Chapter Seventeen.The Grand Assault.For almost three complete months had the Boers surrounded Ladysmith on every side, and shelled it persistently, and yet here were the British troops, seemingly as steadfast as during the early days of the siege.But wounds and disease had slowly thinned their ranks, and against the 20,000 or more of the enemy there were scarcely 8000 to man a huge circle of trenches. What could they do against the odds opposed to them? It was almost an impossible feat that was expected of them, but for all that, each and every one of our sturdy lads, as he sat in the trenches that night, listening intently and vainly endeavouring to pierce the gloom, swore solemnly to himself that the task should be accomplished. For many weeks they had laughed at and kept a horde of Boers at bay, and now, when they were in a tight corner and in difficulties, they would teach the enemy that they yet had teeth to show, and good strength to use them.And down beyond the flats stretching away from the heights of Caesar’s Camp, and in all the laagers surrounding the beleaguered garrison, bands of stern, resolute Boers collected together in absolute silence in the darkness. There was no need for words. Their plans had long since been arranged. They were the pick of all the forces from the Transvaal and the sister republic, and for the most part they had volunteered to attack and capture the camp, or die in the attempt. Rough, bearded men of middle age, they numbered amongst their ranks commandants, field-cornets, and officers of the Boer army. At a peremptory order from Pretoria, and because they could no longer put up with the humiliation of thus being laughed at by a handful of men, they had set themselves the dangerous task of a grand assault. It would be warfare after a method hateful to them one and all, for the comfortable shelter of a big boulder was more to their liking. But a desperate position called for stern measures, and, like the brave men they were, they prepared for the work, determined to do or die in the attempt. Collecting together in silence, they for the most part removed their boots, and just before the darkness lifted they set out across the grassy plain, and without so much as a sound commenced to scale the heights of Wagon Hill and Caesar’s Camp. Without firing a shot those at the western end of the heights clambered up till they were almost upon the trenches, when they were discovered by an outpost of the Manchesters, who gave the alarm. Instantly a hail of lead was poured into the night, and the guns opened fire, tearing the elopes and the flats below with bursting shrapnel.But the darkness aided the Boers, and in a few moments they were upon our men.They had got so far, but they were not to make another step forward, for by now the Gordon Highlanders and the Rifle Brigade had arrived, and, rushing forward with fixed bayonets, they dashed pell-mell at the enemy, and after a fierce and bloody conflict broke them, and hurled them shattered and bleeding down the steep hillside.It was desperate work. As the night lifted, and the grey haze of dawn lay upon the grassy slopes of Caesar’s Camp, Briton and Boer stood face to face and fought for supremacy. Every man of ours had need of all his courage and strength, and not one failed to do his duty to his queen. Magnificently the brave fellows kept up the reputation of the army, and in spite of the havoc wrought by Mauser bullets, pressed the enemy still closer, and when they fled sent a taunting cheer after them, and stood ready and willing to meet them again.Jack and Guy took a full share in the work. Deafened by the reports of the field-artillery and the incessant tat, tat of the rifles, they stood shoulder to shoulder in the trench, and when their comrades charged, rushed forward with them and helped to hurl back the Boers. But that was the least difficult part of the task. Some minutes before the much-needed reinforcements arrived they were closely pressed, and barely held their own. The Boers swarmed up the hill, and now that the alarm was given, opened a hot fire upon them. Then they rushed at them, and surrounded the small party of defenders.Standing back to back, Jack and his friend, with Mr Hunter, beat off a determined assault, but a second which followed parted them, and the two young fellows found themselves alone and cut off from their friends, while Mr Hunter had been forced back amongst the Highlanders.Side by side Jack and Guy thrust fiercely at the Boers, parrying the swinging blows aimed at them, and escaping the flying bullets by a miracle.“Surrender, and lay down your arms!” shouted a big, bearded man, presenting his rifle at Jack’s head. “You are surrounded and cut off from your friends.”“Never!” cried Jack, hoarsely. “Come and take us it you can!”