Chapter Nineteen.

Chapter Nineteen.Jack Finds a Sweetheart.When Jack came on deck upon the following morning, after leaving the port of Durban, it was to discover that the transport on which he had obtained a passage was conveying a most important personage—one of the chief officers on the staff of the commander-in-chief in Africa. Like Jack, this staff-officer had recently journeyed from General Sir Redvers Buller’s camp, and though he was a stranger to our hero, yet, to Jack’s surprise, no sooner did he catch sight of him than he stepped briskly towards him, and with outstretched hand addressed him in the most affable tones.“Ah, Mr Somerton,” he commenced, giving Jack’s hand a hearty shake, and smiling at his evident astonishment, “this is a pleasure! I knew, of course, that you were leaving Chieveley for Lord Roberts’s force, but did not imagine that we should make the sea-trip together. As it is, it will save me the trouble of finding you at the other end. You must know, my young friend, that you have made quite a reputation for yourself as a colonial despatch-carrier and scout, and I have been instructed to make use of your services if you feel so disposed. Are you ready to do something more for us? Of course, we have all heard how you and young Poynter got through from Ladysmith, and I may tell you that it is a service of a similar nature for which we want you now.”“Certainly, sir,” Jack answered with a flush. “I am prepared to undertake anything in the nature of despatch-carrying or scouting that may be given me, and if Kimberley is the destination for the messages so much the better, for I have friends in there whom I am anxious to meet again.”“Then, my lad, this is the very job to suit you!” the staff-officer exclaimed. “Shortly put, the service which you are asked to undertake is this—ride to Kimberley and carry a letter and verbal instructions to its commanding officer, and afterwards return to us. There is a big and most important movement afoot. But I will tell you about it later, when we arrive at the Modder River. It is a great satisfaction to hear that we may rely upon you.”“It’s just the thing I should like,” Jack remarked eagerly. Then, seeing that his new acquaintance did not care, for some reason, to discuss the matter further at that moment, he changed the conversation. Soon they descended to the saloon for breakfast, and from that day until they reached the Modder River below Kimberley they were constantly together.While they are being swiftly conveyed along the South African coast we will leave them laughing and chatting, and return for a few moments to Old England to view matters there.At first the news of the reverses at Magersfontein, Stormberg, and Colenso found her like one in a dream. “Was it true,” she asked herself, “that her brave and hitherto invincible troops had been thus hardly dealt with by a horde of men who were little more than uncivilised peasants? Could it be a fact that the Boer forces were far more numerous than had been imagined, and that in guns and ammunition they were so abundantly supplied that our cannon and the shells we fired were swamped and sometimes altogether outranged? Could these facts be true?” It was almost impossible to believe them. But for all that, unpalatable though the truth was, the reality of it all quickly dawned upon the country. The beginning of the war had found our millions resolved as one man to carry it through to a successful issue, and now, instead of weeping over past failures and the ill-luck which had attended their troops, they maintained a dignified silence and watched patiently to see what the Government would do.The latter instantly ordered out more troops and a supply of more powerful guns, and, in addition, they called upon the ready volunteers and the yeomanry for their aid. And with what result? There was a rush to obey the call to arms. Beneath the calm surface of a business life there lurked in the hearts of our young manhood a passionate desire for active fighting, to throw off the trammels of an office desk and take rifle in place of pen. Men flocked from every part of the country, and those whose age or infirmities prevented their joining in the movement cut asunder their purse strings and poured out their gold.The city of London, ever foremost in patriotic work, organised and equipped a force of 1400 men and sent them to the front by means of private subscription alone; and all over the country funds were provided to furnish sturdy yeomen for the war.Then, too, our colonies, not to be outdone, sent other contingents of men, and England, recognising the vastness of the task before her, despatched Lord Roberts of Kandahar—the famous and ever-popular “Bobs”—and Lord Kitchener of Khartoum, two of her finest generals, to the Cape to assume chief command and lighten the labours of General Buller, already sufficiently engaged in the struggle to relieve the invested town of Ladysmith.While the Imperial Volunteers and the Yeomanry are being equipped and hurried on board transports for Africa, accompanied by an ever-increasing number of big guns, let us once more return to the neighbourhood of the River Tugela and join the gallant and determined men under, the command of General Sir Redvers Buller.Foiled in their frontal attack, they were far from leaving the invested town of Ladysmith to its fate, and after long and carefully-thought-out preparations, the army once more advanced on the impregnable Boer positions. These stretched some ten miles along more or less continuous ridges on the northern side of the Tugela, and to turn the enemy out of their trenches a vast flanking movement was attempted. Preceded by a brigade of cavalry under Lord Dundonald, two-thirds of our force advanced against the Boer right flank, and captured and covered with their guns Potgieter’s Drift. A pontoon bridge was rapidly thrown across, and over this the advance was steadily made, the troops pushing forward stubbornly behind a cloud of cavalry, and having to fight almost every foot of the way.On January 20th the division under Sir Charles Warren, a general of great African experience, had reached and occupied the southern crests of a high table-land stretching to the western hills of Ladysmith, and on the 23rd this gallant force charged and took at the point of the bayonet a huge hill known as Spion Kop, the key of the Boer position.It was a daring feat, and was performed under cover of darkness with a dash and daring equal to that shown by our lads at the heights of Alma, when the Russian hordes were scattered and chased away as a disordered rabble.But ill-luck again attended our efforts. On our side the slope of Spion Kop was so steep that it was scarcely possible to scale it, while to hoist guns of large calibre to the top was an impossibility. On the summit our troops manned the Boer trenches, and for a whole day kept back the enemy, who again and again attacked it in great force. And all the time every gun that could bear from their other positions poured in a continuous hail of exploding shell, converting Spion Kop into a veritable inferno, in which no man could live for long. Without many batteries of powerful cannon the position was untenable, and after a heroic and stubborn resistance our brave soldiers withdrew slowly and in perfect order.Then the whole force retired on the Tugela, and while the majority returned to their camp at Chieveley, a division clung to the northern bank of the river at Potgieter’s Drift, and entrenched themselves, more than doubly determined to break through the Boer position and relieve their comrades in Ladysmith on a future occasion.On our aide, during more than a week of stubborn fighting, the losses in killed, wounded, and missing amounted to 1600, officers again forming a large proportion of the casualties, an illustration, if a sad one, of the glorious dash and courage shown in leading their men.Within little more than a week after leaving Natal, Jack Somerton and the staff-officer whom he had met on board the transport were seated in the trainen routefor Lord Methuen’s camp on the Modder River. It was a long and tedious run—now crawling along the iron track, and scaling steep acclivities which barred their onward progress, and round the sides of which the railway could be seen winding in and out, and later rattling down the other side till the veldt was reached; then on and on, over an endless, brownish waste of sand and barren earth, here and there relieved by a bright patch of vivid green, where the young spring grass had made its appearance.“Here is a note for you, Mr Somerton,” said the staff-officer as the train came in sight of the Modder camp. “Take it to the quartermaster who looks after the general staff, and he will give you a tent and bedding, and also obtain a good pony for you. When you have settled down come over to the general’s quarters. You know, Lord Roberts is here. He arrived last night, and sent special orders to me by telegram to introduce you to him. Goodbye for the present! I shall see you in an hour’s time.”Thanking him for his kindness, Jack made his way into the camp as soon as the train drew up at the rough platform that had been built, and after making enquiries, was shown where the quartermaster was to be found. Half an hour later his tent was pitched close behind those allotted to Lord Roberts’s staff.“You want a pony too, I see,” said the quartermaster. “Well, Mr Somerton, a number of them arrived only this morning, and are now being taken out of the train. I will speak to the officer in charge of remounts and transport animals, and if you will come back later on I have no doubt you will be able to choose your animal from amongst three or four hundred.”Accordingly Jack retraced his steps, and shortly afterwards walked across to the little farmhouse in which the celebrated general had taken up his quarters. When he emerged from the commander-in-chief’s sanctum an hour later, Jack was not only delighted with the kindness and urbanity of Lord Roberts, but had mastered all the particulars which he was to carry into Kimberley.Then he went across to the remount-camp and selected a likely-looking pony. That night he on-saddled, and without a word to anyone slipped out of the camp, taking care to avoid the notice of the British sentries. This was in accordance with the general’s wishes, which had been communicated to him only an hour before by his friend the staff-officer.“Look here, Somerton,” the latter had said, “the general has just sent me across to tell you that he wants you to get away from the camp without anyone knowing. There is never any saying whether or not spies are about I firmly believe they are everywhere; and the news you are to take into Kimberley is so important that it is absolutely necessary that no one should have an idea as to what are our intentions. Get away from this secretly. There—I will leave the rest to you. Do as well as you did while escaping from Ladysmith, and we shall have nothing to complain about.”It was still pitch dark, therefore, when Jack vaulted into his saddle and rode silently across the camp. Arrived at the outskirts, he turned to the left and kept steadily on, keeping carefully on the grass, which dulled the sound of his pony’s hoofs. Very shortly he was clear of the pickets, and turning once more to the left pushed forward for the beleaguered town of Kimberley. Soon a brilliant moon came up, and he carefully concealed himself amongst the rugged boulders of a kopje, and, raising his head, swept the country round with his glasses. There was no one in sight, so he mounted his pony again and cantered on at a rapid pace. Early the next morning he rode into Kimberley, having slipped through the circle of Boers with the greatest ease.He was immediately taken before Colonel Kekewich, the commander of the town, and delivered his message.“I was instructed by Lord Roberts,” he said, after saluting the colonel, “to tell you that, all being well, you may expect him to relieve you in a month’s time from this date. He also asks that you will be ready to act, as far as possible, in conjunction with his relieving force.”The news, meagre though it was, was eagerly listened to, and Jack had to answer many questions before he was permitted to leave. Outside the house he found Tom Salter, his old friend, waiting for him with a welcoming smile on his sunburnt face.“Ah, Jack!” he cried out with a merry laugh, “turned up again like a bad penny, have you? Well, I quite expected it, and my only wonder is that you haven’t been here before. You’ve so many friends to meet again, haven’t you, old boy? Why, I can assure you that I know several who are simply longing to see you, one especially, Eileen Russel, turned as white as a sheet, poor girl, when she heard the news. Ha, ha, it’s a shame to tease you now, but she’s a splendid girl is Eileen Russel!”Tom laughed heartily, and smacked Jack on the back, and then grasped his hand and shook it up and down like a pump-handle.“Then she is all right, Tom!” exclaimed our hero, with a sigh of relief, for ever since he had ridden north to Mafeking he had been wondering whether the brave English girl who had stood so staunchly by them in Frank Russel’s ruined farmstead had survived the trials of a siege which had lasted now so many weeks.“Tell me all about her and the others, Tom,” he proceeded eagerly. “I have been over in Ladysmith, and ever since I left Mafeking and was taken to Pretoria I have heard not a single word of you.”“Goodness, Jack! Pretoria and Ladysmith! whatever do you mean?” exclaimed Tom in astonishment. “You left us here to carry despatches to Baden-Powell—and precious sorry hearts you left behind you, my lad, I can tell you—and since then, as we heard nothing of you save that you had reached your destination, we quite believed that you had taken up your quarters with the plucky garrison in Mafeking and were helping them to keep out the Boers. And now you talk about Pretoria and Ladysmith! What does it all mean? Out with it, man!”“Oh, it’s a long yarn, Tom!” Jack laughed, “and I’ll give it to you this evening, but just now I should like to see the others.”“Of course you would, old boy!” exclaimed Tom. “Come along, and follow me closely, or else you will have a shower of millets flying around your head. Ah, here we are! Hop down into that trench. Now push on and take the third turn to the right. We are bound to take care of ourselves here, and as our streets are often swept by bullets, and a bursting shell is a common thing, we have dug these shelter trenches.”Dropping into a deep trench, Jack and his friend pushed along rapidly, halting once, however, and crouching low as a huge shell shrieked just overhead, and, striking a storehouse opposite, shivered it into a thousand fragments, scattering the ruins on every side.