning to lighten, warning him that ere long dawn would sweep over the wide range of veldt, and that unless he wished to be discovered by the enemy he had better set about finding some hiding-place. Fortunately there was no difficulty in this, for he was now well in the bush country which stretches in a wide belt north and south of Vryburg. Up to this he had ridden by the side of it, but now he turned to the left, and, jumping to the ground, led his pony on amongst the bushes. Threading his way carefully between the clumps of mimosa and cactus, and the still more painful wait-a-bit thorns, he at length came to a small and precipitous kopje, covered with rugged boulders and bush, and clambered up to the top.Here he found a small hollow almost surrounded with boulders, and with sufficient grass to give his pony a good feed, and still allow room for himself to lie down. It was just the place for a secret camp, and five minutes later he had taken possession of it. Vic—as he had called the pony in memory of his favourite—was soon knee-haltered and busily picking at the herbage, and Jack was equally busy devouring some bread and meat he had brought in his haversack.By the time he had satisfied his hunger and lit a pipe there was bright daylight, and, crawling to the edge of the kopje, he squeezed his body between two of the boulders, and with the help of his glasses made a thorough survey of his surroundings. About six miles on his right the snakelike track of the giant railway from Cape TownviaKimberley and Mafeking to Buluwayo, met his eye, while away in the distance was Vryburg, looking like a white blotch against the green bush which almost surrounded it.But nowhere was there a Boer to be seen, and, satisfied that for the present he ran no chance of discovery, Jack lay down on his mackintosh sheet, wrapped himself in his blanket, and with his head resting on his saddle was soon fast asleep.Shortly after noon he woke again, and there being no one in sight he saddled up, and, leading his horse to the foot of the kopje, pushed forward on the long ride to Mafeking. But though all seemed quiet, he was not to reach his destination without some startling adventures. Had he but known it, three roughly-dressed Boers had caught sight of his figure as he left his hiding-place, and, following him cautiously through the bush, had soon surrounded him. Wide-awake as Jack generally was, it was only when a horseman mounted on a snaggy pony suddenly appeared in front of him that he became aware that there was a Boer within miles of him. To halt and glance all round was the work of an instant only, and showed him the figures of two other horsemen hemming him in on every side. Next moment he had slipped to the ground and had unslung his rifle. Fortunately he happened to be riding through a thick part of the bush, so that, lying flat on the ground, he was completely invisible to the advancing Boers. When within three hundred yards of him all three halted and shouted to him to surrender. By this time, in spite of the sharp spikes and thorns, Jack had crawled a little way into the bush and was some feet from his pony. Then, gently kneeling up, he lifted his head inch by inch and looked about. Immediately surrounding him was a thick clump of mimosa bush which completely hid him, while the Boers, seated upon their animals, were well above the top of it.“I’ll wait a moment where I am,” thought Jack, “and if they fire I will pick one of them off and crawl away to another position at once. Then I’ll fire at another. There are three of them, but after all I am in a good position, and unless they gallop in and finish me, I ought to get safely away.”Once more one of the Boers shouted to him to surrender, and as Jack kept silent, all three fired at the bush close to his pony, one of the bullets killing the poor animal instantly, while another passed through the top of Jack’s hat, as he happened to be just in the line of fire.In no way put out by the occurrence, though his hat leapt from his head, Jack hastily replaced it, and, lifting his rifle, fired at the man whose bullet had so nearly been the means of ending his career. At such a short range it was not a difficult shot, and the Boer threw up his arms and fell backwards over the quarters of his pony with a bullet through his chest.Next moment there were two sharp reports, and the ominous swish, swish of Mauser projectiles flying close above him. But Jack escaped unhurt, and though the Boers emptied their magazines into that part of the bush they did not touch him, for a second after firing he had again dropped on all-fours and crawled away to the left. Once more he lifted his head, to find the two remaining horsemen, rifle in hand, standing up in their stirrups and searching the thick mimosa shrubs in front of them, ready to open fire the instant he showed himself.Jack crawled on a little farther till he came to a spot where, still lying prone on the ground, it was possible to get a good sight of the enemy. Taking a careful aim, he once more fired, and had the satisfaction of seeing another of the Boers fall, while the third hastily discharged his rifle and galloped away, Jack sending a bullet whizzing after him.Then he rose to his feet and strode over to the man who had just tumbled from his pony. He was quite dead, and as Jack had no means of burying him he left him there in the bush, and, taking his pony, which had, like all well-trained animals, remained close by his master’s side, he walked across to look at the other Boer. He found the poor fellow in the centre of a dense thorn bush, groaning feebly, while a thin stream of blood ran from his lips.But a minute before he had been an enemy, and had, indeed, very nearly been the death of Jack; but for all that he was now a fellow-being in distress, and Jack determined to do what he could for him. He was a big, bearded man of thirty-five, and no light weight to lift. But Jack’s strong arms soon carried him on to an open patch of grass. Then he gave him a drink from his water-bottle, and proceeded to look to his wound. There was little to be seen, merely a small puncture in front of the chest and a slightly larger one behind. Searching in the man’s pocket, Jack produced a scarf and tied it tightly round the chest. Then he gave him another drink, and five minutes later had the satisfaction of finding him stronger and able to speak. “Where are your friends?” he asked. “If they are near, and you will promise that I shall not be taken prisoner, I will carry you to them.”“They are at Vryburg,” the wounded man answered in a whisper; “but I cannot promise that they would not take you prisoner. Elof Vuurren is no lover of the English. It would be better for you to leave me to die alone.”Jack thought the matter over for a few moments. If he left the poor fellow in the bush he knew that his fate was sealed, for he would never be found. Why should he not risk it, and show these Boers that the English could be kind and good to them, and not, as the field-cornets and leaders were always telling the burghers, cowards and brutes. Jack looked again at the wounded man, and the sight of his helpless and pitiable condition at once decided him. Unwinding the puggaree from the Boer’s hat, he brought one of the ponies close alongside him, and putting out all his strength, lifted him into the saddle. Then he lashed his ankles together beneath the pony’s body, and, leading the spare animal by the reins, set off for Vryburg through the bush.It was a long and tedious march, but in three hours’ time he was opposite the town, and, leaving the belt of scrub in which he had been walking, he turned into the open. A mile farther on thirty Boers came cantering towards them, and, taking a hurried farewell of the wounded man, Jack vaulted on to the other pony and cantered off.A few minutes later the wounded Boer was amongst his comrades, and, looking back, Jack saw him feebly moving his arms as though explaining the manner in which the Englishman had brought him in, and begging them not to follow him. But the sight of one of the hated Rooineks proved too much for the Boers, and with a shout they left their comrade, and, putting their animals into a mad gallop, came thundering after Jack.In a moment he had dug his spurs into the wiry little animal upon whose back he rode, and, turning towards the bush again, galloped directly towards it at his fastest pace. When within 300 yards of the mimosa scrub another body of horsemen appeared directly in front of him, riding amongst the thorn bushes, and as soon as they caught sight of him, and of the men who were pursuing him, they scattered to right and left and rode off, leaping the rocks and bushes in their way, and evidently intending to surround him.It was a desperate predicament, but Jack’s coolness never deserted him, and he instantly decided how to act. Turning sharply to the right, he galloped on at the same headlong pace parallel to the belt of bush, but drawing closer to it. Suddenly he turned to the left again, and, applying his spurs, set his pony straight for the centre of the Boers who had appeared in front of him.It was a smart manoeuvre, for the horsemen had already separated, so that by the time Jack reached the line of bush there were only two in front of him. His rifle was already in his hand and his bayonet fixed. Holding the weapon ready to strike, he charged straight at the two Boers, who levelled their rifles at him and fired. One of the bullets flew close by his head, and the other actually struck and severed his stirrup leather without touching him. In an instant Jack dropped his reins and raising his rifle, took a hasty aim, and pulled the trigger. It was a lucky shot, for one of the ponies pitched forward, throwing its rider violently over its head.The other man boldly stood his ground, and, rising in his stirrup, took a deliberate aim and sent a bullet swishing so close past Jack’s head that it cut his ear. Before he could repeat the shot Jack was on him, and had thrust his bayonet through him and swept him off his saddle.After that there was a quarter of an hour of the wildest excitement. Tearing madly forward, his pony leapt everything that came in its path and soon outdistanced the pursuers, who had halted at the fringe of bush and were now sending volleys after him. But horse and rider seemed to bear a charmed life, till an unlucky bullet struck the plucky little animal and caused it to fall. Jack went flying some yards ahead into a thick mimosa bush, which broke his fall, and, extricating himself and picking up his rifle, darted off. Showers of bullets followed him, but by bending low he escaped them all, and an hour later was in the heart of the bush and safe from the pursuing Boers. By that time he was thoroughly exhausted. He threw himself panting on the ground and remained motionless for a long time. Then he rose to his feet once more and set off in the direction of Mafeking.All that night he trudged on, and spent the following day beneath the shade of a friendly thorn bush. Then he started again, and reached his destination just as the next day was dawning. Footsore and weary, he staggered up to one of the pickets, and, hastily answering his hail of “Who goes there?” with “Friend”, snatched at the man’s water-bottle and greedily gulped down the contents. Then, feeling stronger and more refreshed, he limped on into the town and handed his despatches to the redoubtable Baden-Powell, who welcomed him heartily.

It was in the last few days of October, when the hot season and the rains of South Africa were about to set in, that Jack Somerton and his friends at length found safety in the beleaguered town of Kimberley, after their stubborn and protracted fight in the farmhouse of the Russels. By this time the war had been many days in progress, for President Kruger’s ultimatum was despatched on October 9th, and hostilities had commenced on the afternoon of the 11th by an invasion of British territory.

We have seen that to meet that invasion and to stem the flow of the jubilant Boers there were only some 20,000 English regulars in South Africa at the time; and to these the feat of rolling back the overwhelming forces of the burghers in Natal, the protection of our northern towns in Cape Colony, and the garrisoning of Mafeking and Kimberley was a practical impossibility. Yet, with the dogged pluck and determination for which their predecessors had ever been known, that small army had done wonders already.

By October 6th, when war seemed so inevitable, 10,000 additional troops were ordered to be despatched forthwith to South Africa; and since the case was an urgent one, the regiments in India, which are always kept on a war footing, were mainly drawn upon.

But to transport men, guns, horses, and ammunition from India to Africa, or across the 6000 miles of heaving water which intervene between England and Cape Colony, is no small matter. Indeed it is a gigantic undertaking. Transports have to be chartered and specially prepared; food, forage for the horses, arms, medicines, tents, clothing, and a thousand-and-one more items, all of great importance, have to be conveyed, and cannot be prepared in a minute. But in spite of all difficulties the 10,000 troops were soon afloat anden routefor the scene of the war.

Contrast for a moment these almost insurmountable difficulties with those of the Boer nation with whom we were contending. For them the only items which called for special transport were guns and ammunition. For the burghers a train journey of some twenty hours, or a long march on horseback of, at the most, 200 miles, brought them to the borders, and all need, for the time being, of a commissariat train was obviated by the fact that each and every man carried on his own person, or attached to his saddle, sufficient ammunition and food to last him several days.