“Very well, then,” the Boer answered roughly, and at once pulled his trigger, falling himself in a heap upon the ground at the same moment and rolling down the hill, his head almost smashed in by a shell which had struck him. But his bullet took effect. Swishing close by Jack, it hit Guy with a dull thud in the thigh, causing him to stumble and crash down upon the grass.“All right, old boy!” cried Jack immediately, standing across his body and plunging his bayonet deep into the chest of a young Boer.“That’s it, Jack. Keep them off!” Guy answered weakly; “I’m hit in the leg, but can fire my rifle.”Next second both were hotly engaged, for the enemy, who had drawn back for the moment, rushed upon them again, and while some fired their rifles, others swung theirs over their heads and bit with all their strength. But the keen, gleaming bayonet, darting angrily here and there, kept them at arm’s-length, and not content with that, Jack gave a defiant shout, and, springing forward, threw himself upon them, transfixing one with his murderous blade, and knocking a second senseless with the butt of his rifle.Meanwhile Guy had calmly opened his magazine, and as the burghers returned to the attack he picked them off one by one. But it was an uneven contest, and another minute would have seen both of them killed or captured, when there was a roaring cheer from behind, and down the hill, careless of the pelting bullets, swept the brawny, kilted sons of Scotland and the fearless and lithe little riflemen, their bayonets at the charge and the light of battle in their gleaming eyes.At the sight the Boers drew back for one brief moment, and Jack and Guy regained their friends, the latter forgetting the agony of his wound in the excitement of the moment. Then, plucking up their courage and remembering their desperate resolve, the burghers turned to face the oncoming line of bayonets with a bravery which none of their fellows had ever shown before. With one fierce shout they ranged themselves together, poured in a volley, and rushed like a tide up the hill to meet the avalanche of terrible steel now pouring down it. A minute later the two forces met with a crash, but the result was never for a moment doubtful. The British onrush was not even checked. There was a fierce lunging of rifles, a succession of awful groans, and the Boers were gone, all swept to the ground, save a few who were now racing away for their lives. And after them the gallant English troops sent a scathing volley, and then stood watching them, shouting hoarsely to them, and more than half-longing that they would return again ere the flush of victory had died down in their hearts. But one such bitter experience was sufficient for the moment. The Boers hastily rejoined their friends, and, diving into cover, opened up a galling fire upon the heights of Caesar’s Camp.Meanwhile other parts of the town had been attacked, to draw off attention from the heights to the south, the position which was of such vital importance. But the main strength of the enemy was directed against Caesar’s Camp, and while to the west of it one commando of staunch men had been hurled backward down the slopes, another had advanced on Wagon Hill, and had occupied it before the three detachments of the Imperial Light Horse stationed near were aware of it. The Boers, however, were raked by a murderous fire of Lee-Metford bullets, for the gallant colonists stuck to their posts with dogged persistence.As the day dawned and it was seen that the enemy had possession of the hill, the Highlanders, Devons, and 60th Rifles charged them in company with the Imperial Light Horse. There was no denying this old and supremely British method of settling a conflict. One crash, one murderous flash of fire, and the hearts of the Boers were inspired with terror, and they fled precipitately to cover, whence they kept up a sullen fusillade.For many long hours the Boers poured a storm of bullets upon the heights of Caesar’s Camp from a long ridge of which they had taken possession, and then, at noon, they made a second desperate onslaught, only to be shattered by the field-artillery and mown down by our riflemen.Late that memorable afternoon, in the midst of a blinding storm of sleet and rain which only Natal could produce, a third and last attempt was made, but proved a signal failure, for by now the artillery, which had already done such excellent service, had ranged their guns to rake the open ground, and those of the enemy who escaped retired to their laagers to rest and recover from the terrors of an awful day. They were a sad gathering, for they had many comrades to mourn, and in addition their dearest hope had been frustrated. From behind a barrier of rock, and concealed in carefully-prepared trenches on the ridges north of the Tugela, they and their long-range guns had proved too formidable for Buller’s army, despite a stubborn and gallant attack. But here, when the position had been reversed, when a handful of British manned a trench on the summit of a hill which sloped easily and was not too steep to be assailed, they, in spite of their superior number, had been