“That’s about the only thing our friends are any good at,” said Tom Salter with a growl. “They’ve sat outside this town for weeks and weeks, and all that time they’ve never given us a chance for a healthy fight. Bless you, they thought that the taking of Kimberley was a simple matter, and when they found that they had got men to deal with, they just sat down to starve us out, or worry us to death with their shells; but assault us, or make anything like a plucky effort to take us, they have never done. But here we are; hop up, old boy. Now, follow me along here to the chamber of horrors; that’s what we call our bomb-proof rooms. There it is; five steps down, and turn to the left.”Jack descended a flight of wooden steps, and, turning to the left, entered a low subterranean chamber, lighted by a spluttering candle stuck into the neck of a bottle standing upon a table in the centre. It was Tom Salter’s sanctum, in which he and three others lived and sheltered from the Boer shells, thousands of which had fallen into the beleaguered town since the commencement of the siege.“Now, put your traps down there and have a wash,” said Tom, indicating a bucket of water and a towel; “then I will take you along to Frank and his girl. Halloo! Come in!” he shouted, as a knock was heard just outside the chamber.The next moment Wilfred Hunter burst in, and rushed up to Jack. The two lads shook hands warmly.“Back again, Jack? I’m glad to see you, old chap!” Wilfred cried excitedly. “Why, what a whopping big fellow you’ve got; as broad as a house, and taller, I am sure. But come along, I must not forget my message. The Russels want to see you, and ordered me to bring you along immediately. Ah, you lucky dog! I’d give anything to be in your shoes, for she’s the best and sweetest girl that I or any other fellow ever set eyes on!”Jack blushed red with pleasure, and his chest swelled and his heart beat with pride and hope, for, young though he was, since he had met Eileen Russel his thoughts had dwelt continuously upon her. Had he been at home, perhaps it would have been ridiculous folly; but for months now he had been doing man’s work, and doing it well too,—work which required strength and pluck, and which moreover brought him at any hour of the day face to face with a sudden death. No wonder then that, sobered down from the usual impulsive rashness of a boy, our hero had thought seriously of Eileen. Many a time, as he lay in Pretoria suffering from his wound, had he wondered how she was, and whether she ever gave a thought to him. Sometimes he felt certain she did, and then at others the fear that it was some other—someone older and more of a man than he—turned his heart sick, and made the hopes which were now beginning to gain ground disappear in an instant. But they would return again, and as he had ridden towards Kimberley that day they had been surging through his heart, and he had determined to see Eileen, if she were yet alive, and ask the question for himself.As if in a dream he sluiced his head and hands with water, and tidied his hair before a small, angular piece of cracked glass, a process which he had scarcely troubled about for many weeks. Then he followed Wilfred and Tom out of the bomb chamber and along the trench towards the Russels’ quarters, feeling every yard he went more and more like a lamb going to the slaughter.Had he but known it, there was no reason for his fears. A minute later all three had dived down into another subterranean chamber, and before Jack had had time to notice that it was neatly carpeted, and provided with chairs, and a table upon which a clean white cloth and glasses were laid, there was a joyful shout, and Frank Russel had seized him by the hand, while Eileen, looking pale, but more beautiful than ever, had stepped towards him, hesitated, and then, with a radiant blush and a cry which was half-laugh, half-sob, had thrown herself into his arms, and had embraced him as if he were a long-lost brother.Jack was a bashful lad, and at any other time would have been covered with confusion. But now it was different. Eileen was truly glad to see him, and he returned her kisses with an impetuosity which surprised himself. A few seconds later he was himself again, and being eagerly questioned.“Tell us how it is you happened to come back to us,” said Frank Russel. “You said you would, but none of us believed it possible, save perhaps Eileen, who always declared that you would return before the end of the siege.”“Yes, Father, I felt sure that Jack would fulfil his promise,” Eileen cried.“There, my lad, you see what a reputation you have,” laughed Frank. “But get ahead with the yarn, and let us know what has happened to you since we parted.”Jack readily complied with the request, and then asked how the besiegers had fared.“Ah! it was all very well at first,” Tom Salter exclaimed, “but these last few weeks our trials have been awful. Water has not been too good, though there’s been plenty of it. But grub’s the thing that has been wanting. We’ve been on short rations for a long while, and if that relief-column does not turn up pretty soon there will be none of us left. We are eating horse and mule now. Vegetables are practically exhausted, and what with that, the impure water, the heat, and living here below-ground, death and disease have been very busy amongst us. The women and the children—poor little souls!—have suffered terribly, and the little ones have died like flies. But mark my words, Jack; we’re far from giving in. There’s not a man of us who would listen to surrender, and if we did, the women-folk would soon make us ashamed of ourselves. No. This town’s kept out the Boers for a goodish time. They haven’t the pluck to take us, and we haven’t the numbers or the strength to beat them off. Starvation and disease are our biggest enemies, and we’re going to face them. Seems to me that we’re like Ladysmith; we’re in a precious tight fix. But we’ll get out of it, both of us, and I don’t mind betting a pipe of baccy—which, considering we’ve scarcely an ounce left, is a biggish bet—that B.-P. will stick to Mafeking too till that town is relieved. But, to return to you, my lad. You have indeed seen as much of this terrible war as anyone, and, as your old friend, I am proud of you. Now tell us what you intend doing with yourself. If you decide to stay here, I need not say how glad we shall all be.”“Thanks, Tom,” Jack answered, “but I leave Kimberley to-morrow for Mafeking. Perhaps by the time I return you will have been relieved, but if not, you may be sure shall join you with the relieving force.”Jack had indeed much work before him. He had been entrusted with a message to the garrison of Kimberley, telling them that the British forces lying on the banks of the Modder river would advance to their aid in one month’s time, and meanwhile, having delivered the message, he was to push north to Colonel Baden-Powell, and inform him that, once Kimberley was free, a strong column would march to the help of gallant Mafeking. The news of coming relief, distant though it might be, would be of the greatest service. It would help to hearten a garrison still far from dispirited, and above all it would show them how much longer they would be compelled to rely upon themselves, and therefore induce them to husband their scanty provisions and ammunition.On the following day Jack was taken to a sand-bag fort, and shown with much pride a long cannon manufactured in the besieged town. It was the work of the engineers of the great De Beers Company, and it had filled a most important post, for its range being very great, it was able to successfully dominate and keep down the fire of the big Creuzot guns which had for so long been throwing shell into the town. As Jack was taken up to it a Kimberley-made shell, bearing the inscription “With Cecil Rhodes’s compliments” was placed in the breech and backed by a charge of explosive. The gun was carefully sighted, there was a thunderous roar, and a minute later a flash, a leaping column of smoke and dust, and a faint answering report told that the missile had done its allotted work inside the sangar which protected the Boer gun. That evening, after a scanty meal consisting of horse-soup, known as “chevral”, and a piece of beef suspiciously unlike that usually provided, Jack bade his friends good-bye.“We’ll go along and look after your pony,” said Tom Salter, with a knowing wink, a few minutes before his departure. “Come along, Frank, and you too, Wilfred, while Jack picks up his traps and settles himself. Now bustle up, boys, or else we shall find that someone has got hold of his mount, and perhaps has started already turning him into sausages.”All at once sprang to their feet and left the underground chamber, Frank Russel turning round just as he was stepping out, and smiling kindly at Jack and at Eileen. Then with “So long, my lad, I’ll see you later,” he ran up the steps and disappeared from sight.It was an awkward moment. Standing close to the table, with one hand grasping the back of a chair, was Eileen Russel, her beautiful face lit up by the lamp, and clearly showing the pain which this parting would give her. Close to the door was Jack. Sturdy, handsome, and stalwart, dressed in riding-breeches and gaiters, a khaki jacket, and a wide-brimmed hat, and with his upper lip adorned by a thin line of fair hair, which looked almost white when contrasted with his sunburnt face, he was a young man whom any of the gentle sex might have looked upon with pleasure. But when one knew that behind those smiling eyes there lurked a determined will, and that beneath that coat beat a heart as kindly and as brave as any man possessed, it should not seem wonderful that Eileen had long ago fallen in love with him. He was no namby-pamby lad, given to soft manners and flattery, but a brusque young fellow, kind, considerate, but undoubtedly shy, and a man, moreover, who had already made a good name for himself for bravery. She herself had witnessed his courage. It was he who had rescued her from the Boer ruffians in her father’s house, and from that day Jack had been her hero. And now he was to go, to leave her and run still further risks. It was hard indeed, and her lips trembled at the thought.“Good-bye, Jack!” she said, tearfully, holding out her hand, but not trusting herself to look at him. “Good-bye, and do take care of yourself!”Jack walked across to her, and, taking her hand in his, Pressed it gently and said to her, “Eileen, look at me. You ask me to take care of myself. Why should I do so? Who would care if anything did happen to me? My mother and brother might, and Wilfred and Tom Salter would, I am sure. But who else? Tell me, Eileen dear, that you would care. Tell me that you love me now as I love you, and have done ever since we first met, and I promise you I will guard my life for your sake alone.”“Ah, Jack, you know how I love you without asking me!” whispered Eileen, looking now directly into his face, and smiling so sweetly at him that all his fears left him in an instant, and he forgot everything but the fact that Eileen was there and that he loved her and she him.It was the happiest moment of their lives, and when Jack at last kissed her and strode from the room he and Eileen were engaged to pass through life together if it pleased God to spare them during the remainder of the war.Walking along the trench, Jack turned sharp to the left, and half-way to the point at which his friends were to wait for him, met Frank Russel, leaning against the wall of earth, and thoughtfully staring at the sky.“Got it over, lad?” the former asked kindly.“Yes, Frank, I’ve said good-bye to Eileen,” Jack answered, “and before we join the others I want to tell you something. Perhaps I ought to have spoken to you before, but the fact that I have had so little time must be my excuse. With your consent Eileen and I will be married some day.”“Lad, give me your hand!” exclaimed Frank Russel enthusiastically. “God bless you, old boy, and I trust that you’ll live to see the end of this awful war! I can tell you, Jack, that there’s no other man I know whom I’d rather have as a son-in-law. You’re young, but that will alter fast enough, and the girl is a good one. She’s been a devoted daughter to me, as you well know, and if she’s only half as good to her husband when she’s married, then he’ll have no cause to complain. Shake hands on it again. Now let us get along.”When the news of Jack’s engagement was communicated to Tom Salter and Wilfred they congratulated him heartily. Then his pony was led out, and after a cordial farewell he mounted and left the town. It was a pitch-dark night, and luck was again in his favour, so that he escaped the notice of the Boer pickets, and when day dawned was well away from Kimberley.It was a long and lonely ride to Mafeking, but to Jack the time passed pleasantly, and the road seemed short, for all the way his thoughts were occupied with the happy prospects in front of him when the war was over. He would wait two years perhaps, and then he and Eileen would be married and live in Africa till he reached the age of twenty-five. His allowance under his father’s will, and the sum he could earn at the mines, or at Mr Hunter’s store in Johannesburg, if that still existed, when added to it would be amply sufficient to keep them in comfort. Then they would return to old England, and Eileen would become the mistress of Frampton Grange.Jack built many castles in the air, and might have erected many more had not a party of mounted Boers caught sight of him and given chase. But our hero was now well able to take care of himself, and he quickly eluded his pursuers. Then he pushed forward, and in two days’ time arrived at Mafeking.There was a great change in the town. Scanty rations and absence of all luxuries had produced their results. Constant fighting and the explosion of shell on every hand had wrought sad havoc with the gallant little garrison. Wan of face, pinched and haggard, out more determined than ever, they still manned their posts, and B.-P., smiling still in spite of a load of responsibility, still made his rounds and cheered his men.And outside, the Boers fired their guns, throwing shell everywhere, not even sparing the hospital and women’s laager, in which many women and children had already fallen victims. Protests had proved unavailing, and now the children and their mothers lived elsewhere, while all the Boer prisoners filled the hospital and laager, and ran the risk of being slaughtered by their friends outside.Jack stayed only long enough to deliver his message and obtain some sleep. Then, loaded with despatches, he slipped from the town once more and cantered south,en routefor Lord Roberts’s camp.