But the fact that the Orange Free State had thrown in its lot with the Transvaal Republic called for bigger forces, and on October 7th, the day following the order for the above 10,000 troops, the Home Government gave instructions for the calling up of 25,000 of our Reserves, and the mobilisation of an army corps and of one cavalry division. Parliament was also summoned specially to meet on October 17th.

Ten days were given for the Reserves to present themselves, and these ten days may be easily described as a time of intense anxiety to the nation.

The old days of lifelong service in the army had disappeared, and now young men who joined the ranks did so for a few years only, after which they were in a condition of thorough military training, and were at liberty to go back to civil life as reserves. In this capacity they were paid a certain sum per diem for a limited number of years, and were liable during that time to be called back to don the queen’s uniform and carry a rifle should their country have need of their services. It was an experiment, and one for which England will never have cause to blame herself.

The revival of the Boer trouble, the memory of Amajuba and Laing’s Nek, together with the fact that this present war was forced upon us against our wishes, sent a thrill of patriotic fervour through the length and breadth of the land.

Almost 100 per cent of the Reserves answered the call, and the few absentees were for the most part at sea in merchant vessels. Nor was this all. When England found herself face to face with a gigantic struggle, that generosity for which all her people have been noted was shown on every hand. If the manhood of the country could respond so nobly to the call to arms, then they should be rewarded for it, and those who were left behind would make it their duty to care for the helpless wife and child.

Everywhere employers showed their patriotic spirit by declaring that those of their servants who left for the war should find their places waiting for them when they returned. And not only that, a large proportion at once arranged to pay half wages to the wife or dependants of the reservist, thus lifting a load of anxious care from the brave fellows’ minds.

Thousands of pounds were subscribed for the maintenance of the homeless refugees from Johannesburg and other places, and later on large funds were raised, so that the widows and orphans of all the gallant men of the army or navy who gave their lives for their country might never know what it was to want. Money privately subscribed provided hospital ships and beds, and in this manner our American cousins showed their friendship, for they equipped and despatchedThe Mainefor the treatment of our wounded.

To even mention each and every one of the incidents which showed the fervid patriotism of the people, and their intense loyalty to and love for their beloved queen, would be impossible.

But no description of our preparations for this war is complete without a reference to the splendid patriotism of our colonies and of our home volunteers. Unasked, they clamoured loudly to participate in the struggle, and while for the time being our own citizen soldiers were not accepted, contingents of splendid men were welcomed from Canada, Australia, and New Zealand.

Thus it will be seen that England prepared for war, a war which it was confidently expected would be of short duration. An army corps was mobilised, and those who, by family ties or by reason of their civil duties, were compelled to stay at home, saw to their particular part of the patriotic work.

And then, when all was ready, they first of all despatched Sir Redvers Buller, one of our finest veterans, to take command of the accumulating army in South Africa, and afterwards, for many days in succession, accompanied the soldiers in shouting, cheering thousands to Waterloo Station, and sent them off on the first stage of their long journey with many a “God-speed!” and with hoarse cheers which showed how truly their good wishes went with them.

And who amongst us who formed one of that crowd did not feel a strange rising in the throat and an inability to say exactly all we wished to those who were leaving England—perhaps for the last time? We longed to join the gallant fellows, and when we saw one of them turn aside for the moment, just to brush away the tears that would come, and get his lips steady again ere he bade a long farewell to his weeping wife and, most likely, to the infant in her arms, our hearts prompted us to step forward and wring his hand, just to show him that we thought all the more of him for his feeling.

Those were stirring scones indeed, and that great lady and the country for whom all our gallant troops were about to sail over the sea will never, never forget them. What happened to those brave men and officers we despatched will be described in due course. The surprising strength of the enemy, their careful and long-thought-out preparations, and their modern and overpowering armaments will be spoken of, as will the painful events which led to England’s awakening. For the present we shall leave her with the eyes of all her people at home and in the colonies turned hopefully and anxiously to that far-off field of battle, while we return to Jack Somerton and his friends in Kimberley.

On the morning after their safe arrival in the town, Tom Salter took Wilfred and Jack to the conning-tower erected in the De Beers compound and pointed out the various points in the defences. It was a remarkable scene. In all directions were huge mounds of débris removed from the diamond mines, and these, with the help of ample native labour, had been converted into fortresses, while outside all was an entanglement of barbed wire completely surrounding the town. From their elevated position they could look down on every post, and to Jack, who had been in the town many times before, and indeed to anyone, it was most strange to see the townsmen and regulars manning the defences or scouting outside, while down below them 10,000 natives laboured in the huge compound, delving for the diamonds which after all might fall into the Boers hands.

“Just shows what we think of those fellows,” laughed Tom Salter, jerking his thumb in the direction of the Boer laagers. “They have been round us since the 14th of this month, and they’ve done nothing but look on all the time. If we were in their places I expect we should just make one big rush to take the town; but your Boer hates that kind of work, and so is content to look on while guns are coming from Pretoria. Then, I expect, they will make us jump a little.”

“How many men have you here?” asked Jack.

“About 3000 all told,” answered Tom. “We are under the command of Colonel Kekewich, and Cecil Rhodes is here to keep us company. A good number of our force are colonial troopers and volunteers, but we have the 1st Battalion of the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment here, besides a few gunners and engineers. I can tell you, my boy, we shall be a pretty tough lot to conquer. Why, only a few days ago we made a sortie towards Macfarlane’s Farm in the north, and bagged a number of the Boers, including Commandant Botha. We had 3 killed and 21 wounded—not a great loss when you consider the work we did. It was grand fun, and I’ve no doubt, now that Cronje has given Mafeking up as hopeless and come down here, we shall give them another taste. Now tell me all the outside news. How did you get across to Johnny’s Burg, and what have you been doing since? Last night you spoke of Glencoe and Ladysmith. ’Pon my word, Jack, you are just like the proverbial bad penny. You seem to turn up all over the place.”

Jack laughed heartily at Tom Salter’s remark, and then proceeded to tell him about his adventures since leaving Kimberley. Then Tom in turn told him all that had happened during his absence.

It seemed that Kimberley was by no means unprepared. Both Government and the De Beers Company had poured supplies and arms into the town, and there was sufficient to last for many weeks. The water-supply had been cut off, but there was plenty to be obtained in the town, and there was therefore no fear on that point. Altogether the inhabitants were faring better than might have been expected. All food was to be had at standard prices, and they were protected by a force which, if not too ample, at any rate made up for their lack of numbers by a dauntless determination to hold the town.

No one was allowed to leave the neighbourhood of the defences or to enter the town without a signed permit, and this was strongly adhered to, for, as in Mafeking, and indeed in our camps in any part of South Africa, spies swarmed everywhere.

But if the garrison were determined to hold the town, they were equally prepared to make the time pass easily. Mr Cecil Rhodes, the administrator of Rhodesia and at once a brilliantly clever and most popular man, dispensed hospitality on every side. He gave dinners and dances to enliven the people, and at one of them, which occurred on the night after their arrival, Jack was present with the Russels, and waltzed with Eileen to the strains of inspiriting music. Then they slipped out, and, climbing on a mound near by, stared across the veldt at the Boer laagers and then back at the defences of Kimberley, all easily distinguishable under the rays of a glorious moon.

“How lovely it all looks in this light!” said Eileen gently. “What a pity that there should be such a thing as war! But I can see it is necessary, for if the English troops did not fight they would be driven out of the country, and then none of us would be safe. I am sorry about the old home too. I loved it and the flower-garden; but it was far better to defend it as we did than give in to the Boers. Jack, do you know I have never really thanked you for all you did, and for saving me from that brutal man. Only last night Father said that we owed our lives to you. I am proud of you, Jack! Shake hands!”

Jack was astonished. He stuttered, grew confused, and then dropped Eileen’s hand as though it were a hot coal, for he was a bashful lad, and in a terrible fright all the time that Eileen would burst into tears or throw herself in his arms in the excitement of the moment.

“Oh, never mind what I did, Eileen!” he blurted out. “I’d have done it for anyone else; and Wilfred deserves your thanks as much as I do. Now let us go in.”

Eileen obeyed, feeling glad that she had at last thanked her preserver. She had met Jack many times, and had come to know that he was a plucky, good-looking young Englishman. That he had taken her thanks so brusquely did not jar her feelings. She understood him, and knew that though he did not show it he was really gratified. Therefore, taking his arm again, she returned to the dancing-room, and five minutes later she was watching her stalwart hero waltzing round, with a light in her dark eyes which, had he seen it, would have set his heart beating. But Jack had other matters to think about, and on the following morning approached Tom Salter on the matter.

“I came up here to act as a despatch-rider,” he said, “and I want you to help me. I know the country all round as well as anyone, and ought to be able to get through. Whom ought I to apply to?”

“No need to apply to anyone,” answered Tom. “I saw one of the officers last night, and told him all about you. News came in three days ago from the south, and you also brought information when you came. What we want to know is how Mafeking is getting on, and I expect you will be asked to ride in that direction. It will be ticklish work, my boy, but it seems to me that you are specially suited for it, for you have already ridden more than once in the enemy’s country. Come with me now to head-quarters and I will send in your name.”

Jack followed him through the town, and a few minutes later was shown into the commanding-officer’s rooms. Here he was cordially greeted, and before anything was said about the ride to Mafeking he was urged to tell the officers present all about the defence of Mr Russel’s house. Then he was asked whether he was willing to ride to the north with despatches.

Jack answered that he was, and promised to be ready to set out that evening.

“Very well,” said one of the officers, “we will have the despatches ready for you. Come here at dusk and you will find a good horse waiting to carry you. Above all, do not let anyone know that you are to start. There are spies everywhere.”

Jack promised to observe this precaution, and without even dropping so much as a hint to Wilfred, who joined him a few minutes later, walked all round the defences of the town.

Late in the afternoon he filled his bandolier, saw that the magazines of his rifle and pistol were prepared, and then walked into the room where the Russels, Tom Salter, and Wilfred were. There was now no reason for keeping his mission a secret, and as he joined the party in a cup of afternoon-tea he told them that he was about to set out for Mafeking.

Wilfred’s face at once showed his disappointment, for he would have gladly accompanied his friend; while Eileen went suddenly pale to the lips, and almost dropped her cup. But she recovered herself quickly, and said good-bye cheerfully.

“Good-bye, Jack!” she murmured earnestly. “Take care of yourself, for we should all be sorry if you were captured.”

“By Jove, old chap,” Wilfred broke in impetuously, “I wish I were going with you! It will be awfully flat here without you to liven us up. I only hope we shall have plenty of fighting while you are away. Good-bye, and if you meet any of the Boers just give them fits! You’re well able to.”

Frank Russel and Tom Salter slapped him heartily on the back and wished him luck, and in another moment he was striding up the street, with clanking spurs, looking a typical young colonist, and one, moreover, well able to take care of himself.