shattered and defeated.It was humiliating, bitterly humiliating; but that desperate conflict served, if it did nothing else, to banish the mistaken ideas which each side had for the other. England now knew that she was fighting valiant men, who would be perfect as enemies, and equally chivalrous as her own soldiers, did not many of their number sully a good name by dastardly acts, such as firing upon the red cross and the wounded and making a scandalous use of the white flag. And on the Boer side, where previously scorn and worse for the bravery of the “Rooineks” had been shown, ungrudging praise for their dauntless courage was now given; while those who had stood to face the desperate charge upon the heighs of Caesar’s Camp shivered, and swore silently to themselves that nothing, not even their cherished independence and the longing for a Dutch South Africa, should prevail upon them to commit such an act of madness again.On the heights of Caesar’s Camp, when the tide of battle had been turned back and the dusk of evening was beginning to fall, there were many poor fellows sleeping their last long sleep upon the grass. They had chosen a soldier’s life, and their reward had been to die for the sacred cause of their country. It was a sad and heart-rending scene, and Jack, as he looked on and endeavoured to help the wounded, fully realised the misery of it all. At his feet lay Guy Richardson, roughly bandaged and waiting to be carried off, while close at hand was the lifeless body of a little rifleman, the face turned upward to the sky, and smiling as though death had laid its hand upon him painlessly.It was a gruesome scene, but he had little time to brood upon it, for at that moment he caught sight of a familiar figure a few yards away, and, running across the grass, knelt down by the side of Rawlings, the brave and jovial Highlander who had led the assault upon the Boer gun.“Hallo, Jack!” he panted cheerfully; “not hit, I see. Prop me up, like a good fellow.”Jack lifted him gently, and propped him up with his knee. Then he unslung his water-bottle and gave the poor fellow a drink.“Thanks, old man!” the wounded officer said in a weaker voice. “Those beggars have done for me! I’m shot through the chest.”“Not done for, Rawlings!” Jack answered hopefully. “You’ve many a year to live. You’ll pull through, old chap, never fear.”“No, I’m going home, Jack,” was the whispered reply. “I can feel the life running out of me. Hold me tight and stay by me, will you? It’s lonely work to die without a friend.”Jack’s eyes filled with tears, for from the very first he had feared that his poor friend was mortally hit and upon the point of death. He propped him up still higher, and having moistened his lips again, put his arms round him and held him firmly.There was a long and painful pause, and then the young Highlander spoke again, this time in a stronger voice:“Jack,” he said earnestly, “I’d have given more than I possess to live to the end of this struggle; but we shall win. Mark the words of a dying man—England shall come out victorious. The cause of freedom and justice shall triumph above all others, and Victoria, God bless her! shall rule this continent.”He was silent again for a few moments, and then continued in a voice which was scarcely as loud as a whisper:“Bend down, old chap,” he said. “I’m off to the other land. Remember me, Jack, when I’ve gone, and when you get back to dear old England again, look the people up and tell them that Angus met the end like a soldier and a man. They’ll be sorry. Yes, Mother and Father and the boys and girls will miss me. But they’ll he proud, too, that I died like this—Put your hand in mine, Jack. Ah, now I know you’re there! Good-bye! God bless everyone! My love to you, Dad and Mother! Good—”There was a deep sigh, and the head of the gallant young officer fell back upon Jack’s shoulder, and the tears which were streaming down the latter’s cheeks fell upon the pale face of as brave a man as Britain had ever known.Jack laid him gently on the grass, and, rising sorrowfully to his feet, looked for the last time upon this stalwart young Highlander. He beckoned to some Highlanders who had looked on tearfully all the while, and who now approached and carried their officer away. Then he joined Mr Hunter, and all night long helped to gather the wounded.When morning dawned again—the morning of the Sabbath—the awful havoc wrought by our shell was for the first time seen. Down the slopes of the hill, and away across the flats, Boer and Briton lay cold and motionless, separately and in groups; sometimes huddled together as if still engaged in a deadly tussle, and sometimes side by side in seeming friendship. Farther away, near the long ridge which the enemy had held, scores of mangled bodies were found, and at once handed over to the Boers, while the poor wounded wretches were tended to by our surgeons.Then, when human skill and care had done all that was possible for the living, the