When Jack came on deck upon the following morning, after leaving the port of Durban, it was to discover that the transport on which he had obtained a passage was conveying a most important personage—one of the chief officers on the staff of the commander-in-chief in Africa. Like Jack, this staff-officer had recently journeyed from General Sir Redvers Buller’s camp, and though he was a stranger to our hero, yet, to Jack’s surprise, no sooner did he catch sight of him than he stepped briskly towards him, and with outstretched hand addressed him in the most affable tones.

“Ah, Mr Somerton,” he commenced, giving Jack’s hand a hearty shake, and smiling at his evident astonishment, “this is a pleasure! I knew, of course, that you were leaving Chieveley for Lord Roberts’s force, but did not imagine that we should make the sea-trip together. As it is, it will save me the trouble of finding you at the other end. You must know, my young friend, that you have made quite a reputation for yourself as a colonial despatch-carrier and scout, and I have been instructed to make use of your services if you feel so disposed. Are you ready to do something more for us? Of course, we have all heard how you and young Poynter got through from Ladysmith, and I may tell you that it is a service of a similar nature for which we want you now.”

“Certainly, sir,” Jack answered with a flush. “I am prepared to undertake anything in the nature of despatch-carrying or scouting that may be given me, and if Kimberley is the destination for the messages so much the better, for I have friends in there whom I am anxious to meet again.”

“Then, my lad, this is the very job to suit you!” the staff-officer exclaimed. “Shortly put, the service which you are asked to undertake is this—ride to Kimberley and carry a letter and verbal instructions to its commanding officer, and afterwards return to us. There is a big and most important movement afoot. But I will tell you about it later, when we arrive at the Modder River. It is a great satisfaction to hear that we may rely upon you.”

“It’s just the thing I should like,” Jack remarked eagerly. Then, seeing that his new acquaintance did not care, for some reason, to discuss the matter further at that moment, he changed the conversation. Soon they descended to the saloon for breakfast, and from that day until they reached the Modder River below Kimberley they were constantly together.

While they are being swiftly conveyed along the South African coast we will leave them laughing and chatting, and return for a few moments to Old England to view matters there.

At first the news of the reverses at Magersfontein, Stormberg, and Colenso found her like one in a dream. “Was it true,” she asked herself, “that her brave and hitherto invincible troops had been thus hardly dealt with by a horde of men who were little more than uncivilised peasants? Could it be a fact that the Boer forces were far more numerous than had been imagined, and that in guns and ammunition they were so abundantly supplied that our cannon and the shells we fired were swamped and sometimes altogether outranged? Could these facts be true?” It was almost impossible to believe them. But for all that, unpalatable though the truth was, the reality of it all quickly dawned upon the country. The beginning of the war had found our millions resolved as one man to carry it through to a successful issue, and now, instead of weeping over past failures and the ill-luck which had attended their troops, they maintained a dignified silence and watched patiently to see what the Government would do.

The latter instantly ordered out more troops and a supply of more powerful guns, and, in addition, they called upon the ready volunteers and the yeomanry for their aid. And with what result? There was a rush to obey the call to arms. Beneath the calm surface of a business life there lurked in the hearts of our young manhood a passionate desire for active fighting, to throw off the trammels of an office desk and take rifle in place of pen. Men flocked from every part of the country, and those whose age or infirmities prevented their joining in the movement cut asunder their purse strings and poured out their gold.

The city of London, ever foremost in patriotic work, organised and equipped a force of 1400 men and sent them to the front by means of private subscription alone; and all over the country funds were provided to furnish sturdy yeomen for the war.

Then, too, our colonies, not to be outdone, sent other contingents of men, and England, recognising the vastness of the task before her, despatched Lord Roberts of Kandahar—the famous and ever-popular “Bobs”—and Lord Kitchener of Khartoum, two of her finest generals, to the Cape to assume chief command and lighten the labours of General Buller, already sufficiently engaged in the struggle to relieve the invested town of Ladysmith.

While the Imperial Volunteers and the Yeomanry are being equipped and hurried on board transports for Africa, accompanied by an ever-increasing number of big guns, let us once more return to the neighbourhood of the River Tugela and join the gallant and determined men under, the command of General Sir Redvers Buller.

Foiled in their frontal attack, they were far from leaving the invested town of Ladysmith to its fate, and after long and carefully-thought-out preparations, the army once more advanced on the impregnable Boer positions. These stretched some ten miles along more or less continuous ridges on the northern side of the Tugela, and to turn the enemy out of their trenches a vast flanking movement was attempted. Preceded by a brigade of cavalry under Lord Dundonald, two-thirds of our force advanced against the Boer right flank, and captured and covered with their guns Potgieter’s Drift. A pontoon bridge was rapidly thrown across, and over this the advance was steadily made, the troops pushing forward stubbornly behind a cloud of cavalry, and having to fight almost every foot of the way.

On January 20th the division under Sir Charles Warren, a general of great African experience, had reached and occupied the southern crests of a high table-land stretching to the western hills of Ladysmith, and on the 23rd this gallant force charged and took at the point of the bayonet a huge hill known as Spion Kop, the key of the Boer position.

It was a daring feat, and was performed under cover of darkness with a dash and daring equal to that shown by our lads at the heights of Alma, when the Russian hordes were scattered and chased away as a disordered rabble.

But ill-luck again attended our efforts. On our side the slope of Spion Kop was so steep that it was scarcely possible to scale it, while to hoist guns of large calibre to the top was an impossibility. On the summit our troops manned the Boer trenches, and for a whole day kept back the enemy, who again and again attacked it in great force. And all the time every gun that could bear from their other positions poured in a continuous hail of exploding shell, converting Spion Kop into a veritable inferno, in which no man could live for long. Without many batteries of powerful cannon the position was untenable, and after a heroic and stubborn resistance our brave soldiers withdrew slowly and in perfect order.

Then the whole force retired on the Tugela, and while the majority returned to their camp at Chieveley, a division clung to the northern bank of the river at Potgieter’s Drift, and entrenched themselves, more than doubly determined to break through the Boer position and relieve their comrades in Ladysmith on a future occasion.

On our aide, during more than a week of stubborn fighting, the losses in killed, wounded, and missing amounted to 1600, officers again forming a large proportion of the casualties, an illustration, if a sad one, of the glorious dash and courage shown in leading their men.

Within little more than a week after leaving Natal, Jack Somerton and the staff-officer whom he had met on board the transport were seated in the trainen routefor Lord Methuen’s camp on the Modder River. It was a long and tedious run—now crawling along the iron track, and scaling steep acclivities which barred their onward progress, and round the sides of which the railway could be seen winding in and out, and later rattling down the other side till the veldt was reached; then on and on, over an endless, brownish waste of sand and barren earth, here and there relieved by a bright patch of vivid green, where the young spring grass had made its appearance.

“Here is a note for you, Mr Somerton,” said the staff-officer as the train came in sight of the Modder camp. “Take it to the quartermaster who looks after the general staff, and he will give you a tent and bedding, and also obtain a good pony for you. When you have settled down come over to the general’s quarters. You know, Lord Roberts is here. He arrived last night, and sent special orders to me by telegram to introduce you to him. Goodbye for the present! I shall see you in an hour’s time.”

Thanking him for his kindness, Jack made his way into the camp as soon as the train drew up at the rough platform that had been built, and after making enquiries, was shown where the quartermaster was to be found. Half an hour later his tent was pitched close behind those allotted to Lord Roberts’s staff.

“You want a pony too, I see,” said the quartermaster. “Well, Mr Somerton, a number of them arrived only this morning, and are now being taken out of the train. I will speak to the officer in charge of remounts and transport animals, and if you will come back later on I have no doubt you will be able to choose your animal from amongst three or four hundred.”

Accordingly Jack retraced his steps, and shortly afterwards walked across to the little farmhouse in which the celebrated general had taken up his quarters. When he emerged from the commander-in-chief’s sanctum an hour later, Jack was not only delighted with the kindness and urbanity of Lord Roberts, but had mastered all the particulars which he was to carry into Kimberley.

Then he went across to the remount-camp and selected a likely-looking pony. That night he on-saddled, and without a word to anyone slipped out of the camp, taking care to avoid the notice of the British sentries. This was in accordance with the general’s wishes, which had been communicated to him only an hour before by his friend the staff-officer.

“Look here, Somerton,” the latter had said, “the general has just sent me across to tell you that he wants you to get away from the camp without anyone knowing. There is never any saying whether or not spies are about I firmly believe they are everywhere; and the news you are to take into Kimberley is so important that it is absolutely necessary that no one should have an idea as to what are our intentions. Get away from this secretly. There—I will leave the rest to you. Do as well as you did while escaping from Ladysmith, and we shall have nothing to complain about.”

It was still pitch dark, therefore, when Jack vaulted into his saddle and rode silently across the camp. Arrived at the outskirts, he turned to the left and kept steadily on, keeping carefully on the grass, which dulled the sound of his pony’s hoofs. Very shortly he was clear of the pickets, and turning once more to the left pushed forward for the beleaguered town of Kimberley. Soon a brilliant moon came up, and he carefully concealed himself amongst the rugged boulders of a kopje, and, raising his head, swept the country round with his glasses. There was no one in sight, so he mounted his pony again and cantered on at a rapid pace. Early the next morning he rode into Kimberley, having slipped through the circle of Boers with the greatest ease.

He was immediately taken before Colonel Kekewich, the commander of the town, and delivered his message.

“I was instructed by Lord Roberts,” he said, after saluting the colonel, “to tell you that, all being well, you may expect him to relieve you in a month’s time from this date. He also asks that you will be ready to act, as far as possible, in conjunction with his relieving force.”

The news, meagre though it was, was eagerly listened to, and Jack had to answer many questions before he was permitted to leave. Outside the house he found Tom Salter, his old friend, waiting for him with a welcoming smile on his sunburnt face.

“Ah, Jack!” he cried out with a merry laugh, “turned up again like a bad penny, have you? Well, I quite expected it, and my only wonder is that you haven’t been here before. You’ve so many friends to meet again, haven’t you, old boy? Why, I can assure you that I know several who are simply longing to see you, one especially, Eileen Russel, turned as white as a sheet, poor girl, when she heard the news. Ha, ha, it’s a shame to tease you now, but she’s a splendid girl is Eileen Russel!”

Tom laughed heartily, and smacked Jack on the back, and then grasped his hand and shook it up and down like a pump-handle.

“Then she is all right, Tom!” exclaimed our hero, with a sigh of relief, for ever since he had ridden north to Mafeking he had been wondering whether the brave English girl who had stood so staunchly by them in Frank Russel’s ruined farmstead had survived the trials of a siege which had lasted now so many weeks.

“Tell me all about her and the others, Tom,” he proceeded eagerly. “I have been over in Ladysmith, and ever since I left Mafeking and was taken to Pretoria I have heard not a single word of you.”

“Goodness, Jack! Pretoria and Ladysmith! whatever do you mean?” exclaimed Tom in astonishment. “You left us here to carry despatches to Baden-Powell—and precious sorry hearts you left behind you, my lad, I can tell you—and since then, as we heard nothing of you save that you had reached your destination, we quite believed that you had taken up your quarters with the plucky garrison in Mafeking and were helping them to keep out the Boers. And now you talk about Pretoria and Ladysmith! What does it all mean? Out with it, man!”

“Oh, it’s a long yarn, Tom!” Jack laughed, “and I’ll give it to you this evening, but just now I should like to see the others.”

“Of course you would, old boy!” exclaimed Tom. “Come along, and follow me closely, or else you will have a shower of millets flying around your head. Ah, here we are! Hop down into that trench. Now push on and take the third turn to the right. We are bound to take care of ourselves here, and as our streets are often swept by bullets, and a bursting shell is a common thing, we have dug these shelter trenches.”

Dropping into a deep trench, Jack and his friend pushed along rapidly, halting once, however, and crouching low as a huge shell shrieked just overhead, and, striking a storehouse opposite, shivered it into a thousand fragments, scattering the ruins on every side.