Arrived at the head-quarter office, he was shown in, and accosted by the same officer as before.

“Here are your despatches,” he said, producing a thin piece of tissue-paper very finely written upon, “and now we must decide where to hide them. It is an important document, and if it fell into the Boers’ hands would do us a large amount of harm. What do you think of the puggaree round your hat for a hiding-place?”

“Well, it seems to me,” replied Jack, “that that is just the kind of thing they would search. I have been thinking about it as I came along, and believe that a far safer place will be in the case of my Mauser pistol. Here it is, under my arm, and it has already escaped detection.”

“Splendid! Of course that will be far and away the best place,” exclaimed the officer. “And now, in case the Boers should capture you, here is a letter stating that you are a despatch-rider acting for the British. Without that they would probably shoot you as a spy. Now you can start as soon as you like. If you reach Mafeking in safety, tell the boys there that all goes swimmingly with us, and we hope it is the same with them. Well, good-bye, Somerton, and the best of luck go with you!”

They shook hands, and Jack clattered downstairs and into the street, where he found a shaggy-looking horse waiting for him. In a moment he had vaulted lightly into the saddle, and was riding away towards the nearest gate which lay to the east. He had chosen this purposely, for had the Boers obtained an inkling of the direction in which he was to ride, the telegraph wire which was at their service between the two beleaguered towns would have warned all the burghers to look out for him. At the gate he was challenged, and on giving a special pass-word, which he had been instructed to use, a lamp was flashed for a moment on his face, and he was allowed to proceed.

“Good luck to yer, mate!” said the sentry who had received the countersign. “Give our best respects to the chaps up north, and tell them we’re having a fine time down this way. Ta, ta, old horse! Mind the palings as you go out; they are a bit inclined to scratch yer.”

“So long, Joey!” laughed Jack cheerfully, recognising the sentry as one of the volunteers he had met the night before.

Cantering on he carefully avoided the high fence of barbed wire, and, riding through an opening in it, was almost immediately challenged by a picket, and was compelled to pull up suddenly, to find a couple of bayonets pointed at his chest.

“Gently, boys!” he called out in a low voice. “You’ll be sticking those things through me next time. I’m Jack Somerton, and ‘Buller’ is the pass-word.”

“Right; ‘Buller’ it is,” was the answer. “Pass on, Jack, and go easy when you get half a mile away; there’s a lot of our dear Boer friends prowling about over there.”

Jack thanked the man for his advice, and cantered on again. Then he pulled up, dismounted, and led his pony along over the grass, pausing every now and again to listen and search the darkness in all directions. At this moment the search-light from the town was suddenly turned on, and passing well above his head was flashed across the veldt in front of him, and then all round till it fell upon the same spot again.

Jack stopped where he was and followed it carefully with his eyes. Again it flashed round the town, and then was suddenly cut off, leaving everything in absolute darkness. Springing on his pony, Jack touched it with his spurs and galloped ahead, and did not draw rein again till he had ridden a good five miles. Then he dismounted for a few minutes, and having allowed the animal sufficient time to rest, jogged on at a gentle canter, the most comfortable pace at which to cover a long distance. There was no difficulty about keeping in the right direction, for his rides with Tom Salter had taught him how to make use of the stars as guides, so that he went on for several hours with a short halt here and there, and by three in the morning found himself well on the way to Vryburg, and only a few miles to the west of the railway.

By this time the clouds on his left hand were already beginning to lighten, warning him that ere long dawn would sweep over the wide range of veldt, and that unless he wished to be discovered by the enemy he had better set about finding some hiding-place. Fortunately there was no difficulty in this, for he was now well in the bush country which stretches in a wide belt north and south of Vryburg. Up to this he had ridden by the side of it, but now he turned to the left, and, jumping to the ground, led his pony on amongst the bushes. Threading his way carefully between the clumps of mimosa and cactus, and the still more painful wait-a-bit thorns, he at length came to a small and precipitous kopje, covered with rugged boulders and bush, and clambered up to the top.

Here he found a small hollow almost surrounded with boulders, and with sufficient grass to give his pony a good feed, and still allow room for himself to lie down. It was just the place for a secret camp, and five minutes later he had taken possession of it. Vic—as he had called the pony in memory of his favourite—was soon knee-haltered and busily picking at the herbage, and Jack was equally busy devouring some bread and meat he had brought in his haversack.

By the time he had satisfied his hunger and lit a pipe there was bright daylight, and, crawling to the edge of the kopje, he squeezed his body between two of the boulders, and with the help of his glasses made a thorough survey of his surroundings. About six miles on his right the snakelike track of the giant railway from Cape TownviaKimberley and Mafeking to Buluwayo, met his eye, while away in the distance was Vryburg, looking like a white blotch against the green bush which almost surrounded it.

But nowhere was there a Boer to be seen, and, satisfied that for the present he ran no chance of discovery, Jack lay down on his mackintosh sheet, wrapped himself in his blanket, and with his head resting on his saddle was soon fast asleep.

Shortly after noon he woke again, and there being no one in sight he saddled up, and, leading his horse to the foot of the kopje, pushed forward on the long ride to Mafeking. But though all seemed quiet, he was not to reach his destination without some startling adventures. Had he but known it, three roughly-dressed Boers had caught sight of his figure as he left his hiding-place, and, following him cautiously through the bush, had soon surrounded him. Wide-awake as Jack generally was, it was only when a horseman mounted on a snaggy pony suddenly appeared in front of him that he became aware that there was a Boer within miles of him. To halt and glance all round was the work of an instant only, and showed him the figures of two other horsemen hemming him in on every side. Next moment he had slipped to the ground and had unslung his rifle. Fortunately he happened to be riding through a thick part of the bush, so that, lying flat on the ground, he was completely invisible to the advancing Boers. When within three hundred yards of him all three halted and shouted to him to surrender. By this time, in spite of the sharp spikes and thorns, Jack had crawled a little way into the bush and was some feet from his pony. Then, gently kneeling up, he lifted his head inch by inch and looked about. Immediately surrounding him was a thick clump of mimosa bush which completely hid him, while the Boers, seated upon their animals, were well above the top of it.

“I’ll wait a moment where I am,” thought Jack, “and if they fire I will pick one of them off and crawl away to another position at once. Then I’ll fire at another. There are three of them, but after all I am in a good position, and unless they gallop in and finish me, I ought to get safely away.”

Once more one of the Boers shouted to him to surrender, and as Jack kept silent, all three fired at the bush close to his pony, one of the bullets killing the poor animal instantly, while another passed through the top of Jack’s hat, as he happened to be just in the line of fire.

In no way put out by the occurrence, though his hat leapt from his head, Jack hastily replaced it, and, lifting his rifle, fired at the man whose bullet had so nearly been the means of ending his career. At such a short range it was not a difficult shot, and the Boer threw up his arms and fell backwards over the quarters of his pony with a bullet through his chest.

Next moment there were two sharp reports, and the ominous swish, swish of Mauser projectiles flying close above him. But Jack escaped unhurt, and though the Boers emptied their magazines into that part of the bush they did not touch him, for a second after firing he had again dropped on all-fours and crawled away to the left. Once more he lifted his head, to find the two remaining horsemen, rifle in hand, standing up in their stirrups and searching the thick mimosa shrubs in front of them, ready to open fire the instant he showed himself.

Jack crawled on a little farther till he came to a spot where, still lying prone on the ground, it was possible to get a good sight of the enemy. Taking a careful aim, he once more fired, and had the satisfaction of seeing another of the Boers fall, while the third hastily discharged his rifle and galloped away, Jack sending a bullet whizzing after him.

Then he rose to his feet and strode over to the man who had just tumbled from his pony. He was quite dead, and as Jack had no means of burying him he left him there in the bush, and, taking his pony, which had, like all well-trained animals, remained close by his master’s side, he walked across to look at the other Boer. He found the poor fellow in the centre of a dense thorn bush, groaning feebly, while a thin stream of blood ran from his lips.

But a minute before he had been an enemy, and had, indeed, very nearly been the death of Jack; but for all that he was now a fellow-being in distress, and Jack determined to do what he could for him. He was a big, bearded man of thirty-five, and no light weight to lift. But Jack’s strong arms soon carried him on to an open patch of grass. Then he gave him a drink from his water-bottle, and proceeded to look to his wound. There was little to be seen, merely a small puncture in front of the chest and a slightly larger one behind. Searching in the man’s pocket, Jack produced a scarf and tied it tightly round the chest. Then he gave him another drink, and five minutes later had the satisfaction of finding him stronger and able to speak. “Where are your friends?” he asked. “If they are near, and you will promise that I shall not be taken prisoner, I will carry you to them.”

“They are at Vryburg,” the wounded man answered in a whisper; “but I cannot promise that they would not take you prisoner. Elof Vuurren is no lover of the English. It would be better for you to leave me to die alone.”

Jack thought the matter over for a few moments. If he left the poor fellow in the bush he knew that his fate was sealed, for he would never be found. Why should he not risk it, and show these Boers that the English could be kind and good to them, and not, as the field-cornets and leaders were always telling the burghers, cowards and brutes. Jack looked again at the wounded man, and the sight of his helpless and pitiable condition at once decided him. Unwinding the puggaree from the Boer’s hat, he brought one of the ponies close alongside him, and putting out all his strength, lifted him into the saddle. Then he lashed his ankles together beneath the pony’s body, and, leading the spare animal by the reins, set off for Vryburg through the bush.

It was a long and tedious march, but in three hours’ time he was opposite the town, and, leaving the belt of scrub in which he had been walking, he turned into the open. A mile farther on thirty Boers came cantering towards them, and, taking a hurried farewell of the wounded man, Jack vaulted on to the other pony and cantered off.

A few minutes later the wounded Boer was amongst his comrades, and, looking back, Jack saw him feebly moving his arms as though explaining the manner in which the Englishman had brought him in, and begging them not to follow him. But the sight of one of the hated Rooineks proved too much for the Boers, and with a shout they left their comrade, and, putting their animals into a mad gallop, came thundering after Jack.

In a moment he had dug his spurs into the wiry little animal upon whose back he rode, and, turning towards the bush again, galloped directly towards it at his fastest pace. When within 300 yards of the mimosa scrub another body of horsemen appeared directly in front of him, riding amongst the thorn bushes, and as soon as they caught sight of him, and of the men who were pursuing him, they scattered to right and left and rode off, leaping the rocks and bushes in their way, and evidently intending to surround him.

It was a desperate predicament, but Jack’s coolness never deserted him, and he instantly decided how to act. Turning sharply to the right, he galloped on at the same headlong pace parallel to the belt of bush, but drawing closer to it. Suddenly he turned to the left again, and, applying his spurs, set his pony straight for the centre of the Boers who had appeared in front of him.