troops formed up and in long lines carried their dead to the cemetery. The rifles rang out the regulation volleys, the bugles wailed the “Last Post”, and all was over, save that each and every soldier bore away with him from that scene a lasting memory of those brave comrades who but a few hours before had been full of life and energy.After that they thronged into the church, and joined earnestly in the prayer of thanksgiving offered up for their glorious victory.At the close of the service the men joined with such a will in singing the National Anthem—a loyal ceremony never neglected in a garrison church—that the strains were heard far away by the lonely pickets and patrols, and set each one of them singing blithely as he trudged up and down on his beat.Jack Somerton sat amongst the officers in the church, and when the service was over he walked across to the hospital marquees and enquired for Guy Richardson. Even now, though the wounded had all been collected, the surgeons had their hands more than full, for typhoid fever and dysentery, those scourges which ever dog the footsteps of an army, had claimed many victims, and these required the most careful attention.“Well, Jack, old boy,” said Guy cheerfully, “tell me all about Saturday’s affair. Of course I saw that part of the fighting which occurred at Caesar’s Camp; but elsewhere our fellows were hard pressed, they tell me.”Jack told his friend all that he knew of the engagement, and mentioned the names of the gallant officers who had fallen.“What are you going to do now, Jack?” his friend asked, after they had chatted for some minutes. “The surgeon who is looking after me says we are likely to be cooped up here for some time longer, and I am sure that will not suit you.”“No, I don’t think I care much about sticking in Ladysmith while the siege continues,” mused Jack. “You see, the Boers, by all accounts, have entrenched all the hills between this and the Tugela, and with the heavy guns of position which they have been able to bring down by rail from the Transvaal, have practically made their lines impregnable. An officer told me that it would require an army of more than 100,000 to break through them and relieve us, and that even then the job would not be accomplished without frightful loss of life.“I believe we shall have to wait. Buller and his forces will keep the enemy busy while another army is massing in Cape Colony ready to invade the Orange Free State. That would probably lead to the relief of Kimberley and Mafeking, and possibly Ladysmith. But to get the army in motion and prepare the commissariat is a gigantic undertaking, and will require weeks yet. There will not be another assault here, at least not for many a long day to come, as we have just given the burghers such a smashing, but elsewhere there will be lots of fun. They tell me that despatch-riders are being asked for, and I shall send in my name and risk it. It would be fine to feel that one had been able to creep through to Chieveley in spite of all those Boers.”“By Jove, Jack,” Guy exclaimed, raising himself upon his elbows and flushing with excitement, “you are the most adventurous beggar I have ever come across! First of all, you have excitement sufficient to suit most fellows for a year up there at Talana Hill; then you fight your way through to Kimberley and Mafeking; and finally, through sheer daring and pluck, save me from that beast of a lion. Then, of course, it was mainly through you that we rescued Father and Mr Hunter, not to mention that poor little woman whose husband had been commandeered. No wonder the camp is ringing with your name. By now I expect the news of Piet Maartens and the spies, and the manner in which you checkmated them, has been heliographed across to Buller’s signallers, and I dare say London is reading the news, and every man in England rejoicing over it as he drinks his breakfast coffee. Well, old man, go on a little further. Many of our countrymen will make a name before this war is over, but if Jack Somerton doesn’t top the list—well—I’m a Transvaal burgher, which is the very last thing I shall care to be.”“Oh, shut up, Guy!” Jack cried warmly, colouring with embarrassment. “It’s all been luck—sheer luck from beginning to end.”“Luck! Bosh, my dear old chap; bosh!” exclaimed Guy with a merry laugh. “You’re the only fellow who will ever say such a thing.”