“That’s about the only thing our friends are any good at,” said Tom Salter with a growl. “They’ve sat outside this town for weeks and weeks, and all that time they’ve never given us a chance for a healthy fight. Bless you, they thought that the taking of Kimberley was a simple matter, and when they found that they had got men to deal with, they just sat down to starve us out, or worry us to death with their shells; but assault us, or make anything like a plucky effort to take us, they have never done. But here we are; hop up, old boy. Now, follow me along here to the chamber of horrors; that’s what we call our bomb-proof rooms. There it is; five steps down, and turn to the left.”

Jack descended a flight of wooden steps, and, turning to the left, entered a low subterranean chamber, lighted by a spluttering candle stuck into the neck of a bottle standing upon a table in the centre. It was Tom Salter’s sanctum, in which he and three others lived and sheltered from the Boer shells, thousands of which had fallen into the beleaguered town since the commencement of the siege.

“Now, put your traps down there and have a wash,” said Tom, indicating a bucket of water and a towel; “then I will take you along to Frank and his girl. Halloo! Come in!” he shouted, as a knock was heard just outside the chamber.

The next moment Wilfred Hunter burst in, and rushed up to Jack. The two lads shook hands warmly.

“Back again, Jack? I’m glad to see you, old chap!” Wilfred cried excitedly. “Why, what a whopping big fellow you’ve got; as broad as a house, and taller, I am sure. But come along, I must not forget my message. The Russels want to see you, and ordered me to bring you along immediately. Ah, you lucky dog! I’d give anything to be in your shoes, for she’s the best and sweetest girl that I or any other fellow ever set eyes on!”

Jack blushed red with pleasure, and his chest swelled and his heart beat with pride and hope, for, young though he was, since he had met Eileen Russel his thoughts had dwelt continuously upon her. Had he been at home, perhaps it would have been ridiculous folly; but for months now he had been doing man’s work, and doing it well too,—work which required strength and pluck, and which moreover brought him at any hour of the day face to face with a sudden death. No wonder then that, sobered down from the usual impulsive rashness of a boy, our hero had thought seriously of Eileen. Many a time, as he lay in Pretoria suffering from his wound, had he wondered how she was, and whether she ever gave a thought to him. Sometimes he felt certain she did, and then at others the fear that it was some other—someone older and more of a man than he—turned his heart sick, and made the hopes which were now beginning to gain ground disappear in an instant. But they would return again, and as he had ridden towards Kimberley that day they had been surging through his heart, and he had determined to see Eileen, if she were yet alive, and ask the question for himself.

As if in a dream he sluiced his head and hands with water, and tidied his hair before a small, angular piece of cracked glass, a process which he had scarcely troubled about for many weeks. Then he followed Wilfred and Tom out of the bomb chamber and along the trench towards the Russels’ quarters, feeling every yard he went more and more like a lamb going to the slaughter.

Had he but known it, there was no reason for his fears. A minute later all three had dived down into another subterranean chamber, and before Jack had had time to notice that it was neatly carpeted, and provided with chairs, and a table upon which a clean white cloth and glasses were laid, there was a joyful shout, and Frank Russel had seized him by the hand, while Eileen, looking pale, but more beautiful than ever, had stepped towards him, hesitated, and then, with a radiant blush and a cry which was half-laugh, half-sob, had thrown herself into his arms, and had embraced him as if he were a long-lost brother.

Jack was a bashful lad, and at any other time would have been covered with confusion. But now it was different. Eileen was truly glad to see him, and he returned her kisses with an impetuosity which surprised himself. A few seconds later he was himself again, and being eagerly questioned.

“Tell us how it is you happened to come back to us,” said Frank Russel. “You said you would, but none of us believed it possible, save perhaps Eileen, who always declared that you would return before the end of the siege.”

“Yes, Father, I felt sure that Jack would fulfil his promise,” Eileen cried.

“There, my lad, you see what a reputation you have,” laughed Frank. “But get ahead with the yarn, and let us know what has happened to you since we parted.”

Jack readily complied with the request, and then asked how the besiegers had fared.

“Ah! it was all very well at first,” Tom Salter exclaimed, “but these last few weeks our trials have been awful. Water has not been too good, though there’s been plenty of it. But grub’s the thing that has been wanting. We’ve been on short rations for a long while, and if that relief-column does not turn up pretty soon there will be none of us left. We are eating horse and mule now. Vegetables are practically exhausted, and what with that, the impure water, the heat, and living here below-ground, death and disease have been very busy amongst us. The women and the children—poor little souls!—have suffered terribly, and the little ones have died like flies. But mark my words, Jack; we’re far from giving in. There’s not a man of us who would listen to surrender, and if we did, the women-folk would soon make us ashamed of ourselves. No. This town’s kept out the Boers for a goodish time. They haven’t the pluck to take us, and we haven’t the numbers or the strength to beat them off. Starvation and disease are our biggest enemies, and we’re going to face them. Seems to me that we’re like Ladysmith; we’re in a precious tight fix. But we’ll get out of it, both of us, and I don’t mind betting a pipe of baccy—which, considering we’ve scarcely an ounce left, is a biggish bet—that B.-P. will stick to Mafeking too till that town is relieved. But, to return to you, my lad. You have indeed seen as much of this terrible war as anyone, and, as your old friend, I am proud of you. Now tell us what you intend doing with yourself. If you decide to stay here, I need not say how glad we shall all be.”

“Thanks, Tom,” Jack answered, “but I leave Kimberley to-morrow for Mafeking. Perhaps by the time I return you will have been relieved, but if not, you may be sure shall join you with the relieving force.”

Jack had indeed much work before him. He had been entrusted with a message to the garrison of Kimberley, telling them that the British forces lying on the banks of the Modder river would advance to their aid in one month’s time, and meanwhile, having delivered the message, he was to push north to Colonel Baden-Powell, and inform him that, once Kimberley was free, a strong column would march to the help of gallant Mafeking. The news of coming relief, distant though it might be, would be of the greatest service. It would help to hearten a garrison still far from dispirited, and above all it would show them how much longer they would be compelled to rely upon themselves, and therefore induce them to husband their scanty provisions and ammunition.

On the following day Jack was taken to a sand-bag fort, and shown with much pride a long cannon manufactured in the besieged town. It was the work of the engineers of the great De Beers Company, and it had filled a most important post, for its range being very great, it was able to successfully dominate and keep down the fire of the big Creuzot guns which had for so long been throwing shell into the town. As Jack was taken up to it a Kimberley-made shell, bearing the inscription “With Cecil Rhodes’s compliments” was placed in the breech and backed by a charge of explosive. The gun was carefully sighted, there was a thunderous roar, and a minute later a flash, a leaping column of smoke and dust, and a faint answering report told that the missile had done its allotted work inside the sangar which protected the Boer gun. That evening, after a scanty meal consisting of horse-soup, known as “chevral”, and a piece of beef suspiciously unlike that usually provided, Jack bade his friends good-bye.

“We’ll go along and look after your pony,” said Tom Salter, with a knowing wink, a few minutes before his departure. “Come along, Frank, and you too, Wilfred, while Jack picks up his traps and settles himself. Now bustle up, boys, or else we shall find that someone has got hold of his mount, and perhaps has started already turning him into sausages.”

All at once sprang to their feet and left the underground chamber, Frank Russel turning round just as he was stepping out, and smiling kindly at Jack and at Eileen. Then with “So long, my lad, I’ll see you later,” he ran up the steps and disappeared from sight.

It was an awkward moment. Standing close to the table, with one hand grasping the back of a chair, was Eileen Russel, her beautiful face lit up by the lamp, and clearly showing the pain which this parting would give her. Close to the door was Jack. Sturdy, handsome, and stalwart, dressed in riding-breeches and gaiters, a khaki jacket, and a wide-brimmed hat, and with his upper lip adorned by a thin line of fair hair, which looked almost white when contrasted with his sunburnt face, he was a young man whom any of the gentle sex might have looked upon with pleasure. But when one knew that behind those smiling eyes there lurked a determined will, and that beneath that coat beat a heart as kindly and as brave as any man possessed, it should not seem wonderful that Eileen had long ago fallen in love with him. He was no namby-pamby lad, given to soft manners and flattery, but a brusque young fellow, kind, considerate, but undoubtedly shy, and a man, moreover, who had already made a good name for himself for bravery. She herself had witnessed his courage. It was he who had rescued her from the Boer ruffians in her father’s house, and from that day Jack had been her hero. And now he was to go, to leave her and run still further risks. It was hard indeed, and her lips trembled at the thought.

“Good-bye, Jack!” she said, tearfully, holding out her hand, but not trusting herself to look at him. “Good-bye, and do take care of yourself!”

Jack walked across to her, and, taking her hand in his, Pressed it gently and said to her, “Eileen, look at me. You ask me to take care of myself. Why should I do so? Who would care if anything did happen to me? My mother and brother might, and Wilfred and Tom Salter would, I am sure. But who else? Tell me, Eileen dear, that you would care. Tell me that you love me now as I love you, and have done ever since we first met, and I promise you I will guard my life for your sake alone.”

“Ah, Jack, you know how I love you without asking me!” whispered Eileen, looking now directly into his face, and smiling so sweetly at him that all his fears left him in an instant, and he forgot everything but the fact that Eileen was there and that he loved her and she him.

It was the happiest moment of their lives, and when Jack at last kissed her and strode from the room he and Eileen were engaged to pass through life together if it pleased God to spare them during the remainder of the war.

Walking along the trench, Jack turned sharp to the left, and half-way to the point at which his friends were to wait for him, met Frank Russel, leaning against the wall of earth, and thoughtfully staring at the sky.

“Got it over, lad?” the former asked kindly.

“Yes, Frank, I’ve said good-bye to Eileen,” Jack answered, “and before we join the others I want to tell you something. Perhaps I ought to have spoken to you before, but the fact that I have had so little time must be my excuse. With your consent Eileen and I will be married some day.”

“Lad, give me your hand!” exclaimed Frank Russel enthusiastically. “God bless you, old boy, and I trust that you’ll live to see the end of this awful war! I can tell you, Jack, that there’s no other man I know whom I’d rather have as a son-in-law. You’re young, but that will alter fast enough, and the girl is a good one. She’s been a devoted daughter to me, as you well know, and if she’s only half as good to her husband when she’s married, then he’ll have no cause to complain. Shake hands on it again. Now let us get along.”

When the news of Jack’s engagement was communicated to Tom Salter and Wilfred they congratulated him heartily. Then his pony was led out, and after a cordial farewell he mounted and left the town. It was a pitch-dark night, and luck was again in his favour, so that he escaped the notice of the Boer pickets, and when day dawned was well away from Kimberley.

It was a long and lonely ride to Mafeking, but to Jack the time passed pleasantly, and the road seemed short, for all the way his thoughts were occupied with the happy prospects in front of him when the war was over. He would wait two years perhaps, and then he and Eileen would be married and live in Africa till he reached the age of twenty-five. His allowance under his father’s will, and the sum he could earn at the mines, or at Mr Hunter’s store in Johannesburg, if that still existed, when added to it would be amply sufficient to keep them in comfort. Then they would return to old England, and Eileen would become the mistress of Frampton Grange.

Jack built many castles in the air, and might have erected many more had not a party of mounted Boers caught sight of him and given chase. But our hero was now well able to take care of himself, and he quickly eluded his pursuers. Then he pushed forward, and in two days’ time arrived at Mafeking.

There was a great change in the town. Scanty rations and absence of all luxuries had produced their results. Constant fighting and the explosion of shell on every hand had wrought sad havoc with the gallant little garrison. Wan of face, pinched and haggard, out more determined than ever, they still manned their posts, and B.-P., smiling still in spite of a load of responsibility, still made his rounds and cheered his men.

And outside, the Boers fired their guns, throwing shell everywhere, not even sparing the hospital and women’s laager, in which many women and children had already fallen victims. Protests had proved unavailing, and now the children and their mothers lived elsewhere, while all the Boer prisoners filled the hospital and laager, and ran the risk of being slaughtered by their friends outside.