It was a smart manoeuvre, for the horsemen had already separated, so that by the time Jack reached the line of bush there were only two in front of him. His rifle was already in his hand and his bayonet fixed. Holding the weapon ready to strike, he charged straight at the two Boers, who levelled their rifles at him and fired. One of the bullets flew close by his head, and the other actually struck and severed his stirrup leather without touching him. In an instant Jack dropped his reins and raising his rifle, took a hasty aim, and pulled the trigger. It was a lucky shot, for one of the ponies pitched forward, throwing its rider violently over its head.

The other man boldly stood his ground, and, rising in his stirrup, took a deliberate aim and sent a bullet swishing so close past Jack’s head that it cut his ear. Before he could repeat the shot Jack was on him, and had thrust his bayonet through him and swept him off his saddle.

After that there was a quarter of an hour of the wildest excitement. Tearing madly forward, his pony leapt everything that came in its path and soon outdistanced the pursuers, who had halted at the fringe of bush and were now sending volleys after him. But horse and rider seemed to bear a charmed life, till an unlucky bullet struck the plucky little animal and caused it to fall. Jack went flying some yards ahead into a thick mimosa bush, which broke his fall, and, extricating himself and picking up his rifle, darted off. Showers of bullets followed him, but by bending low he escaped them all, and an hour later was in the heart of the bush and safe from the pursuing Boers. By that time he was thoroughly exhausted. He threw himself panting on the ground and remained motionless for a long time. Then he rose to his feet once more and set off in the direction of Mafeking.

All that night he trudged on, and spent the following day beneath the shade of a friendly thorn bush. Then he started again, and reached his destination just as the next day was dawning. Footsore and weary, he staggered up to one of the pickets, and, hastily answering his hail of “Who goes there?” with “Friend”, snatched at the man’s water-bottle and greedily gulped down the contents. Then, feeling stronger and more refreshed, he limped on into the town and handed his despatches to the redoubtable Baden-Powell, who welcomed him heartily.