“Well, I think so,” Jack answered. “But you’ve talked enough already, Guy. The surgeon expressly told me that you were to keep silent, and here you are chattering away as though there was nothing the matter with you. I shall send in my name as a despatch-rider, and let you know what happens. Now I’ll say good-bye for the present. To-morrow I have to give evidence against Piet Maartens, and after that I expect I shall clear out of Ladysmith. So long, old chap, and mind you keep quiet, as you have been told, or something will go wrong with your wound.”Pressing Guy’s hand, Jack took his leave, after exchanging a few words with the other wounded soldiers lying in the tent.On the following morning he attended the court-martial upon the Boer prisoners and gave formal evidence. It went much against his wishes, but the stern necessities of war demanded that spies should be summarily dealt with.There was no doubt about their guilt. All had been caught red-handed, and in a deathly silence sentence was passed upon them that at dawn on the following morning they should be shot for their offence, in sight of all the troops.Piet Maartens was a pitiable sight. Unarmed and a prisoner, he was a very different individual from the bumptious Boer who had been taught a lesson by Jack only a few months before. At the reading of the death penalty he turned white with terror, his limbs shook, and perspiration rolled from his forehead. With a shriek of fear he fell upon his knees and begged the president of the court to reconsider his decision. Then, finding him obdurate, he turned to Jack and besought him to say something for him.Of very different moulding were his companions. Stern, sunburnt young men, they held their heads erect and heard their doom like men, and even harshly remonstrated with Piet Maartens for his cowardice.Just as the sun rose on the following morning, and one of the loveliest of lovely African days dawned, a dozen rifles cracked, and Piet Maartens and his companions had paid the last penalty of all spies.
For almost three complete months had the Boers surrounded Ladysmith on every side, and shelled it persistently, and yet here were the British troops, seemingly as steadfast as during the early days of the siege.
But wounds and disease had slowly thinned their ranks, and against the 20,000 or more of the enemy there were scarcely 8000 to man a huge circle of trenches. What could they do against the odds opposed to them? It was almost an impossible feat that was expected of them, but for all that, each and every one of our sturdy lads, as he sat in the trenches that night, listening intently and vainly endeavouring to pierce the gloom, swore solemnly to himself that the task should be accomplished. For many weeks they had laughed at and kept a horde of Boers at bay, and now, when they were in a tight corner and in difficulties, they would teach the enemy that they yet had teeth to show, and good strength to use them.
And down beyond the flats stretching away from the heights of Caesar’s Camp, and in all the laagers surrounding the beleaguered garrison, bands of stern, resolute Boers collected together in absolute silence in the darkness. There was no need for words. Their plans had long since been arranged. They were the pick of all the forces from the Transvaal and the sister republic, and for the most part they had volunteered to attack and capture the camp, or die in the attempt. Rough, bearded men of middle age, they numbered amongst their ranks commandants, field-cornets, and officers of the Boer army. At a peremptory order from Pretoria, and because they could no longer put up with the humiliation of thus being laughed at by a handful of men, they had set themselves the dangerous task of a grand assault. It would be warfare after a method hateful to them one and all, for the comfortable shelter of a big boulder was more to their liking. But a desperate position called for stern measures, and, like the brave men they were, they prepared for the work, determined to do or die in the attempt. Collecting together in silence, they for the most part removed their boots, and just before the darkness lifted they set out across the grassy plain, and without so much as a sound commenced to scale the heights of Wagon Hill and Caesar’s Camp. Without firing a shot those at the western end of the heights clambered up till they were almost upon the trenches, when they were discovered by an outpost of the Manchesters, who gave the alarm. Instantly a hail of lead was poured into the night, and the guns opened fire, tearing the elopes and the flats below with bursting shrapnel.
But the darkness aided the Boers, and in a few moments they were upon our men.
They had got so far, but they were not to make another step forward, for by now the Gordon Highlanders and the Rifle Brigade had arrived, and, rushing forward with fixed bayonets, they dashed pell-mell at the enemy, and after a fierce and bloody conflict broke them, and hurled them shattered and bleeding down the steep hillside.
It was desperate work. As the night lifted, and the grey haze of dawn lay upon the grassy slopes of Caesar’s Camp, Briton and Boer stood face to face and fought for supremacy. Every man of ours had need of all his courage and strength, and not one failed to do his duty to his queen. Magnificently the brave fellows kept up the reputation of the army, and in spite of the havoc wrought by Mauser bullets, pressed the enemy still closer, and when they fled sent a taunting cheer after them, and stood ready and willing to meet them again.