Jack stayed only long enough to deliver his message and obtain some sleep. Then, loaded with despatches, he slipped from the town once more and cantered south,en routefor Lord Roberts’s camp.

Chapter Twenty.The Road to Victory.The month of January was just drawing to a close when Jack on-saddled in the market square of Mafeking, now almost battered out of all recognition by the tremendous and continuous shell fire to which it had been so long subjected, and, vaulting into his seat, settled his rifle across his shoulders, strapped on the water-sack which dangled on one aide, carrying a supply sufficient to last until he reached the Modder River, and, picking up the reins, trotted across the open space.Quite a crowd had collected to see him off and wave him an adieu, and many a message was entrusted to him, and many a “So long, Jack, old horse!” followed him. Soon he was at the outskirts, where he passed the pickets, and pushed on, searching the ground in every direction with eyes which were now as sharp as a hawk’s. Once he almost stumbled on a Boer advanced picket lying on a small kopje, but a crouching figure and a big hat dimly silhouetted against the star-lit sky warned him, and in an instant he and his pony were lying prone upon the veldt.“Wie gaat daar?” came in hoarse tones across to him, but he lay like a log, without answering; nor did he take any notice when a rifle flashed and a bullet buzzed some yards above him.“I’ll lie where I am,” he thought. “They did not catch sight of me, but probably heard some suspicious sound. I’ll give them half an hour to clear away, and if they are not gone by then I’ll make a bolt for it.”But there was no necessity for this, for suddenly the long naval smooth-bore gun now used in Mafeking belched out its home-made shell, and the picket lying in front of him rose to their feet and looked back at their own camp, where, a moment later, a dull, muttering roar and a brilliant spurt of flame showed that the missile had exploded.In an instant Jack was on his pony again, and, turning slightly to the left, galloped away at his fastest pace. All that night he kept on steadily, and at daybreak hid up in a patch of mimosa bush.By the following morning he was nearing the Modder River, and was on the point of concealing himself again when he caught sight of a figure some three hundred yards in front of him.In a moment his pony was lying on the ground, and Jack was crawling, rifle in hand, towards the stranger.“I could pick him off from here,” he thought, lying flat upon his stomach and taking a steady aim at the man’s head, “but he doesn’t seem to have noticed me, and I hate the idea of shooting a poor fellow without giving him a chance of making a fight for it. Besides, for all I know he may be an Englishman. Perhaps it is Riley. He left Mafeking with despatches a week before I got there, but he was new to the game, and might easily have come to grief. But otherwise he ought to have reached our camp long before this.”Jack lowered his rifle, and, removing his hat from his head, looked long and carefully at the stranger through his glasses. To all appearance he might be either a Boer or an Englishman, for he wore a ragged sombrero on his head and a tattered shirt on his back. His face was turned in the opposite direction from Jack, and every now and again he raised himself upon his elbow and looked out across the veldt. Then, as if with considerable effort, he dragged himself a few paces forward and looked out again.“I believe that fellow is wounded,” murmured Jack. “At any rate I’ll get closer to him, and keep my gun ready in case of emergencies.”Crawling stealthily forward, he made a slight détour, and soon approached the stranger within fifty yards. At this distance his appearance was certainly in favour of his being English, and taking up a position behind a screen of leaves, Jack called out: “Hallo, there!”Instantly the stranger turned his head, and stared about him in bewilderment. Then he answered, in a tremulous voice: “Hullo! Help me for God’s sake!”There was now no doubt that he was a comrade in distress, and, jumping to his feet, Jack ran across towards him, only to find that the poor fellow had fainted. Placing him on his back, Jack sprinkled some water on his face, and soon had the satisfaction of bringing him round.“Who are you, old chap?” he asked.“I’m Riley, from Mafeking,” the injured man answered.“I was on my way to Lord Roberts, and reached here four days ago. I’d have got through safe enough if I hadn’t had the bad luck to be bitten by a snake. There is the beast over there. I put my blanket down and left it, to take the pony down to that stream behind the kopje, and on returning and seating myself at the end of the blanket, the brute suddenly sat up on his tail in front of me and struck before I could get away. You can see he hit my gaiter, scratched all down it, and then just managed to get to my skin through the canvas shoe I was wearing, owing to my boots having given out.”Jack at once inspected the leg, and noticed that the gaiter, which was only half unfastened, was scratched from top to bottom as if with a sharp nail.“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “That was three days ago, and you are alive now to tell me the tale! Then you are a lucky man, for that beast is a puff-adder, a most deadly snake! But for your gaiters you would certainly have died within two hours, and as it is, I don’t know how you escaped. What did you do?”“I can scarcely tell you,” Riley answered weakly. “When I saw the beast and knew that I was bitten I was terrified, and could not collect my thoughts. Then I tried to remember what others had done under similar circumstances. I recollected that a knife and gunpowder were necessary, and I started to do something at once. With my knife I cut away the flesh round the red mark left by the snake’s fang, but I hadn’t the strength to break open a cartridge. Then I remembered that large doses of spirit were used, and having a bottle of hollands with me, I drank it down till my throat was almost scalded. After that I don’t recollect what happened. I suppose I must have become unconscious and delirious. When I came to again it was daylight; but I tumbled off into a heavy stupor, and on awaking found that another day had commenced. I was parched with thirst, but could not move a step, for my legs are paralysed from the hips. Thank God you have turned up, old chap! Give me another drink, like a good fellow.”“What is to be done now?” asked Jack, as soon as the helpless Riley had satisfied his thirst. “I am bearing despatches to Lord Roberts, and must push on. Can you come with me?”“Yes, if you lend me your pony,” replied Riley. “Mine must have strayed away.”“Very well. You shall ride the pony, and I will walk,” Jack answered readily. “We’ll start to-night, and with a little luck ought to reach the camp by daylight.”Taking the helpless Riley on his back, Jack carried him into a shady spot, and placed him on the grass beneath the overhanging branches of a large and solitary broad-leaved tree. Then mounting a kopje, and assuring himself that the surrounding country was clear of Boers, he collected a pile of dried grass and twigs, and set fire to it with his flint and steel. In his haversack he carried a piece of horseflesh, which had been given him ready cooked at Mafeking, and this he cut into slices and toasted over the flames. The meal was a welcome one to the poor fellow, who had so nearly lost his life alone on the desolate veldt.“Thanks, Somerton, old man!” he said, looking gratefully at Jack. “But for you I expect all would have been up with me by now. Another day under this broiling sun, without water and food, would have killed me. I feel lots better already, and almost fancy the strength is returning to my legs. Do you know, I believe a little rubbing would do them good.”“Then I’ll set to work at once,” Jack exclaimed cheerfully. “A bit of this horse-fat will act as a lubricant. Now let me begin.”Taking each leg in turn, he smeared the skin with fat and rubbed it gently, Riley declaring that he already felt some improvement by the treatment, and begging Jack to repeat it later.Now and again during the day Jack climbed to his lookout post again to see that no one was approaching, and during the afternoon both enjoyed three hours’ refreshing sleep.When night fell Riley was almost able to support his weight on his legs, so rapidly were the effects of the snake-bite disappearing, and once Jack had hoisted him into the saddle he was able to retain his position there unaided.“Now, old horse,” he said cheerily, “I am at your service. We are both of us bound for Roberts’s camp with despatches, and since I am more or less of a cripple and do not know the country, I place myself in your hands.”“Then we’ll push ahead at once,” answered Jack. “Sing out if you are feeling knocked up, and be ready to be lifted off your saddle and lie down at any moment. The country a few miles south of this is full of Boers, who are always on the look-out for despatch-carriers.”Taking the pony by the bridle, Jack stepped forward over the short grass of the veldt, and kept steadily on, hour after hour. Once or twice he listened eagerly, fancying he heard sounds, but on each occasion it was a false alarm, and after a moment’s pause he took the road again.By midnight they were abreast of Kimberley, and two hours later, after making a wide détour, they caught sight of the twinkling fires in the British camp.“Now we’ll have to be extra cautious,” whispered Jack. “If we are challenged by a Boer, leave the answering to me.”“All right, Somerton!” Riley answered. Then suddenly pulling Jack by the coat, he exclaimed: “Hush! What is that? Look over there!”Jack looked in the direction indicated, and caught sight of a dusky figure some thirty yards away. Instantly he let go of the bridle and unslung his rifle.“Who goes there?” came a loud hail at this moment.“Friend!” shouted Jack.“Where from? Answer quickly, or I fire!”“From Mafeking, with despatches,” Jack replied unsuspectingly.“Advance, friend, and give the countersign!” the sentry now called out; and as soon as Jack and Riley had approached within ten yards he shouted, “Halt! Lay down your arms at once—you are prisoners!”“Trapped, by Jove!” shouted Jack, snatching at his rifle; but before he could lift it a dozen other dark figures rose beside the sentry and covered him with their weapons. To resist would have been madness, and a minute later Jack and his friend were disarmed and being taken back towards the Boer camp at Magersfontein, Riley still mounted on his pony.“What hard luck!” cried the latter bitterly. “We were within a couple of miles of our friends, and after all the trouble we had taken we deserved to get in safely.”“Yes, it was rough luck,” Jack agreed cheerfully. “But it is the fortune of war, and there is no use worrying about it. I should not have minded so much if I had had a fight for it. To be taken without firing a shot is humiliating. But now we have nothing to do but to escape. I’ve managed that once before, and I’ll do it again if the chance comes.”“Then I hope you’ll take me with you,” said Riley eagerly. “I’ve no special wish to spend my days a prisoner in Pretoria.”Soon after sunrise that morning the two prisoners were brought into the enemy’s camp, and Riley was at once taken to the hospital and placed in charge of a Scotch surgeon who had been commandeered by the Boers. Jack was taken across to a large bell-tent, standing apart from the others in an open space, and ushered into it. It was most elaborately furnished. The floor was carpeted, and there was a handsome brass bedstead and a writing-table, seated behind which was a short, shabby, and vindictive-looking man, with iron-grey beard and whiskers, unkempt and undipped, and almost concealing a powerful-looking mouth, and eyes which flashed fiercely at the stranger Englishman. It was General Cronje, a man who had taken a prominent part in the first Boer war, and who had earned for himself the contempt of all Englishmen for his treacherous behaviour.“Who are you?” he demanded, looking searchingly at Jack’s face.“I am Jack Somerton, a despatch-rider, and now a prisoner in your hands,” Jack answered coolly. “Where are your despatches?”“I don’t know, general,” was Jack’s calm reply, for, sharp of wit, he had torn and scattered his papers on the veldt the instant after being taken prisoner.“Search him!” cried General Cronje. And then, as soon as Jack’s clothes had been thoroughly examined, he ordered him to be taken away.Careless of the black looks with which the general favoured him, Jack swept his hat off and stalked unconcernedly out of the tent. He was then taken across to a large wagon laager, and given in charge of an armed sentry.Ten days passed quietly, and during that time he was well treated, and was on good terms with his captors. On the 14th of the month there was a sudden stir in the camp, and mounted men galloped in and out.“What is the matter?” Jack asked the young sentry who was in charge of him.“Our scouts say that your countrymen are moving,” the Boer replied. “General French—that is what you call him, I think,—has been active. He and a lot of English guns and horsemen marched on Sunday to Ramdan, and next day pushed on to the Riet river. There was a fight, and we gave way, as it is not policy to prevent a foolish man running his nose into a trap. I hear he is now at the Rondeval Drift, on the Modder River, where we are again playing with him. Some fools here say he threatens our flank, but our general knows better. You will see, we shall eat up your general, and then we shall march south to Cape Town.”Jack did not correct him, but smiled secretly, hoping and believing that the big movement of which he had carried the first tidings to Kimberley and Mafeking was at last actually begun. He knew that for more than a month much work had been going on in the British camp, and if the news he had just learnt were really true, it was extremely probable that Roberts and his troops were about to strike that blow at the Boer forces which should mean the turning of the tide, and a full compensation for all the care and thought taken in making their preparations.On the following morning a wild-looking Boer galloped up to General Cronje, who was sitting smoking and sipping coffee outside his tent, and in an excited voice informed him that the British had crossed the Modder and had captured five laagers, full of stores, 2000 sheep, and a large number of cattle.Jack happened to be near the general at the time, and his guard, who was a friendly young Boer, interpreted what was said.At first the news evidently caused the general some excitement, and he rose to his feet and walked restlessly up and down. Then he suddenly sat down, lit his pipe again, and smiled sourly.