Chapter Twelve.Gallant Mafeking!Had he been the bearer of the most eagerly-looked-for news, Jack could not have received a more enthusiastic welcome than he obtained from the gallant little garrison of Mafeking. As he staggered into the town, hot, dusty, and dishevelled, and worn out with his long tramp, a horn was sounded, and hosts of men flocked towards him, and, gathering in a circle round him, listened while Colonel Baden-Powell—affectionately known as B.-P. by his men—questioned him.A stiff glass of brandy made him feel quite fresh again, and, sitting down on a box at the colonel’s invitation, Jack detailed his news and delivered his despatch. That done, he was hurried off by a number of the town volunteers to an underground cell built close behind a parapet of sand-bags, and there given a couple of blankets to lie on. He was tired out by his long march, and in a few moments was asleep.When he woke again the afternoon was far advanced. Rising from his bed, he crawled out of the cell and found a young fellow busily tending some pans suspended over a blazing fire.“Oh, there you are at last!” the latter exclaimed cheerfully. “We’ve been dying to hear all your news, but have had to wait patiently for you to wake up. Can I do anything for you?”“Yes, if you could tell me where I can obtain a bucket of water and a makeshift for a towel I should be obliged,” answered Jack cheerfully. “I haven’t had a wash for three days.”“Oh, that’s nothing!” the other answered, with a gay laugh. “It’s nearly three weeks since I had a shave, and when I got a look at myself in a bit of glass yesterday I nearly had a fit. Such a fright I look with this beard! But we’re all the same, that’s one comfort. But you want some water! You’ll find some behind that house over there. Keep your eyes open as you go, and if you hear the horn sound make a bolt for this bomb-proof cell. We always keep a fellow on watch, and as soon as he sees the smoke from the Boers’ guns he sounds his horn and we all run for shelter. It generally gives us plenty of time to get under cover. But sometimes some poor chap is caught.”Jack thanked the volunteer for his information, and strolled across to the house. There was a pump and trough behind it, and, stripping off his coat and shirt, he enjoyed a thorough rinse. He had already borrowed a towel, and on returning he obtained a small piece of comb and the corner of a splintered looking-glass, and made his hair tidy. Then he stood outside the cell and chatted with the volunteer who had first spoken to him, and asked him to tell him what had occurred at Mafeking.“Oh, we’ve had pretty lively times, I can tell you, Somerton!” the young fellow exclaimed jovially. “Of course you know that B.-P. turned up here some weeks ago, and started at once to enlist a colonial mounted corps. There wasn’t much difficulty about it either, for we knew something about him, and rushed to put in our names. Then old Kruger despatched his ultimatum, and we sent most of our women and children south with Nesbit, who, as I dare say you have already heard, was captured on the return journey. By October 14th we were surrounded, but B.-P. didn’t let the grass grow much before he was at them. For instance, on the 13th he sent out a couple of trucks of dynamite, which were a positive danger to us in the town. They were attached to an engine, and backed a mile or more up the line. The Boers spotted them, and galloped forward when they saw the engine uncouple and steam back without them. I suppose they thought they were armoured trucks filled with men, and when they were within close range blazed away at them. There was a terrific explosion, and it is reported that a hundred were killed. Then on the 14th we made a sortie and drew our friends into an ambush, in which they suffered still more heavily.“Since that time there has not been much doing, though I expect we shall beat them again soon. A few days ago they started bombarding us at a range of two and a half miles with three Krupp guns, but now they have got some heavier metal about five miles away, and the shells are by no means pleasant. Still, we have come off well up to this. Now, Somerton, the fellows will not be back for half an hour, so give me some of the outside news.”Jack told him all he knew about Glencoe and the campaign in Natal, and wound up with his ride to Kimberley and on to Mafeking.“’Pon my word, I believe you have seen more of the war than anyone!” exclaimed his friend enviously. “But I suppose I ought not to grumble. Here we are, volunteers, and a detachment of the Munster Fusiliers, and townsmen, about 1200 all told, and if things turn out as is expected we shall have precious tough work to hold the place against the enemy.”“From what you have told me of B.-P. I have no doubt you will see plenty of fighting before the siege is over,” answered Jack. “For my part, this despatch work is more fascinating than any. It gives one a splendid outdoor life, with plenty of adventure, and the dangers are not really more than those you incur here. You never know when these shells may drop on your head, so that, however carefully you keep below the sand-bag parapet, you may be struck down at any moment.”A few minutes later ten men came hurrying along the street, and joined Jack and the volunteer. They had just been relieved of picket duty, and tackled the meal which had been preparing for them with the greatest gusto. A stalwart, sunburnt set of young Englishmen they were. Dressed in the usual riding kit and shirt, with sleeves rolled up to the elbow and slouch hat upon their heads, they looked capable of the toughest fighting. Nearly every one of these young fellows was the younger son of gentlefolks in England. Restless young spirits, full of pluck and go, who had failed in their examinations at home, or could not settle down to the humdrum life of an office in London. One could easily imagine that only a few years before every one of them was the pride and joy of some particular public school in old England—the kind of boy who captained the football or cricket teams, and with the roar of his schoolfellows’ cheers behind him carried the leather to the back of the goal-posts of some opposing team; or perhaps the calm, big-limbed, young hero, dressed in white flannels and shirt, who stood fast at the wickets and saved the day for his comrades, sending the strongest balls delivered to him away to the boundary. That is the kind of lad that most of these had been, and now, under vastly altered circumstances, they showed the same sort of spirit. Throwing themselves upon the ground in the shade, they ate their meals with a good appetite. Then, pulling out their pipes, they made a circle, and listened eagerly to Jack’s news.In the middle of a glowing description of Glencoe and the storming of the heights of Talana Hill a horn sounded in the distance, and instantly all scuttled into the bomb-proof shelter. They were not a moment too soon. Less than five seconds later a huge shell shrieked just above their heads, and, striking the house opposite, exploded with a terrific flash and roar, shattering the walls to pieces.“That’s bad luck!” one of the volunteers snouted; “it has smashed up our sleeping quarters, and has set them on fire. Tumble up, you fellows, and set to work to put the flames out!”Jack joined the others, and helped to fling water on the flaring timbers. The fire was soon put out, and they returned once more to continue the yarn.“Well, you’ve seen a good deal of service already, Somerton,” said one of the young fellows, “but if you have nothing to do to-morrow, and care for a new experience, I will take you out to snipe the enemy. It’s a slow game, but has its excitements. We shall have to crawl out in the dark about three o’clock, take up our quarters outside, and wait there till the following night. Perhaps we shall not get a shot all day. But on the other hand we may bag a few of the Boers who show themselves. Will you come?”Jack willingly assented, and next morning, when it was still dark, followed the young volunteer outside the defences. Each carried a rifle and plenty of ammunition, field-glasses, water and food sufficient to last the day.“Now the thing is to get hold of a spot where there is some shade to be had,” said the young volunteer, whose name was Francis. “I know a splendid place, where we shall be able to get out of the rays of the sun. We can lie there together and chat. It is much better than being by one’s self.”Picking their way carefully amongst the boulders, Jack and Francis soon reached a mass of rock which had been specially prepared for sniping. It was really a gigantic boulder, which had at some time split, the two portions rolling a few feet apart. In the gap between, a little wall of boulders and sand-bags had been made. Francis stretched a blanket from one piece of the rock to the other, and kept it in position by means of stones.“That’s all right,” he said, with satisfaction. “However hot the sun is we shall be sheltered from it. Now we’ll get our rifles ready, and have a snooze till the dawn breaks.”Placing their weapons against the wall in front, they rolled themselves in their blankets and soon dozed off. An hour later the sun was up, and both prepared for action.“You’ve been under fire before, at Glencoe, Somerton,” said Francis, “but I fancy you will find this rather different. The Boers hate us fellows who come out here to take potshots at them worse than all the rest. It makes it impossible for them to show themselves for long. Every shot we fire will be answered by a dozen rifles or more, and sometimes they will let off a shell at us. It gets pretty warm work at times. But I dare say you’ll get used to it.”“I fancy I have had a share of it already,” replied Jack coolly. “You see, before I got out of Glencoe I had some experience of it, and just outside Kimberley a force of Boers bombarded the house in which some friends and I had sheltered, and riddled it with bullets.”“By Jove! Really!” Francis exclaimed in surprise; for, had the truth been known, he was almost wishing he had not brought this young despatch-rider out with him on such a trying expedition till he had learnt how he conducted himself under fire. “Really!” he repeated, lifting his eyebrows with astonishment. “You did not tell us anything about it last night when all the fellows were asking you for news. Let me know all about it at once, there’s a good chap! It will help to pass the time, and we can keep a sharp look-out all the same.”“Oh, it was only a small matter, and of little interest!” said Jack in reply; “but if you would really care to hear it I will start right away.”Accordingly, lying prone behind the breastwork of boulders, Jack commenced his yarn, and modestly told his companion how he had saved a comrade at Talana Hill, and how some days later he had rescued Eileen Russel from the hands of the Boers.Meanwhile they had kept their eyes open, and had broken off the narrative to fire a couple of shots apiece, one of which evidently found its mark. In response a storm of Mauser bullets was hurled at them on each occasion, and once a shell tore through the air above their heads, and swept the blanket away. In an instant Jack was on his feet, and, running across to the spot to which the blanket had been carried, picked it up, and with the utmost coolness and nonchalance replaced it over their sniping ground.It was a bold if somewhat foolhardy act, for bullets swished past him all the while, and even threw up the dust between his feet without striking him. But it was just one of those daring deeds for which our countrymen are noted, not performed in the hope of obtaining praise, but merely out of cool bravado, and to show the enemy that pluck is still a feature of the race.When Jack threw himself down again behind the shelter and commenced to fill his pipe, the remarkable calmness, not to say absolute carelessness of danger, of this new comrade filled the garrison, who happened to be looking on, with wild enthusiasm, and they cheered loudly.As for Francis, himself by no means a coward, he was quite upset. “Well, I’m jiggered!” he exclaimed, shaking Jack warmly by the hand. “Here are you walking about under fire as cool as an icicle, and only an hour ago I was wondering whether, after all, I had been wise to ask you to come out here, and whether you would funk a bit when the bullets began to fly. I can tell you this is one of the warmest jobs to be found, as you can see for yourself, and I’ve known fellows who were good at a sortie, and always did their fair share in a fight, who couldn’t stand this kind of work. It’s too cold-blooded for them. Let them get their monkey up and they are fit for any job; but to lie down here in the open, and never know when a shell may knock you to pieces, is too trying for them. Somerton, you’re a perfect wonder. Just fancy your arriving in time to save that girl! She was an old friend of yours, wasn’t she? Dear me, can I congratulate you, old chap? Any engagement?”“Oh, humbug; of course not!” Jack exclaimed warmly, flushing up to the roots of his hair. “Both Eileen Russel and I are far too young to be thinking of marriage; besides, I’ve only met her a few times. What rot you talk, Francis! Look out, there’s a Boer showing up over there!”Jack got quite wrathful, and, taking up his rifle, fired at the man who had just appeared, and had the satisfaction of seeing him go limping away.That appeased him, and he once more chatted in a friendly manner with Francis. But in spite of himself, Eileen’s pretty face would appear before him in fancy as he lay there puffing at his pipe, and he could not help wondering with some anxiety how she was, and whether a safe place had been found for her in Kimberley, where she would be out of harm’s way.That night, when they slipped back within the defences, they received quite an ovation, and Jack was compelled to repeat the story of his adventures. In return for doing so he was offered the very last bottle of beer to be obtained in the town.“You’re a plucky young beggar,” exclaimed one of the garrison, “and as a mark of our appreciation we offer you this. Take it at once and drink it, or else the others will repent and want it back. We’ve run clean out of beer, worse luck, for in this hot weather something else besides water is wanted. And a fellow begins to long for a change, too, especially when he’s been used to taking it. Why, only two days ago one of the officers who was at school with me happened to pass, and I offered him one of our precious bottles. He nearly fainted, it was such a treat, for the poor beggars are worse off than ourselves in that respect.”Jack laughed heartily at the anecdote, and, pouring out the beer, drank to the health of all present. Then someone started a song, and for two hours the party kept the town awake. Then they wrapped themselves in their blankets and all became quiet, and nothing disturbed the silence save an occasional challenge from a picket as the officer made his rounds.The next day was Sunday, and by mutual agreement a day of peace for Boers and British alike. In the enemy’s camp solemn services were held in the open air, while in solitary little Mafeking all who could flocked to the church. In the afternoon everyone gathered in the market square where the band played, and before they parted for the night stood stiffly at attention, hat in hand, or at the salute, while the National Anthem was played.And outside, lying in their cheerless trenches, the Boers heard it, and forgot to jeer as formerly; for this little town, far away from all help, with its indomitable commander and plucky garrison, had already taught them in the space of less than a month more respect for the British than they had learnt in their whole lives before. They listened to the strains in silence, and a chill went through many of their frames, for it was beginning now to dawn upon them that England’s day was still to come; and in their heart of hearts the majority of these sturdy peasants believed that that day was getting close at hand, and that when it came they too would acknowledge England as their ruler just as their forefathers had done years before. It was a bitter thought to these misguided men, to whom independence was so dear, and damped their spirits so effectually that they preserved a sullen silence and listened to the distant strains of the band despondently.On the following day Jack received a message from one of the officers who acted for Colonel Baden-Powell, and on entering the bomb-proof fort in which the latter lived, was asked if he was willing to ride out of the town again.“We are naturally anxious to know how Colonel Plumer and the Rhodesian forces are doing at Tuli,” the officer said, “and also whether we can receive relief from them. Will you undertake to find out, and return with whatever information you can get? We can supply you with a good horse, and I have also a map and a compass which will help you on the way.”Jack jumped at the offer, for it was just the kind of adventurous work that suited him.“I will do my best,” he answered, “and I think I stand a good chance of getting through, for I have already prospected up some way north of this, though not so far as Tuli. I shall be ready to start to-night, and with luck shall be back here in three weeks’ time.”A few minutes sufficed to make all arrangements, and that night, after a farewell supper with Francis and his friends, Jack shook hands cordially with them all and said good-bye. Then, mounting the animal which had been sent down for him, he shook the reins and trotted off into the darkness. Turning to the left, he was soon out in the open veldt, and in half an hour was well away from the beleaguered town and the investing forces without having been challenged by anyone.Riding by night at first, and then during the day, he had covered a considerable number of miles at the end of three days. On the third evening he rode into a deserted native kraal, and having knee-haltered his pony, stretched his blankets on the floor of one of the huts and was soon asleep. Some hours later he was awakened by the creak of wagon wheels, and, springing to his feet and peering out through the doorway, found that a force of some thirty Boers had laagered within the walls of the kraal. It was still night, but the moon was up, and in its light Jack watched the figures flitting about in the open space amongst the huts. The wagon had been left in one corner and the oxen outspanned, and a Kafir servant was in the act of setting all the wearied beasts free to graze outside, when there was a bellowing roar, which seemed to shake the huts, and a huge animal landed in the centre of the kraal and stood crouching there, one forepaw poised in the air, while his tail lashed angrily from side to side.It was an immense African lion, rendered bold and reckless by hunger; a terrifying sight as it stood there roaring loudly, and crouching lower, ready to spring upon the nearest object.As the beast landed in the kraal the Boers were on the point of making a fire and cooking a meal. Now they turned and bolted at headlong speed, but not so rapidly as to escape the dreaded lion. With a deafening roar it leapt high in the air, and landing on the shoulders of one of the burghers, beat in his skull like an egg-shell. Then it stood defiantly over the body and growled ominously.But it was not to carry off the body without interference, for one of the Boers had gallantly remained behind, and, stepping forward and lifting his rifle to his shoulder, he fired point-blank at the lion’s head.Jack watched for the result with breathless excitement, and the next moment ran out of the hut towards the scene of the struggle; for, stung to madness by the bullet, the fierce animal had left its first victim, and with a spring which carried it at least six feet in the air, dashed the plucky burgher to the ground. Jack slipped his thumb on to the magazine catch and opened it; then, taking a steady aim, he pulled the trigger, and sent a bullet crashing through the lion’s body. It failed to touch a vital spot, and once more sighting for the angry beast’s head, Jack discharged his weapon. But again the small bullet failed to kill, and, roused to madness by his wounds, the lion roared savagely and sprang at him.To lift his rifle and fire at the flying mass was the work of a moment. Next second Jack was struck senseless to the ground, and lay there motionless, almost smothered by the huge limp animal lying stone-dead upon him.When Jack recovered consciousness again, two bearded men were bending over him, and were gently dressing a large wound in his shoulder. With a dying effort the huge African lion had struck him on the shoulder, and had torn a deep gash in his chest and arm, and this the Boers were now tending. Finding that their patient was sensible again, they smiled kindly at him, and soon afterwards applied dressings.It was an extremely painful operation, but Jack bore it all without a murmur. Then he was given some weak brandy and water.“How do you feel now?” asked one of the Boers. “Better, I hope? It was a close shave for you, but your last bullet went through the lion’s heart and killed the animal.”“Oh, I’m all right again now!” replied Jack, endeavouring to sit up, but falling back with a groan. “That beast has knocked all the strength out of me,” he continued. “But tell me, who are you, and was the other man killed?”“His arm was broken,” the Boer answered, “and he has to thank you for his life. It was a brave act to come forward and fight the lion alone, and your life was in God’s hands. It was doubly noble of you, Englishman, for by attacking that lion you fell into our hands and are a prisoner. But do not let that worry you. You shall be well treated, and in Pretoria you will be far safer than out here as a despatch-rider.”“A prisoner!” exclaimed Jack indignantly. “Surely you will not take me to Pretoria. After all I might have stood quietly in the hut, and let the lion carry off your comrade without moving a finger to help him. You say it was brave of me, then why not let me go on that account!”“My friend, that would be impossible,” the Boer replied kindly. “You are too weak to stand now, and believe me, you will be much the same for a week or more. If we left you you would certainly die, for I have seen enough of wounds, especially of this class, to know that if not carefully attended to they prove dangerous. We are returning to Pretoria, and you must accompany us. After all, it will be some consolation to you to know that the young burgher you saved is an Englishman by birth. He was commandeered to fight for us, but we all know that his heart is with his countrymen. Cheer up! He will be a comrade for you.”Jack remained silent for some time after the Boer doctor had left him, and was at first inclined to grumble at his luck. Then, as he began to realise how weak he really was, he saw that to be taken prisoner was really the best thing that could happen to him.“After all,” he thought, “I shall have a chance of escaping, and I am sure if I were given my liberty I should die out here in the bush like a dog. I’m as weak as a rat now, but by the time we reach Pretoria I ought to be strong again. Then, if I do manage to get away, and I shall certainly have a try, I ought to be able to carry valuable information with me. Yes, after all, I am not so badly off, and will make the best of matters.”About half an hour later the Boer doctor returned, and with the help of three other men, who treated Jack with the utmost kindness, lifted him gently and carried him towards the wagon. Day had already dawned, so that Jack was able to see that another figure lay on a rough bed of rugs beneath the huge canvas tent which covered the cumbersome vehicle. It was the young English burgher who had first attacked the lion, and as they approached the wagon he sat up with a jerk and looked eagerly at Jack.He was a broad-shouldered young fellow, with a pleasant, open face, now somewhat pale from the effects of the injury he had received and from the pain he suffered. His right arm was suspended in a sling, and there was a deep scratch across his forehead.No sooner was Jack laid beside him than his comrade in misfortune leant across, and, taking up his hand, pressed it warmly and endeavoured to speak. But he was evidently too much overcome by emotion, and his lips trembled so much that he looked as though he were on the point of bursting into tears. With a visible effort he steadied himself, and, still pressing Jack’s hand, began to talk to him.“We’re strangers,” he exclaimed excitedly, “but for all that we are brothers! My God, how I have longed for the sight of an honest Englishman! and last night, if I had thought that by being carried away by that lion I should have met one, I almost think I should have been glad if the beast had picked me up and walked off with me. And they tell me I have to thank you for my life, and that you tackled the lion alone, and so fell into their hands. I’m sorry that you should be a prisoner, but I can’t tell you how glad I am to have a comrade.”“Yes; it’s an awful sell to find myself a prisoner when I had covered so much of the journey,” Jack answered; “but I suppose it’s for the best. I should have died if I had been left here alone. But tell me about yourself. The Boer doctor said you had been commandeered against your will.”“That is true. My name is Guy Richardson, and I’ve lived all my life in the Transvaal. But for all that, Father and I are British to the backbone, and would sooner shoot ourselves than fight against our countrymen. But I’ll tell you all about it if you like, and if you feel strong enough to listen.”“Just push something under my head, so that I can look at you without straining my neck,” said Jack. “That’s it, thank you! Now, fire away; I shall be delighted to hear the tale. But first of all let me tell you that my name is Jack Somerton, and that you’ve nothing to thank me for. You forget that you were the only one of all the Boers who stood your ground when the lion sprang into the kraal.”“That’s true, Somerton,” Guy Richardson agreed; “but for all that I know that I owe my life to you. But now that you are comfortable, I’ll go ahead with the yarn. To begin with, I must explain that Father came to the Transvaal five years before the annexation by Sir Theophilus Shepstone, and as soon as the Boer trouble was over, and the Transvaal had become a republic, he became a naturalised burgher, for he found it was a necessity if he wished to prosper in business. I was born quite close to Johnny’s Burg, and can speak the Boer tongue as well as our own. We got on pretty well with our neighbours, but our sympathies have been with the Uitlanders, and when matters got to such a pass that war seemed probable, it became a question as to whether we should follow Mother down to Durban. But to take that step would mean absolute ruin, for all our property would be confiscated by the Transvaal Government; so, after a long discussion, Father and I decided to stay, on the distinct understanding that we were not to bear arms against the British. For a week after the ultimatum we were employed as town guards in Johnny’s Burg. Then we were commandeered for service, for every available man was wanted to make good the losses the Boers had suffered. For another week we were kept in laager near Pretoria, and then we were separated, Father being dragged down south, while I was compelled to accompany this commando. We were in desperate straits, but we swore we would never fire a shot against the English.“What has happened to Father I do not know. For myself I should have escaped long ago, but each one of these Boers has instructions to shoot me on suspicion of such an attempt, and they watch me constantly. It is awful, Somerton! If we meet the British troops these fiends will stand behind me and shoot me if I refuse to fight.”“Good heavens, you don’t say so!” Jack exclaimed indignantly. “To force a man to fight against his own flesh and blood is simply monstrous!”“It’s true all the same,” replied Guy Richardson dejectedly. “There are hosts more like myself. Good Englishmen, who know that this war has been wilfully forced on the empire by the Boers, and who are determined to escape from their adopted Republic and fight for the queen. But we are all carefully watched, and I fear that more than one of the poor fellows have lost their lives. Only a few days ago I heard that they have been forced to fight in the most exposed positions, and these men here have threatened that I shall have such a post. If a bullet finds me out when I am fighting for England I shall not grumble, but if I am to be struck down by my own people, would rather shoot myself. It is awful, but I have sworn never to fire a gun for these brutes, and I will stick to that determination.”“Tell me where you have been,” said Jack. “From the fact of this being such a small commando, I imagine there are none of our troops near at hand. I was riding up to meet Plumer’s force.”“We have been on a visit to the natives, Somerton,” Guy Richardson replied, “and although I have not been told the motive, it is easy to guess that the Boers wish to stir them up so as to increase our difficulties. We are now returning to Pretoria. I am thankful that I have broken my arm, for now they will not be able to send me to the front. I wish, though, I could find out what has happened to Father.”“I suppose they will put us in hospital when we reach the end of our journey, Richardson,” Jack said thoughtfully. “If so, and you are ready to come with me, we will make an attempt at escape. I have been in difficulties in the Transvaal once before, and got out safely.”“I’ll stand by you and make the attempt at any time,” exclaimed Richardson impulsively. “Anything to get out of the hands of these Boers!”“Then we’ll take it as settled that we will have a try to get away at the first opportunity,” Jack replied. “We shall have lots of time to talk the matter over, but one thing has occurred to me. We must make believe that we are worse than we really are. That will make any guards placed over us less watchful, and will give us a better chance.”That evening Jack’s wound was dressed again with the greatest tenderness by the Boer doctor, and on the following morning the oxen were inspanned, and the small commando set off for Pretoria, carrying with them as a trophy the skin of the African lion.A week later they reached the seat of the Boer Government, and, much to Jack’s pleasure, he was placed in hospital side by side with Guy Richardson, with whom he had already struck up a firm friendship. He had quite expected to be placed amongst the English prisoners, of whom there were unfortunately a large number already; and though he would have been glad to be with them, his plans for escape would have become all the more difficult. As it was, he was surrounded by Boers, and still under the care of the same doctor, who seemed to have taken quite a fancy to him.Two weeks later he was about, with his arm in a sling, and was able to see what Pretoria was like during these days of struggle. Once, too, the President passed close to him when making a visit to the hospital, and though it might have been merely imagination, Jack fancied that his heavy face bore traces of ever-growing sorrow, and that the broad, stooping shoulders were bowed a little more than usual under a load of anxious care, and under the bitter disappointment of an overwhelming ambition which had been cherished and nurtured for a lifetime. Nor was the President the only one who felt the anxiety of these times of war. The Boer forces, though long prepared for their work, had not swooped down and driven the hated British into the sea. The Dutch population of South Africa had not risen as was expected, and joined their kith and kin to shake off English rule. But instead, Joubert and his hordes of burghers had invaded Natal only to a point a few miles south of Colenso, while in Cape Colony the Free Staters had barely passed the borders, and Mafeking and Kimberley still laughed at the invading forces. It was not a brilliant prospect, when the Boers had hoped to crush the British in three weeks.They had now done all the invading they were ever likely to do, and though successes might still fall to their arms, though in carefully-prepared trenches and defences they might resist and bear back for a time the relieving-forces now marching towards Ladysmith and Kimberley, yet they knew that those reinforcements would eventually invade the two republics and appear before Bloemfontein and Pretoria just as surely as the earth would continue to revolve.No wonder, then, that they looked downcast and harassed, while many of them secretly longed for a peaceful termination of the struggle, and a life of freedom under British rule.