Jack and Guy took a full share in the work. Deafened by the reports of the field-artillery and the incessant tat, tat of the rifles, they stood shoulder to shoulder in the trench, and when their comrades charged, rushed forward with them and helped to hurl back the Boers. But that was the least difficult part of the task. Some minutes before the much-needed reinforcements arrived they were closely pressed, and barely held their own. The Boers swarmed up the hill, and now that the alarm was given, opened a hot fire upon them. Then they rushed at them, and surrounded the small party of defenders.
Standing back to back, Jack and his friend, with Mr Hunter, beat off a determined assault, but a second which followed parted them, and the two young fellows found themselves alone and cut off from their friends, while Mr Hunter had been forced back amongst the Highlanders.
Side by side Jack and Guy thrust fiercely at the Boers, parrying the swinging blows aimed at them, and escaping the flying bullets by a miracle.
“Surrender, and lay down your arms!” shouted a big, bearded man, presenting his rifle at Jack’s head. “You are surrounded and cut off from your friends.”
“Never!” cried Jack, hoarsely. “Come and take us it you can!”
“Very well, then,” the Boer answered roughly, and at once pulled his trigger, falling himself in a heap upon the ground at the same moment and rolling down the hill, his head almost smashed in by a shell which had struck him. But his bullet took effect. Swishing close by Jack, it hit Guy with a dull thud in the thigh, causing him to stumble and crash down upon the grass.
“All right, old boy!” cried Jack immediately, standing across his body and plunging his bayonet deep into the chest of a young Boer.
“That’s it, Jack. Keep them off!” Guy answered weakly; “I’m hit in the leg, but can fire my rifle.”
Next second both were hotly engaged, for the enemy, who had drawn back for the moment, rushed upon them again, and while some fired their rifles, others swung theirs over their heads and bit with all their strength. But the keen, gleaming bayonet, darting angrily here and there, kept them at arm’s-length, and not content with that, Jack gave a defiant shout, and, springing forward, threw himself upon them, transfixing one with his murderous blade, and knocking a second senseless with the butt of his rifle.
Meanwhile Guy had calmly opened his magazine, and as the burghers returned to the attack he picked them off one by one. But it was an uneven contest, and another minute would have seen both of them killed or captured, when there was a roaring cheer from behind, and down the hill, careless of the pelting bullets, swept the brawny, kilted sons of Scotland and the fearless and lithe little riflemen, their bayonets at the charge and the light of battle in their gleaming eyes.
At the sight the Boers drew back for one brief moment, and Jack and Guy regained their friends, the latter forgetting the agony of his wound in the excitement of the moment. Then, plucking up their courage and remembering their desperate resolve, the burghers turned to face the oncoming line of bayonets with a bravery which none of their fellows had ever shown before. With one fierce shout they ranged themselves together, poured in a volley, and rushed like a tide up the hill to meet the avalanche of terrible steel now pouring down it. A minute later the two forces met with a crash, but the result was never for a moment doubtful. The British onrush was not even checked. There was a fierce lunging of rifles, a succession of awful groans, and the Boers were gone, all swept to the ground, save a few who were now racing away for their lives. And after them the gallant English troops sent a scathing volley, and then stood watching them, shouting hoarsely to them, and more than half-longing that they would return again ere the flush of victory had died down in their hearts. But one such bitter experience was sufficient for the moment. The Boers hastily rejoined their friends, and, diving into cover, opened up a galling fire upon the heights of Caesar’s Camp.
Meanwhile other parts of the town had been attacked, to draw off attention from the heights to the south, the position which was of such vital importance. But the main strength of the enemy was directed against Caesar’s Camp, and while to the west of it one commando of staunch men had been hurled backward down the slopes, another had advanced on Wagon Hill, and had occupied it before the three detachments of the Imperial Light Horse stationed near were aware of it. The Boers, however, were raked by a murderous fire of Lee-Metford bullets, for the gallant colonists stuck to their posts with dogged persistence.