“Let them take the laagers,” he said in a rasping voice. “What does it matter? We shall take them back again. These Englishmen are brave, but they are fools, and have no cunning. You shall see. We will turn on him and eat up completely this General French and his men.”Three other Boer leaders were standing near at hand, and as Cronje finished speaking, two of them nodded sagely and ejaculated: “Ja, Ja! we shall take the English soldiers. They are not wise.”The third, however, who was a Free State burgher, differed.“These English are not such fools as you think,” he said shortly. “I tell you, there is a big force advancing on our flank, and unless we do something, and at once, we shall ourselves be captured.”“Nonsense, nonsense, you are too timid!” exclaimed Cronje fiercely, turning on him and scowling angrily at him.The Free State commandant was on the point of answering back, and commencing a quarrel with his superior, when two more horsemen galloped up and reported news of the gravest importance. General French, accompanied by a column of some 10,000 mounted men and guns, was pushing straight forward for Kimberley, and the British foot were following, and already threatened the road to Bloemfontein.Instantly all was confusion in the Boer camp. Valuables were hastily thrown into wagons, and within a very short time Gronje and his forces were in full retreat, a long column streaming across the veldt on the way to Bloemfontein, while a second and smaller one went north. Behind them they left all their stores, and even their dinners, which in the hour of departure they were unable to eat.Jack was marched between two ruffianly-looking Boers with the first column, and watched with secret satisfaction the confusion that reigned everywhere, and the downcast looks of the men who had boasted only a few hours before that the British were in their hands.At the head of the column, sullen and dejected, rode Cronje, and on either flank and far behind were Boer skirmishers ready to guard the long line of wagons.All day they pushed forward, resting frequently to allow the tired oxen and mules to lie down. At night a laager was formed, but by daylight the long column had taken the road again, and was pressing forward in feverish haste towards Bloemfontein. Then came rifle shots in the distance, and with his glasses, which had fortunately not been taken from him, Jack made out men in khaki marching across the veldt some miles away.They were the plucky soldiers of General Kelly-Kenny’s division, and now, having come up with the enemy after forced marches, they showed that they were determined that he should not slip through their fingers.On the following morning Cronje and his forces were completely surrounded and hemmed in, for the British troops had engaged fiercely, and had compelled the Boer general to laager in the dry bed of the Modder river and stop his progress towards Bloemfontein. Then foot by foot they had crept round him, and on Sunday morning, when Jack looked out, men in khaki were all round, and he knew that Cronje and his force of some 6000 Boers were doomed.In the camp were a few other English prisoners, including Riley, and these at once set to work with spade and pickaxe, and, copying the methods of the Boers, dug deeply into the ground and then tunnelled beneath it, forming large bomb-proof chambers. And in these for four awful days they lived, never daring to emerge save at night. And all the time the British troops swept the laager, which was spread over an area of some two miles, and devastated it with lyddite and shrapnel, killing most of the draught animals and setting fire to the wagons. But no one has ever equalled the Boers at trench-digging. In a marvellous manner they constructed bomb-proof chambers, and sat there for the most part safe from the British fire. But others of them tried to keep down the volleys of our soldiers, and amongst these death was soon busy.On the 27th of February, celebrated all over the Boer dominions as Majuba Day, Cronje and his forces capitulated unconditionally, and, throwing down their arms, marched as prisoners into the British camp. With them were many women and children who had come from their homes to Magersfontein expressly to celebrate Majuba Day.It was a glorious success, our first real one. And added to it all was the news that General French and his mounted men had relieved the invested and sorely-straitened town of Kimberley on the 15th.When Jack entered Lord Roberts’s camp he was greeted by many friends and acquaintances, and eagerly questioned as to his experiences. Then he was conducted to the general’s tent, and gave the verbal messages entrusted to him by B.-P.“Now, Riley,” he said, as soon as he was at liberty once more, “what are you going to do with yourself? I am going to Kimberley, and if you have nothing particular to take you down to Cape Town you had better come with me. A week or so’s rest will do you all the good in the world, for you are still far from strong upon your legs.”“There is no reason for me to go anywhere in particular, old chap,” Riley answered. “I have no friends down this way, and may just as well stay in Kimberley till the road to Mafeking is open again. Yes, if you have business in Kimberley I will go along with you.”“Well,” said Jack rather shamefacedly, “I cannot say that it is exactly business that takes me to the town. The fact is I am engaged to Miss Eileen Russel, and am anxious to find out how she is.”“What, Eileen Russel, daughter of the colonist whose house was bombarded at the commencement of the war!” cried Riley in astonishment. “Yes, his house was attacked,” answered Jack, smiling.“By Jove, then, you must be the fellow we all heard about!” shouted Riley, seizing Jack by the hand; “and now I understand why I could not make out where I met you before. Of course it was in Mafeking, and I remember you left us, to ride north. Good heavens, man! to think that we have been together all these days and you have never mentioned it! Why, the fame of that beating you fellows gave the Boers close to Kimberley has gone everywhere. Shake hands again, old man, and when we reach Kimberley I shall make a point of seeing this young lady and telling her what a brick you are.”Two days later Jack and his friend left the English camp, and, passing through the lines of the Canadian troops, who had distinguished themselves for their bravery during the whole campaign, and especially in the attack upon the Boer laager, they trotted across the open veldt to Kimberley.Tom Salter was the first to meet them, and at once conducted Jack to the house in which the Russels had now taken up their quarters.“There you are, lad,” he said kindly, patting Jack on his broad back; “the girl’s in there, just crying her eyes out for you, and fancying you’ve been hurt. The news came over yesterday that you had been found in Cronje’s laager, and as nothing was said as to your being dead or alive, she has naturally been in a state of anxiety ever since. You go in, old boy, and I’ll take care of Riley. We’ll come along in half an hour and have a yarn.”There is no need to tell of the joy of the meeting between stalwart Jack and his future bride. Of this be sure, the half-hour flew by so quickly that it seemed to be only a few minutes before Tom and Riley turned up again.“What do you think of the town now?” asked the former, eyeing Jack quizzically. “I can tell you, my lad, it’s a tremendous relief to be free from those Boers and have plenty of good food and water again. I shall never forget that day when General French marched in. You’d have thought we were a lot of babies. The street was crammed with yelling crowds of pale, sickly-looking men, who had lived for weeks on less than half the accustomed amount, and I know that many a one was too feeble to choke back his sobs. And the women and the kids—God bless them!—just held up their arms and blubbered. I felt just like a girl. But it’s all over now, and we’re beginning to live like decent folks again, up in the air and daylight.”“Yes,” Jack agreed, “you have had a terrible experience, and have come out of it wonderfully. Now it will be our turn to advance upon the Boer towns and retaliate.”Far into that night they chatted, and then, bidding Eileen and Frank Russel good-night, Jack accompanied Tom Salter to his quarters. On the following morning he did not awake with that feeling of strength and vigour to which he was accustomed, and all day long was depressed by a feeling of weariness and lassitude. That night he was in a fever, and on the following morning was too ill to get out of bed.Four months of hard work and exposure had told upon him. Weakened by his wound and by his stay in Ladysmith, Jack had fallen a victim to the foul water and odours of the Boer laager at Paardeberg, and had been struck down with typhoid fever. From that day, for more than three weeks he lay helpless and almost wholly unconscious, tended by his future wife and by another good Samaritan in the form of a soldier’s wife.And while he lay in bed, fighting for his life, the British troops had been scoring successes. Scarcely had the news of the capture of Cronje and his force and the relief of Kimberley reached England when the glorious message was flashed along the cables that Ladysmith had been relieved on February 28th, after ten days of very heavy fighting.On March 7th still more news was sent to England, for on that day Lord Roberts attacked a large force of burghers at Poplar Grove, on the road to Bloemfontein. For days they had slaved to dig their trenches, and these extended for miles and miles, while Presidents Kruger and Steyn themselves were there to cheer on their followers. But all to no purpose. We were not going to advance across an open plain and break our forces against an impregnable position. Instead, our cavalry and guns swept round towards the rear, and in an instant the Boers were galloping away towards Bloemfontein, leaving the labour of weeks behind them, and refusing to listen to the entreaties of their presidents, who were also compelled to join in an ignominious flight.Pressing forward, Lord Roberts again attacked the enemy at Driefontein and dispersed them, killing 102. Driven from post to post, the Boer forces melted away from the neighbourhood of Bloemfontein, the capital of the Orange Free State, and on March 13th the town was occupied by the British without further opposition.Then came suggestions of peace from President Kruger, demanding independence for both republics; and in reply the English Government refused to assure that independence, and declared its readiness to fight to a finish.When Jack was at last well enough to be moved, and was taken down country and placed on board a ship, the Orange Free State burghers were throwing down their arms in all directions, a column was marching to the relief of gallant Mafeking, and our armies, the one in Natal and the other at Bloemfontein, were preparing for another crushing stroke.Eileen and Frank Russel accompanied Jack, and on the same ship were Wilfred and his father and mother.And how was the news of their coming received at Frampton Grange?Almost every month had brought news of Jack, news of his daring and of his pluck People who knew Mrs Somerton wrote to congratulate her, while the neighbours for miles around made a point of calling to express their admiration of her stepson. And at length, from cordially disliking Jack, the two inhabitants of the old Grange had caught the general infection, and were as loud as any in his praises. He was weak and ill, and moreover he had much to blame them for, for neither had shown him much kindness after his father’s death; but they determined to make all that good to him, and when at last our hero did arrive at his old home, and, stepping from the carriage somewhat weakly, assisted the beautiful and blushing Eileen to the ground, both Mrs Somerton and Frank were there to greet them with a hearty welcome, while Frank Russel, who was also one of the party, had no cause to complain of his reception.A minute later a dapper little man, with clean-shaven face, jumped from a trap which had just driven up, and Dr Hanly rushed forward to shake Jack by the hand.“My dear old boy,” he cried excitedly, roused for once out of his usual placidness, “how glad I am to meet you! What a monster you have grown, and what a name you have made for yourself! Dear, dear! and it seems only yesterday that you went off with a thigh done up in plaster and as stiff as a ramrod, and here you are returning a little weak after your illness, but a man, every inch of you, and with a lovely lady by your side. Lucky dog! Introduce me. Miss Eileen, I shall take the liberty of an old man and a very old friend of Jack’s, and shall give you a kiss. You are a lucky girl, let me tell you, for amongst all our plucky lads there is only one Jack Somerton. Well, there is Mrs Somerton calling us, and—’pon my word, here is old Banks.”It was indeed a splendid welcome. No sooner had one shaken Jack by the hand than someone else appeared; a gardener, a groom who had seen some service, and now there was fat old Banks, who had been reinstated, waddling up, beads of perspiration on his smiling face, and his hair almost standing on end with excitement.“Master Jack, it’s just going to be like old times again,” he murmured, and then shook his hand violently and coughed loudly to get rid of the big lump he felt sticking in his throat.A home-coming after a long separation is the greatest of joys, and Jack’s was indeed a happy one. Everyone seemed to have a kind word for him, and, what he appreciated far more, a welcome for Eileen Russel.At home, then, happy and contented, we will leave him, anxiously watching the doings of his comrades out in Africa, and patiently waiting for that day when Eileen should become his wife.And, meanwhile, his days were fully occupied. Invitations poured in upon him to dine with the gentry round about, and many a time was Jack compelled against his will to narrate his doings with the gallant British troops. And chief of all those tales, the one most appreciated, was that describing the defence of Caesar’s Camp in Ladysmith, and how he had stood there shoulder to shoulder with the Highlanders and riflemen, keeping the Boers at bay “With Rifle and Bayonet.”The End.