Had he been the bearer of the most eagerly-looked-for news, Jack could not have received a more enthusiastic welcome than he obtained from the gallant little garrison of Mafeking. As he staggered into the town, hot, dusty, and dishevelled, and worn out with his long tramp, a horn was sounded, and hosts of men flocked towards him, and, gathering in a circle round him, listened while Colonel Baden-Powell—affectionately known as B.-P. by his men—questioned him.

A stiff glass of brandy made him feel quite fresh again, and, sitting down on a box at the colonel’s invitation, Jack detailed his news and delivered his despatch. That done, he was hurried off by a number of the town volunteers to an underground cell built close behind a parapet of sand-bags, and there given a couple of blankets to lie on. He was tired out by his long march, and in a few moments was asleep.

When he woke again the afternoon was far advanced. Rising from his bed, he crawled out of the cell and found a young fellow busily tending some pans suspended over a blazing fire.

“Oh, there you are at last!” the latter exclaimed cheerfully. “We’ve been dying to hear all your news, but have had to wait patiently for you to wake up. Can I do anything for you?”

“Yes, if you could tell me where I can obtain a bucket of water and a makeshift for a towel I should be obliged,” answered Jack cheerfully. “I haven’t had a wash for three days.”

“Oh, that’s nothing!” the other answered, with a gay laugh. “It’s nearly three weeks since I had a shave, and when I got a look at myself in a bit of glass yesterday I nearly had a fit. Such a fright I look with this beard! But we’re all the same, that’s one comfort. But you want some water! You’ll find some behind that house over there. Keep your eyes open as you go, and if you hear the horn sound make a bolt for this bomb-proof cell. We always keep a fellow on watch, and as soon as he sees the smoke from the Boers’ guns he sounds his horn and we all run for shelter. It generally gives us plenty of time to get under cover. But sometimes some poor chap is caught.”

Jack thanked the volunteer for his information, and strolled across to the house. There was a pump and trough behind it, and, stripping off his coat and shirt, he enjoyed a thorough rinse. He had already borrowed a towel, and on returning he obtained a small piece of comb and the corner of a splintered looking-glass, and made his hair tidy. Then he stood outside the cell and chatted with the volunteer who had first spoken to him, and asked him to tell him what had occurred at Mafeking.

“Oh, we’ve had pretty lively times, I can tell you, Somerton!” the young fellow exclaimed jovially. “Of course you know that B.-P. turned up here some weeks ago, and started at once to enlist a colonial mounted corps. There wasn’t much difficulty about it either, for we knew something about him, and rushed to put in our names. Then old Kruger despatched his ultimatum, and we sent most of our women and children south with Nesbit, who, as I dare say you have already heard, was captured on the return journey. By October 14th we were surrounded, but B.-P. didn’t let the grass grow much before he was at them. For instance, on the 13th he sent out a couple of trucks of dynamite, which were a positive danger to us in the town. They were attached to an engine, and backed a mile or more up the line. The Boers spotted them, and galloped forward when they saw the engine uncouple and steam back without them. I suppose they thought they were armoured trucks filled with men, and when they were within close range blazed away at them. There was a terrific explosion, and it is reported that a hundred were killed. Then on the 14th we made a sortie and drew our friends into an ambush, in which they suffered still more heavily.

“Since that time there has not been much doing, though I expect we shall beat them again soon. A few days ago they started bombarding us at a range of two and a half miles with three Krupp guns, but now they have got some heavier metal about five miles away, and the shells are by no means pleasant. Still, we have come off well up to this. Now, Somerton, the fellows will not be back for half an hour, so give me some of the outside news.”

Jack told him all he knew about Glencoe and the campaign in Natal, and wound up with his ride to Kimberley and on to Mafeking.

“’Pon my word, I believe you have seen more of the war than anyone!” exclaimed his friend enviously. “But I suppose I ought not to grumble. Here we are, volunteers, and a detachment of the Munster Fusiliers, and townsmen, about 1200 all told, and if things turn out as is expected we shall have precious tough work to hold the place against the enemy.”

“From what you have told me of B.-P. I have no doubt you will see plenty of fighting before the siege is over,” answered Jack. “For my part, this despatch work is more fascinating than any. It gives one a splendid outdoor life, with plenty of adventure, and the dangers are not really more than those you incur here. You never know when these shells may drop on your head, so that, however carefully you keep below the sand-bag parapet, you may be struck down at any moment.”