As the day dawned and it was seen that the enemy had possession of the hill, the Highlanders, Devons, and 60th Rifles charged them in company with the Imperial Light Horse. There was no denying this old and supremely British method of settling a conflict. One crash, one murderous flash of fire, and the hearts of the Boers were inspired with terror, and they fled precipitately to cover, whence they kept up a sullen fusillade.
For many long hours the Boers poured a storm of bullets upon the heights of Caesar’s Camp from a long ridge of which they had taken possession, and then, at noon, they made a second desperate onslaught, only to be shattered by the field-artillery and mown down by our riflemen.
Late that memorable afternoon, in the midst of a blinding storm of sleet and rain which only Natal could produce, a third and last attempt was made, but proved a signal failure, for by now the artillery, which had already done such excellent service, had ranged their guns to rake the open ground, and those of the enemy who escaped retired to their laagers to rest and recover from the terrors of an awful day. They were a sad gathering, for they had many comrades to mourn, and in addition their dearest hope had been frustrated. From behind a barrier of rock, and concealed in carefully-prepared trenches on the ridges north of the Tugela, they and their long-range guns had proved too formidable for Buller’s army, despite a stubborn and gallant attack. But here, when the position had been reversed, when a handful of British manned a trench on the summit of a hill which sloped easily and was not too steep to be assailed, they, in spite of their superior number, had been shattered and defeated.
It was humiliating, bitterly humiliating; but that desperate conflict served, if it did nothing else, to banish the mistaken ideas which each side had for the other. England now knew that she was fighting valiant men, who would be perfect as enemies, and equally chivalrous as her own soldiers, did not many of their number sully a good name by dastardly acts, such as firing upon the red cross and the wounded and making a scandalous use of the white flag. And on the Boer side, where previously scorn and worse for the bravery of the “Rooineks” had been shown, ungrudging praise for their dauntless courage was now given; while those who had stood to face the desperate charge upon the heighs of Caesar’s Camp shivered, and swore silently to themselves that nothing, not even their cherished independence and the longing for a Dutch South Africa, should prevail upon them to commit such an act of madness again.
On the heights of Caesar’s Camp, when the tide of battle had been turned back and the dusk of evening was beginning to fall, there were many poor fellows sleeping their last long sleep upon the grass. They had chosen a soldier’s life, and their reward had been to die for the sacred cause of their country. It was a sad and heart-rending scene, and Jack, as he looked on and endeavoured to help the wounded, fully realised the misery of it all. At his feet lay Guy Richardson, roughly bandaged and waiting to be carried off, while close at hand was the lifeless body of a little rifleman, the face turned upward to the sky, and smiling as though death had laid its hand upon him painlessly.
It was a gruesome scene, but he had little time to brood upon it, for at that moment he caught sight of a familiar figure a few yards away, and, running across the grass, knelt down by the side of Rawlings, the brave and jovial Highlander who had led the assault upon the Boer gun.
“Hallo, Jack!” he panted cheerfully; “not hit, I see. Prop me up, like a good fellow.”
Jack lifted him gently, and propped him up with his knee. Then he unslung his water-bottle and gave the poor fellow a drink.
“Thanks, old man!” the wounded officer said in a weaker voice. “Those beggars have done for me! I’m shot through the chest.”
“Not done for, Rawlings!” Jack answered hopefully. “You’ve many a year to live. You’ll pull through, old chap, never fear.”
“No, I’m going home, Jack,” was the whispered reply. “I can feel the life running out of me. Hold me tight and stay by me, will you? It’s lonely work to die without a friend.”
Jack’s eyes filled with tears, for from the very first he had feared that his poor friend was mortally hit and upon the point of death. He propped him up still higher, and having moistened his lips again, put his arms round him and held him firmly.
There was a long and painful pause, and then the young Highlander spoke again, this time in a stronger voice:
“Jack,” he said earnestly, “I’d have given more than I possess to live to the end of this struggle; but we shall win. Mark the words of a dying man—England shall come out victorious. The cause of freedom and justice shall triumph above all others, and Victoria, God bless her! shall rule this continent.”