The month of January was just drawing to a close when Jack on-saddled in the market square of Mafeking, now almost battered out of all recognition by the tremendous and continuous shell fire to which it had been so long subjected, and, vaulting into his seat, settled his rifle across his shoulders, strapped on the water-sack which dangled on one aide, carrying a supply sufficient to last until he reached the Modder River, and, picking up the reins, trotted across the open space.

Quite a crowd had collected to see him off and wave him an adieu, and many a message was entrusted to him, and many a “So long, Jack, old horse!” followed him. Soon he was at the outskirts, where he passed the pickets, and pushed on, searching the ground in every direction with eyes which were now as sharp as a hawk’s. Once he almost stumbled on a Boer advanced picket lying on a small kopje, but a crouching figure and a big hat dimly silhouetted against the star-lit sky warned him, and in an instant he and his pony were lying prone upon the veldt.

“Wie gaat daar?” came in hoarse tones across to him, but he lay like a log, without answering; nor did he take any notice when a rifle flashed and a bullet buzzed some yards above him.

“I’ll lie where I am,” he thought. “They did not catch sight of me, but probably heard some suspicious sound. I’ll give them half an hour to clear away, and if they are not gone by then I’ll make a bolt for it.”

But there was no necessity for this, for suddenly the long naval smooth-bore gun now used in Mafeking belched out its home-made shell, and the picket lying in front of him rose to their feet and looked back at their own camp, where, a moment later, a dull, muttering roar and a brilliant spurt of flame showed that the missile had exploded.

In an instant Jack was on his pony again, and, turning slightly to the left, galloped away at his fastest pace. All that night he kept on steadily, and at daybreak hid up in a patch of mimosa bush.

By the following morning he was nearing the Modder River, and was on the point of concealing himself again when he caught sight of a figure some three hundred yards in front of him.

In a moment his pony was lying on the ground, and Jack was crawling, rifle in hand, towards the stranger.

“I could pick him off from here,” he thought, lying flat upon his stomach and taking a steady aim at the man’s head, “but he doesn’t seem to have noticed me, and I hate the idea of shooting a poor fellow without giving him a chance of making a fight for it. Besides, for all I know he may be an Englishman. Perhaps it is Riley. He left Mafeking with despatches a week before I got there, but he was new to the game, and might easily have come to grief. But otherwise he ought to have reached our camp long before this.”

Jack lowered his rifle, and, removing his hat from his head, looked long and carefully at the stranger through his glasses. To all appearance he might be either a Boer or an Englishman, for he wore a ragged sombrero on his head and a tattered shirt on his back. His face was turned in the opposite direction from Jack, and every now and again he raised himself upon his elbow and looked out across the veldt. Then, as if with considerable effort, he dragged himself a few paces forward and looked out again.

“I believe that fellow is wounded,” murmured Jack. “At any rate I’ll get closer to him, and keep my gun ready in case of emergencies.”

Crawling stealthily forward, he made a slight détour, and soon approached the stranger within fifty yards. At this distance his appearance was certainly in favour of his being English, and taking up a position behind a screen of leaves, Jack called out: “Hallo, there!”

Instantly the stranger turned his head, and stared about him in bewilderment. Then he answered, in a tremulous voice: “Hullo! Help me for God’s sake!”

There was now no doubt that he was a comrade in distress, and, jumping to his feet, Jack ran across towards him, only to find that the poor fellow had fainted. Placing him on his back, Jack sprinkled some water on his face, and soon had the satisfaction of bringing him round.

“Who are you, old chap?” he asked.

“I’m Riley, from Mafeking,” the injured man answered.

“I was on my way to Lord Roberts, and reached here four days ago. I’d have got through safe enough if I hadn’t had the bad luck to be bitten by a snake. There is the beast over there. I put my blanket down and left it, to take the pony down to that stream behind the kopje, and on returning and seating myself at the end of the blanket, the brute suddenly sat up on his tail in front of me and struck before I could get away. You can see he hit my gaiter, scratched all down it, and then just managed to get to my skin through the canvas shoe I was wearing, owing to my boots having given out.”

Jack at once inspected the leg, and noticed that the gaiter, which was only half unfastened, was scratched from top to bottom as if with a sharp nail.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “That was three days ago, and you are alive now to tell me the tale! Then you are a lucky man, for that beast is a puff-adder, a most deadly snake! But for your gaiters you would certainly have died within two hours, and as it is, I don’t know how you escaped. What did you do?”

“I can scarcely tell you,” Riley answered weakly. “When I saw the beast and knew that I was bitten I was terrified, and could not collect my thoughts. Then I tried to remember what others had done under similar circumstances. I recollected that a knife and gunpowder were necessary, and I started to do something at once. With my knife I cut away the flesh round the red mark left by the snake’s fang, but I hadn’t the strength to break open a cartridge. Then I remembered that large doses of spirit were used, and having a bottle of hollands with me, I drank it down till my throat was almost scalded. After that I don’t recollect what happened. I suppose I must have become unconscious and delirious. When I came to again it was daylight; but I tumbled off into a heavy stupor, and on awaking found that another day had commenced. I was parched with thirst, but could not move a step, for my legs are paralysed from the hips. Thank God you have turned up, old chap! Give me another drink, like a good fellow.”

“What is to be done now?” asked Jack, as soon as the helpless Riley had satisfied his thirst. “I am bearing despatches to Lord Roberts, and must push on. Can you come with me?”

“Yes, if you lend me your pony,” replied Riley. “Mine must have strayed away.”

“Very well. You shall ride the pony, and I will walk,” Jack answered readily. “We’ll start to-night, and with a little luck ought to reach the camp by daylight.”

Taking the helpless Riley on his back, Jack carried him into a shady spot, and placed him on the grass beneath the overhanging branches of a large and solitary broad-leaved tree. Then mounting a kopje, and assuring himself that the surrounding country was clear of Boers, he collected a pile of dried grass and twigs, and set fire to it with his flint and steel. In his haversack he carried a piece of horseflesh, which had been given him ready cooked at Mafeking, and this he cut into slices and toasted over the flames. The meal was a welcome one to the poor fellow, who had so nearly lost his life alone on the desolate veldt.

“Thanks, Somerton, old man!” he said, looking gratefully at Jack. “But for you I expect all would have been up with me by now. Another day under this broiling sun, without water and food, would have killed me. I feel lots better already, and almost fancy the strength is returning to my legs. Do you know, I believe a little rubbing would do them good.”

“Then I’ll set to work at once,” Jack exclaimed cheerfully. “A bit of this horse-fat will act as a lubricant. Now let me begin.”

Taking each leg in turn, he smeared the skin with fat and rubbed it gently, Riley declaring that he already felt some improvement by the treatment, and begging Jack to repeat it later.

Now and again during the day Jack climbed to his lookout post again to see that no one was approaching, and during the afternoon both enjoyed three hours’ refreshing sleep.

When night fell Riley was almost able to support his weight on his legs, so rapidly were the effects of the snake-bite disappearing, and once Jack had hoisted him into the saddle he was able to retain his position there unaided.

“Now, old horse,” he said cheerily, “I am at your service. We are both of us bound for Roberts’s camp with despatches, and since I am more or less of a cripple and do not know the country, I place myself in your hands.”

“Then we’ll push ahead at once,” answered Jack. “Sing out if you are feeling knocked up, and be ready to be lifted off your saddle and lie down at any moment. The country a few miles south of this is full of Boers, who are always on the look-out for despatch-carriers.”

Taking the pony by the bridle, Jack stepped forward over the short grass of the veldt, and kept steadily on, hour after hour. Once or twice he listened eagerly, fancying he heard sounds, but on each occasion it was a false alarm, and after a moment’s pause he took the road again.

By midnight they were abreast of Kimberley, and two hours later, after making a wide détour, they caught sight of the twinkling fires in the British camp.

“Now we’ll have to be extra cautious,” whispered Jack. “If we are challenged by a Boer, leave the answering to me.”

“All right, Somerton!” Riley answered. Then suddenly pulling Jack by the coat, he exclaimed: “Hush! What is that? Look over there!”

Jack looked in the direction indicated, and caught sight of a dusky figure some thirty yards away. Instantly he let go of the bridle and unslung his rifle.

“Who goes there?” came a loud hail at this moment.

“Friend!” shouted Jack.

“Where from? Answer quickly, or I fire!”

“From Mafeking, with despatches,” Jack replied unsuspectingly.

“Advance, friend, and give the countersign!” the sentry now called out; and as soon as Jack and Riley had approached within ten yards he shouted, “Halt! Lay down your arms at once—you are prisoners!”

“Trapped, by Jove!” shouted Jack, snatching at his rifle; but before he could lift it a dozen other dark figures rose beside the sentry and covered him with their weapons. To resist would have been madness, and a minute later Jack and his friend were disarmed and being taken back towards the Boer camp at Magersfontein, Riley still mounted on his pony.

“What hard luck!” cried the latter bitterly. “We were within a couple of miles of our friends, and after all the trouble we had taken we deserved to get in safely.”

“Yes, it was rough luck,” Jack agreed cheerfully. “But it is the fortune of war, and there is no use worrying about it. I should not have minded so much if I had had a fight for it. To be taken without firing a shot is humiliating. But now we have nothing to do but to escape. I’ve managed that once before, and I’ll do it again if the chance comes.”

“Then I hope you’ll take me with you,” said Riley eagerly. “I’ve no special wish to spend my days a prisoner in Pretoria.”

Soon after sunrise that morning the two prisoners were brought into the enemy’s camp, and Riley was at once taken to the hospital and placed in charge of a Scotch surgeon who had been commandeered by the Boers. Jack was taken across to a large bell-tent, standing apart from the others in an open space, and ushered into it. It was most elaborately furnished. The floor was carpeted, and there was a handsome brass bedstead and a writing-table, seated behind which was a short, shabby, and vindictive-looking man, with iron-grey beard and whiskers, unkempt and undipped, and almost concealing a powerful-looking mouth, and eyes which flashed fiercely at the stranger Englishman. It was General Cronje, a man who had taken a prominent part in the first Boer war, and who had earned for himself the contempt of all Englishmen for his treacherous behaviour.

“Who are you?” he demanded, looking searchingly at Jack’s face.

“I am Jack Somerton, a despatch-rider, and now a prisoner in your hands,” Jack answered coolly. “Where are your despatches?”

“I don’t know, general,” was Jack’s calm reply, for, sharp of wit, he had torn and scattered his papers on the veldt the instant after being taken prisoner.

“Search him!” cried General Cronje. And then, as soon as Jack’s clothes had been thoroughly examined, he ordered him to be taken away.

Careless of the black looks with which the general favoured him, Jack swept his hat off and stalked unconcernedly out of the tent. He was then taken across to a large wagon laager, and given in charge of an armed sentry.

Ten days passed quietly, and during that time he was well treated, and was on good terms with his captors. On the 14th of the month there was a sudden stir in the camp, and mounted men galloped in and out.

“What is the matter?” Jack asked the young sentry who was in charge of him.

“Our scouts say that your countrymen are moving,” the Boer replied. “General French—that is what you call him, I think,—has been active. He and a lot of English guns and horsemen marched on Sunday to Ramdan, and next day pushed on to the Riet river. There was a fight, and we gave way, as it is not policy to prevent a foolish man running his nose into a trap. I hear he is now at the Rondeval Drift, on the Modder River, where we are again playing with him. Some fools here say he threatens our flank, but our general knows better. You will see, we shall eat up your general, and then we shall march south to Cape Town.”

Jack did not correct him, but smiled secretly, hoping and believing that the big movement of which he had carried the first tidings to Kimberley and Mafeking was at last actually begun. He knew that for more than a month much work had been going on in the British camp, and if the news he had just learnt were really true, it was extremely probable that Roberts and his troops were about to strike that blow at the Boer forces which should mean the turning of the tide, and a full compensation for all the care and thought taken in making their preparations.

On the following morning a wild-looking Boer galloped up to General Cronje, who was sitting smoking and sipping coffee outside his tent, and in an excited voice informed him that the British had crossed the Modder and had captured five laagers, full of stores, 2000 sheep, and a large number of cattle.