A few minutes later ten men came hurrying along the street, and joined Jack and the volunteer. They had just been relieved of picket duty, and tackled the meal which had been preparing for them with the greatest gusto. A stalwart, sunburnt set of young Englishmen they were. Dressed in the usual riding kit and shirt, with sleeves rolled up to the elbow and slouch hat upon their heads, they looked capable of the toughest fighting. Nearly every one of these young fellows was the younger son of gentlefolks in England. Restless young spirits, full of pluck and go, who had failed in their examinations at home, or could not settle down to the humdrum life of an office in London. One could easily imagine that only a few years before every one of them was the pride and joy of some particular public school in old England—the kind of boy who captained the football or cricket teams, and with the roar of his schoolfellows’ cheers behind him carried the leather to the back of the goal-posts of some opposing team; or perhaps the calm, big-limbed, young hero, dressed in white flannels and shirt, who stood fast at the wickets and saved the day for his comrades, sending the strongest balls delivered to him away to the boundary. That is the kind of lad that most of these had been, and now, under vastly altered circumstances, they showed the same sort of spirit. Throwing themselves upon the ground in the shade, they ate their meals with a good appetite. Then, pulling out their pipes, they made a circle, and listened eagerly to Jack’s news.

In the middle of a glowing description of Glencoe and the storming of the heights of Talana Hill a horn sounded in the distance, and instantly all scuttled into the bomb-proof shelter. They were not a moment too soon. Less than five seconds later a huge shell shrieked just above their heads, and, striking the house opposite, exploded with a terrific flash and roar, shattering the walls to pieces.

“That’s bad luck!” one of the volunteers snouted; “it has smashed up our sleeping quarters, and has set them on fire. Tumble up, you fellows, and set to work to put the flames out!”

Jack joined the others, and helped to fling water on the flaring timbers. The fire was soon put out, and they returned once more to continue the yarn.

“Well, you’ve seen a good deal of service already, Somerton,” said one of the young fellows, “but if you have nothing to do to-morrow, and care for a new experience, I will take you out to snipe the enemy. It’s a slow game, but has its excitements. We shall have to crawl out in the dark about three o’clock, take up our quarters outside, and wait there till the following night. Perhaps we shall not get a shot all day. But on the other hand we may bag a few of the Boers who show themselves. Will you come?”

Jack willingly assented, and next morning, when it was still dark, followed the young volunteer outside the defences. Each carried a rifle and plenty of ammunition, field-glasses, water and food sufficient to last the day.

“Now the thing is to get hold of a spot where there is some shade to be had,” said the young volunteer, whose name was Francis. “I know a splendid place, where we shall be able to get out of the rays of the sun. We can lie there together and chat. It is much better than being by one’s self.”

Picking their way carefully amongst the boulders, Jack and Francis soon reached a mass of rock which had been specially prepared for sniping. It was really a gigantic boulder, which had at some time split, the two portions rolling a few feet apart. In the gap between, a little wall of boulders and sand-bags had been made. Francis stretched a blanket from one piece of the rock to the other, and kept it in position by means of stones.

“That’s all right,” he said, with satisfaction. “However hot the sun is we shall be sheltered from it. Now we’ll get our rifles ready, and have a snooze till the dawn breaks.”

Placing their weapons against the wall in front, they rolled themselves in their blankets and soon dozed off. An hour later the sun was up, and both prepared for action.

“You’ve been under fire before, at Glencoe, Somerton,” said Francis, “but I fancy you will find this rather different. The Boers hate us fellows who come out here to take potshots at them worse than all the rest. It makes it impossible for them to show themselves for long. Every shot we fire will be answered by a dozen rifles or more, and sometimes they will let off a shell at us. It gets pretty warm work at times. But I dare say you’ll get used to it.”

“I fancy I have had a share of it already,” replied Jack coolly. “You see, before I got out of Glencoe I had some experience of it, and just outside Kimberley a force of Boers bombarded the house in which some friends and I had sheltered, and riddled it with bullets.”

“By Jove! Really!” Francis exclaimed in surprise; for, had the truth been known, he was almost wishing he had not brought this young despatch-rider out with him on such a trying expedition till he had learnt how he conducted himself under fire. “Really!” he repeated, lifting his eyebrows with astonishment. “You did not tell us anything about it last night when all the fellows were asking you for news. Let me know all about it at once, there’s a good chap! It will help to pass the time, and we can keep a sharp look-out all the same.”

“Oh, it was only a small matter, and of little interest!” said Jack in reply; “but if you would really care to hear it I will start right away.”

Accordingly, lying prone behind the breastwork of boulders, Jack commenced his yarn, and modestly told his companion how he had saved a comrade at Talana Hill, and how some days later he had rescued Eileen Russel from the hands of the Boers.

Meanwhile they had kept their eyes open, and had broken off the narrative to fire a couple of shots apiece, one of which evidently found its mark. In response a storm of Mauser bullets was hurled at them on each occasion, and once a shell tore through the air above their heads, and swept the blanket away. In an instant Jack was on his feet, and, running across to the spot to which the blanket had been carried, picked it up, and with the utmost coolness and nonchalance replaced it over their sniping ground.

It was a bold if somewhat foolhardy act, for bullets swished past him all the while, and even threw up the dust between his feet without striking him. But it was just one of those daring deeds for which our countrymen are noted, not performed in the hope of obtaining praise, but merely out of cool bravado, and to show the enemy that pluck is still a feature of the race.

When Jack threw himself down again behind the shelter and commenced to fill his pipe, the remarkable calmness, not to say absolute carelessness of danger, of this new comrade filled the garrison, who happened to be looking on, with wild enthusiasm, and they cheered loudly.

As for Francis, himself by no means a coward, he was quite upset. “Well, I’m jiggered!” he exclaimed, shaking Jack warmly by the hand. “Here are you walking about under fire as cool as an icicle, and only an hour ago I was wondering whether, after all, I had been wise to ask you to come out here, and whether you would funk a bit when the bullets began to fly. I can tell you this is one of the warmest jobs to be found, as you can see for yourself, and I’ve known fellows who were good at a sortie, and always did their fair share in a fight, who couldn’t stand this kind of work. It’s too cold-blooded for them. Let them get their monkey up and they are fit for any job; but to lie down here in the open, and never know when a shell may knock you to pieces, is too trying for them. Somerton, you’re a perfect wonder. Just fancy your arriving in time to save that girl! She was an old friend of yours, wasn’t she? Dear me, can I congratulate you, old chap? Any engagement?”

“Oh, humbug; of course not!” Jack exclaimed warmly, flushing up to the roots of his hair. “Both Eileen Russel and I are far too young to be thinking of marriage; besides, I’ve only met her a few times. What rot you talk, Francis! Look out, there’s a Boer showing up over there!”

Jack got quite wrathful, and, taking up his rifle, fired at the man who had just appeared, and had the satisfaction of seeing him go limping away.

That appeased him, and he once more chatted in a friendly manner with Francis. But in spite of himself, Eileen’s pretty face would appear before him in fancy as he lay there puffing at his pipe, and he could not help wondering with some anxiety how she was, and whether a safe place had been found for her in Kimberley, where she would be out of harm’s way.

That night, when they slipped back within the defences, they received quite an ovation, and Jack was compelled to repeat the story of his adventures. In return for doing so he was offered the very last bottle of beer to be obtained in the town.

“You’re a plucky young beggar,” exclaimed one of the garrison, “and as a mark of our appreciation we offer you this. Take it at once and drink it, or else the others will repent and want it back. We’ve run clean out of beer, worse luck, for in this hot weather something else besides water is wanted. And a fellow begins to long for a change, too, especially when he’s been used to taking it. Why, only two days ago one of the officers who was at school with me happened to pass, and I offered him one of our precious bottles. He nearly fainted, it was such a treat, for the poor beggars are worse off than ourselves in that respect.”

Jack laughed heartily at the anecdote, and, pouring out the beer, drank to the health of all present. Then someone started a song, and for two hours the party kept the town awake. Then they wrapped themselves in their blankets and all became quiet, and nothing disturbed the silence save an occasional challenge from a picket as the officer made his rounds.

The next day was Sunday, and by mutual agreement a day of peace for Boers and British alike. In the enemy’s camp solemn services were held in the open air, while in solitary little Mafeking all who could flocked to the church. In the afternoon everyone gathered in the market square where the band played, and before they parted for the night stood stiffly at attention, hat in hand, or at the salute, while the National Anthem was played.

And outside, lying in their cheerless trenches, the Boers heard it, and forgot to jeer as formerly; for this little town, far away from all help, with its indomitable commander and plucky garrison, had already taught them in the space of less than a month more respect for the British than they had learnt in their whole lives before. They listened to the strains in silence, and a chill went through many of their frames, for it was beginning now to dawn upon them that England’s day was still to come; and in their heart of hearts the majority of these sturdy peasants believed that that day was getting close at hand, and that when it came they too would acknowledge England as their ruler just as their forefathers had done years before. It was a bitter thought to these misguided men, to whom independence was so dear, and damped their spirits so effectually that they preserved a sullen silence and listened to the distant strains of the band despondently.

On the following day Jack received a message from one of the officers who acted for Colonel Baden-Powell, and on entering the bomb-proof fort in which the latter lived, was asked if he was willing to ride out of the town again.

“We are naturally anxious to know how Colonel Plumer and the Rhodesian forces are doing at Tuli,” the officer said, “and also whether we can receive relief from them. Will you undertake to find out, and return with whatever information you can get? We can supply you with a good horse, and I have also a map and a compass which will help you on the way.”

Jack jumped at the offer, for it was just the kind of adventurous work that suited him.

“I will do my best,” he answered, “and I think I stand a good chance of getting through, for I have already prospected up some way north of this, though not so far as Tuli. I shall be ready to start to-night, and with luck shall be back here in three weeks’ time.”

A few minutes sufficed to make all arrangements, and that night, after a farewell supper with Francis and his friends, Jack shook hands cordially with them all and said good-bye. Then, mounting the animal which had been sent down for him, he shook the reins and trotted off into the darkness. Turning to the left, he was soon out in the open veldt, and in half an hour was well away from the beleaguered town and the investing forces without having been challenged by anyone.

Riding by night at first, and then during the day, he had covered a considerable number of miles at the end of three days. On the third evening he rode into a deserted native kraal, and having knee-haltered his pony, stretched his blankets on the floor of one of the huts and was soon asleep. Some hours later he was awakened by the creak of wagon wheels, and, springing to his feet and peering out through the doorway, found that a force of some thirty Boers had laagered within the walls of the kraal. It was still night, but the moon was up, and in its light Jack watched the figures flitting about in the open space amongst the huts. The wagon had been left in one corner and the oxen outspanned, and a Kafir servant was in the act of setting all the wearied beasts free to graze outside, when there was a bellowing roar, which seemed to shake the huts, and a huge animal landed in the centre of the kraal and stood crouching there, one forepaw poised in the air, while his tail lashed angrily from side to side.

It was an immense African lion, rendered bold and reckless by hunger; a terrifying sight as it stood there roaring loudly, and crouching lower, ready to spring upon the nearest object.

As the beast landed in the kraal the Boers were on the point of making a fire and cooking a meal. Now they turned and bolted at headlong speed, but not so rapidly as to escape the dreaded lion. With a deafening roar it leapt high in the air, and landing on the shoulders of one of the burghers, beat in his skull like an egg-shell. Then it stood defiantly over the body and growled ominously.