Jack happened to be near the general at the time, and his guard, who was a friendly young Boer, interpreted what was said.

At first the news evidently caused the general some excitement, and he rose to his feet and walked restlessly up and down. Then he suddenly sat down, lit his pipe again, and smiled sourly.

“Let them take the laagers,” he said in a rasping voice. “What does it matter? We shall take them back again. These Englishmen are brave, but they are fools, and have no cunning. You shall see. We will turn on him and eat up completely this General French and his men.”

Three other Boer leaders were standing near at hand, and as Cronje finished speaking, two of them nodded sagely and ejaculated: “Ja, Ja! we shall take the English soldiers. They are not wise.”

The third, however, who was a Free State burgher, differed.

“These English are not such fools as you think,” he said shortly. “I tell you, there is a big force advancing on our flank, and unless we do something, and at once, we shall ourselves be captured.”

“Nonsense, nonsense, you are too timid!” exclaimed Cronje fiercely, turning on him and scowling angrily at him.

The Free State commandant was on the point of answering back, and commencing a quarrel with his superior, when two more horsemen galloped up and reported news of the gravest importance. General French, accompanied by a column of some 10,000 mounted men and guns, was pushing straight forward for Kimberley, and the British foot were following, and already threatened the road to Bloemfontein.

Instantly all was confusion in the Boer camp. Valuables were hastily thrown into wagons, and within a very short time Gronje and his forces were in full retreat, a long column streaming across the veldt on the way to Bloemfontein, while a second and smaller one went north. Behind them they left all their stores, and even their dinners, which in the hour of departure they were unable to eat.

Jack was marched between two ruffianly-looking Boers with the first column, and watched with secret satisfaction the confusion that reigned everywhere, and the downcast looks of the men who had boasted only a few hours before that the British were in their hands.

At the head of the column, sullen and dejected, rode Cronje, and on either flank and far behind were Boer skirmishers ready to guard the long line of wagons.

All day they pushed forward, resting frequently to allow the tired oxen and mules to lie down. At night a laager was formed, but by daylight the long column had taken the road again, and was pressing forward in feverish haste towards Bloemfontein. Then came rifle shots in the distance, and with his glasses, which had fortunately not been taken from him, Jack made out men in khaki marching across the veldt some miles away.

They were the plucky soldiers of General Kelly-Kenny’s division, and now, having come up with the enemy after forced marches, they showed that they were determined that he should not slip through their fingers.

On the following morning Cronje and his forces were completely surrounded and hemmed in, for the British troops had engaged fiercely, and had compelled the Boer general to laager in the dry bed of the Modder river and stop his progress towards Bloemfontein. Then foot by foot they had crept round him, and on Sunday morning, when Jack looked out, men in khaki were all round, and he knew that Cronje and his force of some 6000 Boers were doomed.

In the camp were a few other English prisoners, including Riley, and these at once set to work with spade and pickaxe, and, copying the methods of the Boers, dug deeply into the ground and then tunnelled beneath it, forming large bomb-proof chambers. And in these for four awful days they lived, never daring to emerge save at night. And all the time the British troops swept the laager, which was spread over an area of some two miles, and devastated it with lyddite and shrapnel, killing most of the draught animals and setting fire to the wagons. But no one has ever equalled the Boers at trench-digging. In a marvellous manner they constructed bomb-proof chambers, and sat there for the most part safe from the British fire. But others of them tried to keep down the volleys of our soldiers, and amongst these death was soon busy.

On the 27th of February, celebrated all over the Boer dominions as Majuba Day, Cronje and his forces capitulated unconditionally, and, throwing down their arms, marched as prisoners into the British camp. With them were many women and children who had come from their homes to Magersfontein expressly to celebrate Majuba Day.

It was a glorious success, our first real one. And added to it all was the news that General French and his mounted men had relieved the invested and sorely-straitened town of Kimberley on the 15th.

When Jack entered Lord Roberts’s camp he was greeted by many friends and acquaintances, and eagerly questioned as to his experiences. Then he was conducted to the general’s tent, and gave the verbal messages entrusted to him by B.-P.

“Now, Riley,” he said, as soon as he was at liberty once more, “what are you going to do with yourself? I am going to Kimberley, and if you have nothing particular to take you down to Cape Town you had better come with me. A week or so’s rest will do you all the good in the world, for you are still far from strong upon your legs.”

“There is no reason for me to go anywhere in particular, old chap,” Riley answered. “I have no friends down this way, and may just as well stay in Kimberley till the road to Mafeking is open again. Yes, if you have business in Kimberley I will go along with you.”

“Well,” said Jack rather shamefacedly, “I cannot say that it is exactly business that takes me to the town. The fact is I am engaged to Miss Eileen Russel, and am anxious to find out how she is.”

“What, Eileen Russel, daughter of the colonist whose house was bombarded at the commencement of the war!” cried Riley in astonishment. “Yes, his house was attacked,” answered Jack, smiling.

“By Jove, then, you must be the fellow we all heard about!” shouted Riley, seizing Jack by the hand; “and now I understand why I could not make out where I met you before. Of course it was in Mafeking, and I remember you left us, to ride north. Good heavens, man! to think that we have been together all these days and you have never mentioned it! Why, the fame of that beating you fellows gave the Boers close to Kimberley has gone everywhere. Shake hands again, old man, and when we reach Kimberley I shall make a point of seeing this young lady and telling her what a brick you are.”

Two days later Jack and his friend left the English camp, and, passing through the lines of the Canadian troops, who had distinguished themselves for their bravery during the whole campaign, and especially in the attack upon the Boer laager, they trotted across the open veldt to Kimberley.

Tom Salter was the first to meet them, and at once conducted Jack to the house in which the Russels had now taken up their quarters.

“There you are, lad,” he said kindly, patting Jack on his broad back; “the girl’s in there, just crying her eyes out for you, and fancying you’ve been hurt. The news came over yesterday that you had been found in Cronje’s laager, and as nothing was said as to your being dead or alive, she has naturally been in a state of anxiety ever since. You go in, old boy, and I’ll take care of Riley. We’ll come along in half an hour and have a yarn.”

There is no need to tell of the joy of the meeting between stalwart Jack and his future bride. Of this be sure, the half-hour flew by so quickly that it seemed to be only a few minutes before Tom and Riley turned up again.

“What do you think of the town now?” asked the former, eyeing Jack quizzically. “I can tell you, my lad, it’s a tremendous relief to be free from those Boers and have plenty of good food and water again. I shall never forget that day when General French marched in. You’d have thought we were a lot of babies. The street was crammed with yelling crowds of pale, sickly-looking men, who had lived for weeks on less than half the accustomed amount, and I know that many a one was too feeble to choke back his sobs. And the women and the kids—God bless them!—just held up their arms and blubbered. I felt just like a girl. But it’s all over now, and we’re beginning to live like decent folks again, up in the air and daylight.”

“Yes,” Jack agreed, “you have had a terrible experience, and have come out of it wonderfully. Now it will be our turn to advance upon the Boer towns and retaliate.”

Far into that night they chatted, and then, bidding Eileen and Frank Russel good-night, Jack accompanied Tom Salter to his quarters. On the following morning he did not awake with that feeling of strength and vigour to which he was accustomed, and all day long was depressed by a feeling of weariness and lassitude. That night he was in a fever, and on the following morning was too ill to get out of bed.

Four months of hard work and exposure had told upon him. Weakened by his wound and by his stay in Ladysmith, Jack had fallen a victim to the foul water and odours of the Boer laager at Paardeberg, and had been struck down with typhoid fever. From that day, for more than three weeks he lay helpless and almost wholly unconscious, tended by his future wife and by another good Samaritan in the form of a soldier’s wife.

And while he lay in bed, fighting for his life, the British troops had been scoring successes. Scarcely had the news of the capture of Cronje and his force and the relief of Kimberley reached England when the glorious message was flashed along the cables that Ladysmith had been relieved on February 28th, after ten days of very heavy fighting.

On March 7th still more news was sent to England, for on that day Lord Roberts attacked a large force of burghers at Poplar Grove, on the road to Bloemfontein. For days they had slaved to dig their trenches, and these extended for miles and miles, while Presidents Kruger and Steyn themselves were there to cheer on their followers. But all to no purpose. We were not going to advance across an open plain and break our forces against an impregnable position. Instead, our cavalry and guns swept round towards the rear, and in an instant the Boers were galloping away towards Bloemfontein, leaving the labour of weeks behind them, and refusing to listen to the entreaties of their presidents, who were also compelled to join in an ignominious flight.

Pressing forward, Lord Roberts again attacked the enemy at Driefontein and dispersed them, killing 102. Driven from post to post, the Boer forces melted away from the neighbourhood of Bloemfontein, the capital of the Orange Free State, and on March 13th the town was occupied by the British without further opposition.

Then came suggestions of peace from President Kruger, demanding independence for both republics; and in reply the English Government refused to assure that independence, and declared its readiness to fight to a finish.

When Jack was at last well enough to be moved, and was taken down country and placed on board a ship, the Orange Free State burghers were throwing down their arms in all directions, a column was marching to the relief of gallant Mafeking, and our armies, the one in Natal and the other at Bloemfontein, were preparing for another crushing stroke.

Eileen and Frank Russel accompanied Jack, and on the same ship were Wilfred and his father and mother.

And how was the news of their coming received at Frampton Grange?

Almost every month had brought news of Jack, news of his daring and of his pluck People who knew Mrs Somerton wrote to congratulate her, while the neighbours for miles around made a point of calling to express their admiration of her stepson. And at length, from cordially disliking Jack, the two inhabitants of the old Grange had caught the general infection, and were as loud as any in his praises. He was weak and ill, and moreover he had much to blame them for, for neither had shown him much kindness after his father’s death; but they determined to make all that good to him, and when at last our hero did arrive at his old home, and, stepping from the carriage somewhat weakly, assisted the beautiful and blushing Eileen to the ground, both Mrs Somerton and Frank were there to greet them with a hearty welcome, while Frank Russel, who was also one of the party, had no cause to complain of his reception.

A minute later a dapper little man, with clean-shaven face, jumped from a trap which had just driven up, and Dr Hanly rushed forward to shake Jack by the hand.

“My dear old boy,” he cried excitedly, roused for once out of his usual placidness, “how glad I am to meet you! What a monster you have grown, and what a name you have made for yourself! Dear, dear! and it seems only yesterday that you went off with a thigh done up in plaster and as stiff as a ramrod, and here you are returning a little weak after your illness, but a man, every inch of you, and with a lovely lady by your side. Lucky dog! Introduce me. Miss Eileen, I shall take the liberty of an old man and a very old friend of Jack’s, and shall give you a kiss. You are a lucky girl, let me tell you, for amongst all our plucky lads there is only one Jack Somerton. Well, there is Mrs Somerton calling us, and—’pon my word, here is old Banks.”

It was indeed a splendid welcome. No sooner had one shaken Jack by the hand than someone else appeared; a gardener, a groom who had seen some service, and now there was fat old Banks, who had been reinstated, waddling up, beads of perspiration on his smiling face, and his hair almost standing on end with excitement.

“Master Jack, it’s just going to be like old times again,” he murmured, and then shook his hand violently and coughed loudly to get rid of the big lump he felt sticking in his throat.

A home-coming after a long separation is the greatest of joys, and Jack’s was indeed a happy one. Everyone seemed to have a kind word for him, and, what he appreciated far more, a welcome for Eileen Russel.

At home, then, happy and contented, we will leave him, anxiously watching the doings of his comrades out in Africa, and patiently waiting for that day when Eileen should become his wife.

And, meanwhile, his days were fully occupied. Invitations poured in upon him to dine with the gentry round about, and many a time was Jack compelled against his will to narrate his doings with the gallant British troops. And chief of all those tales, the one most appreciated, was that describing the defence of Caesar’s Camp in Ladysmith, and how he had stood there shoulder to shoulder with the Highlanders and riflemen, keeping the Boers at bay “With Rifle and Bayonet.”

The End.

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