But it was not to carry off the body without interference, for one of the Boers had gallantly remained behind, and, stepping forward and lifting his rifle to his shoulder, he fired point-blank at the lion’s head.

Jack watched for the result with breathless excitement, and the next moment ran out of the hut towards the scene of the struggle; for, stung to madness by the bullet, the fierce animal had left its first victim, and with a spring which carried it at least six feet in the air, dashed the plucky burgher to the ground. Jack slipped his thumb on to the magazine catch and opened it; then, taking a steady aim, he pulled the trigger, and sent a bullet crashing through the lion’s body. It failed to touch a vital spot, and once more sighting for the angry beast’s head, Jack discharged his weapon. But again the small bullet failed to kill, and, roused to madness by his wounds, the lion roared savagely and sprang at him.

To lift his rifle and fire at the flying mass was the work of a moment. Next second Jack was struck senseless to the ground, and lay there motionless, almost smothered by the huge limp animal lying stone-dead upon him.

When Jack recovered consciousness again, two bearded men were bending over him, and were gently dressing a large wound in his shoulder. With a dying effort the huge African lion had struck him on the shoulder, and had torn a deep gash in his chest and arm, and this the Boers were now tending. Finding that their patient was sensible again, they smiled kindly at him, and soon afterwards applied dressings.

It was an extremely painful operation, but Jack bore it all without a murmur. Then he was given some weak brandy and water.

“How do you feel now?” asked one of the Boers. “Better, I hope? It was a close shave for you, but your last bullet went through the lion’s heart and killed the animal.”

“Oh, I’m all right again now!” replied Jack, endeavouring to sit up, but falling back with a groan. “That beast has knocked all the strength out of me,” he continued. “But tell me, who are you, and was the other man killed?”

“His arm was broken,” the Boer answered, “and he has to thank you for his life. It was a brave act to come forward and fight the lion alone, and your life was in God’s hands. It was doubly noble of you, Englishman, for by attacking that lion you fell into our hands and are a prisoner. But do not let that worry you. You shall be well treated, and in Pretoria you will be far safer than out here as a despatch-rider.”

“A prisoner!” exclaimed Jack indignantly. “Surely you will not take me to Pretoria. After all I might have stood quietly in the hut, and let the lion carry off your comrade without moving a finger to help him. You say it was brave of me, then why not let me go on that account!”

“My friend, that would be impossible,” the Boer replied kindly. “You are too weak to stand now, and believe me, you will be much the same for a week or more. If we left you you would certainly die, for I have seen enough of wounds, especially of this class, to know that if not carefully attended to they prove dangerous. We are returning to Pretoria, and you must accompany us. After all, it will be some consolation to you to know that the young burgher you saved is an Englishman by birth. He was commandeered to fight for us, but we all know that his heart is with his countrymen. Cheer up! He will be a comrade for you.”

Jack remained silent for some time after the Boer doctor had left him, and was at first inclined to grumble at his luck. Then, as he began to realise how weak he really was, he saw that to be taken prisoner was really the best thing that could happen to him.

“After all,” he thought, “I shall have a chance of escaping, and I am sure if I were given my liberty I should die out here in the bush like a dog. I’m as weak as a rat now, but by the time we reach Pretoria I ought to be strong again. Then, if I do manage to get away, and I shall certainly have a try, I ought to be able to carry valuable information with me. Yes, after all, I am not so badly off, and will make the best of matters.”

About half an hour later the Boer doctor returned, and with the help of three other men, who treated Jack with the utmost kindness, lifted him gently and carried him towards the wagon. Day had already dawned, so that Jack was able to see that another figure lay on a rough bed of rugs beneath the huge canvas tent which covered the cumbersome vehicle. It was the young English burgher who had first attacked the lion, and as they approached the wagon he sat up with a jerk and looked eagerly at Jack.

He was a broad-shouldered young fellow, with a pleasant, open face, now somewhat pale from the effects of the injury he had received and from the pain he suffered. His right arm was suspended in a sling, and there was a deep scratch across his forehead.

No sooner was Jack laid beside him than his comrade in misfortune leant across, and, taking up his hand, pressed it warmly and endeavoured to speak. But he was evidently too much overcome by emotion, and his lips trembled so much that he looked as though he were on the point of bursting into tears. With a visible effort he steadied himself, and, still pressing Jack’s hand, began to talk to him.

“We’re strangers,” he exclaimed excitedly, “but for all that we are brothers! My God, how I have longed for the sight of an honest Englishman! and last night, if I had thought that by being carried away by that lion I should have met one, I almost think I should have been glad if the beast had picked me up and walked off with me. And they tell me I have to thank you for my life, and that you tackled the lion alone, and so fell into their hands. I’m sorry that you should be a prisoner, but I can’t tell you how glad I am to have a comrade.”

“Yes; it’s an awful sell to find myself a prisoner when I had covered so much of the journey,” Jack answered; “but I suppose it’s for the best. I should have died if I had been left here alone. But tell me about yourself. The Boer doctor said you had been commandeered against your will.”

“That is true. My name is Guy Richardson, and I’ve lived all my life in the Transvaal. But for all that, Father and I are British to the backbone, and would sooner shoot ourselves than fight against our countrymen. But I’ll tell you all about it if you like, and if you feel strong enough to listen.”

“Just push something under my head, so that I can look at you without straining my neck,” said Jack. “That’s it, thank you! Now, fire away; I shall be delighted to hear the tale. But first of all let me tell you that my name is Jack Somerton, and that you’ve nothing to thank me for. You forget that you were the only one of all the Boers who stood your ground when the lion sprang into the kraal.”

“That’s true, Somerton,” Guy Richardson agreed; “but for all that I know that I owe my life to you. But now that you are comfortable, I’ll go ahead with the yarn. To begin with, I must explain that Father came to the Transvaal five years before the annexation by Sir Theophilus Shepstone, and as soon as the Boer trouble was over, and the Transvaal had become a republic, he became a naturalised burgher, for he found it was a necessity if he wished to prosper in business. I was born quite close to Johnny’s Burg, and can speak the Boer tongue as well as our own. We got on pretty well with our neighbours, but our sympathies have been with the Uitlanders, and when matters got to such a pass that war seemed probable, it became a question as to whether we should follow Mother down to Durban. But to take that step would mean absolute ruin, for all our property would be confiscated by the Transvaal Government; so, after a long discussion, Father and I decided to stay, on the distinct understanding that we were not to bear arms against the British. For a week after the ultimatum we were employed as town guards in Johnny’s Burg. Then we were commandeered for service, for every available man was wanted to make good the losses the Boers had suffered. For another week we were kept in laager near Pretoria, and then we were separated, Father being dragged down south, while I was compelled to accompany this commando. We were in desperate straits, but we swore we would never fire a shot against the English.

“What has happened to Father I do not know. For myself I should have escaped long ago, but each one of these Boers has instructions to shoot me on suspicion of such an attempt, and they watch me constantly. It is awful, Somerton! If we meet the British troops these fiends will stand behind me and shoot me if I refuse to fight.”

“Good heavens, you don’t say so!” Jack exclaimed indignantly. “To force a man to fight against his own flesh and blood is simply monstrous!”

“It’s true all the same,” replied Guy Richardson dejectedly. “There are hosts more like myself. Good Englishmen, who know that this war has been wilfully forced on the empire by the Boers, and who are determined to escape from their adopted Republic and fight for the queen. But we are all carefully watched, and I fear that more than one of the poor fellows have lost their lives. Only a few days ago I heard that they have been forced to fight in the most exposed positions, and these men here have threatened that I shall have such a post. If a bullet finds me out when I am fighting for England I shall not grumble, but if I am to be struck down by my own people, would rather shoot myself. It is awful, but I have sworn never to fire a gun for these brutes, and I will stick to that determination.”

“Tell me where you have been,” said Jack. “From the fact of this being such a small commando, I imagine there are none of our troops near at hand. I was riding up to meet Plumer’s force.”

“We have been on a visit to the natives, Somerton,” Guy Richardson replied, “and although I have not been told the motive, it is easy to guess that the Boers wish to stir them up so as to increase our difficulties. We are now returning to Pretoria. I am thankful that I have broken my arm, for now they will not be able to send me to the front. I wish, though, I could find out what has happened to Father.”

“I suppose they will put us in hospital when we reach the end of our journey, Richardson,” Jack said thoughtfully. “If so, and you are ready to come with me, we will make an attempt at escape. I have been in difficulties in the Transvaal once before, and got out safely.”

“I’ll stand by you and make the attempt at any time,” exclaimed Richardson impulsively. “Anything to get out of the hands of these Boers!”

“Then we’ll take it as settled that we will have a try to get away at the first opportunity,” Jack replied. “We shall have lots of time to talk the matter over, but one thing has occurred to me. We must make believe that we are worse than we really are. That will make any guards placed over us less watchful, and will give us a better chance.”

That evening Jack’s wound was dressed again with the greatest tenderness by the Boer doctor, and on the following morning the oxen were inspanned, and the small commando set off for Pretoria, carrying with them as a trophy the skin of the African lion.

A week later they reached the seat of the Boer Government, and, much to Jack’s pleasure, he was placed in hospital side by side with Guy Richardson, with whom he had already struck up a firm friendship. He had quite expected to be placed amongst the English prisoners, of whom there were unfortunately a large number already; and though he would have been glad to be with them, his plans for escape would have become all the more difficult. As it was, he was surrounded by Boers, and still under the care of the same doctor, who seemed to have taken quite a fancy to him.

Two weeks later he was about, with his arm in a sling, and was able to see what Pretoria was like during these days of struggle. Once, too, the President passed close to him when making a visit to the hospital, and though it might have been merely imagination, Jack fancied that his heavy face bore traces of ever-growing sorrow, and that the broad, stooping shoulders were bowed a little more than usual under a load of anxious care, and under the bitter disappointment of an overwhelming ambition which had been cherished and nurtured for a lifetime. Nor was the President the only one who felt the anxiety of these times of war. The Boer forces, though long prepared for their work, had not swooped down and driven the hated British into the sea. The Dutch population of South Africa had not risen as was expected, and joined their kith and kin to shake off English rule. But instead, Joubert and his hordes of burghers had invaded Natal only to a point a few miles south of Colenso, while in Cape Colony the Free Staters had barely passed the borders, and Mafeking and Kimberley still laughed at the invading forces. It was not a brilliant prospect, when the Boers had hoped to crush the British in three weeks.

They had now done all the invading they were ever likely to do, and though successes might still fall to their arms, though in carefully-prepared trenches and defences they might resist and bear back for a time the relieving-forces now marching towards Ladysmith and Kimberley, yet they knew that those reinforcements would eventually invade the two republics and appear before Bloemfontein and Pretoria just as surely as the earth would continue to revolve.

No wonder, then, that they looked downcast and harassed, while many of them secretly longed for a peaceful termination of the struggle, and a life of freedom under British rule.

Back to IndexNext