He was silent again for a few moments, and then continued in a voice which was scarcely as loud as a whisper:
“Bend down, old chap,” he said. “I’m off to the other land. Remember me, Jack, when I’ve gone, and when you get back to dear old England again, look the people up and tell them that Angus met the end like a soldier and a man. They’ll be sorry. Yes, Mother and Father and the boys and girls will miss me. But they’ll he proud, too, that I died like this—Put your hand in mine, Jack. Ah, now I know you’re there! Good-bye! God bless everyone! My love to you, Dad and Mother! Good—”
There was a deep sigh, and the head of the gallant young officer fell back upon Jack’s shoulder, and the tears which were streaming down the latter’s cheeks fell upon the pale face of as brave a man as Britain had ever known.
Jack laid him gently on the grass, and, rising sorrowfully to his feet, looked for the last time upon this stalwart young Highlander. He beckoned to some Highlanders who had looked on tearfully all the while, and who now approached and carried their officer away. Then he joined Mr Hunter, and all night long helped to gather the wounded.
When morning dawned again—the morning of the Sabbath—the awful havoc wrought by our shell was for the first time seen. Down the slopes of the hill, and away across the flats, Boer and Briton lay cold and motionless, separately and in groups; sometimes huddled together as if still engaged in a deadly tussle, and sometimes side by side in seeming friendship. Farther away, near the long ridge which the enemy had held, scores of mangled bodies were found, and at once handed over to the Boers, while the poor wounded wretches were tended to by our surgeons.
Then, when human skill and care had done all that was possible for the living, the troops formed up and in long lines carried their dead to the cemetery. The rifles rang out the regulation volleys, the bugles wailed the “Last Post”, and all was over, save that each and every soldier bore away with him from that scene a lasting memory of those brave comrades who but a few hours before had been full of life and energy.
After that they thronged into the church, and joined earnestly in the prayer of thanksgiving offered up for their glorious victory.
At the close of the service the men joined with such a will in singing the National Anthem—a loyal ceremony never neglected in a garrison church—that the strains were heard far away by the lonely pickets and patrols, and set each one of them singing blithely as he trudged up and down on his beat.
Jack Somerton sat amongst the officers in the church, and when the service was over he walked across to the hospital marquees and enquired for Guy Richardson. Even now, though the wounded had all been collected, the surgeons had their hands more than full, for typhoid fever and dysentery, those scourges which ever dog the footsteps of an army, had claimed many victims, and these required the most careful attention.
“Well, Jack, old boy,” said Guy cheerfully, “tell me all about Saturday’s affair. Of course I saw that part of the fighting which occurred at Caesar’s Camp; but elsewhere our fellows were hard pressed, they tell me.”
Jack told his friend all that he knew of the engagement, and mentioned the names of the gallant officers who had fallen.
“What are you going to do now, Jack?” his friend asked, after they had chatted for some minutes. “The surgeon who is looking after me says we are likely to be cooped up here for some time longer, and I am sure that will not suit you.”
“No, I don’t think I care much about sticking in Ladysmith while the siege continues,” mused Jack. “You see, the Boers, by all accounts, have entrenched all the hills between this and the Tugela, and with the heavy guns of position which they have been able to bring down by rail from the Transvaal, have practically made their lines impregnable. An officer told me that it would require an army of more than 100,000 to break through them and relieve us, and that even then the job would not be accomplished without frightful loss of life.
“I believe we shall have to wait. Buller and his forces will keep the enemy busy while another army is massing in Cape Colony ready to invade the Orange Free State. That would probably lead to the relief of Kimberley and Mafeking, and possibly Ladysmith. But to get the army in motion and prepare the commissariat is a gigantic undertaking, and will require weeks yet. There will not be another assault here, at least not for many a long day to come, as we have just given the burghers such a smashing, but elsewhere there will be lots of fun. They tell me that despatch-riders are being asked for, and I shall send in my name and risk it. It would be fine to feel that one had been able to creep through to Chieveley in spite of all those Boers.”
“By Jove, Jack,” Guy exclaimed, raising himself upon his elbows and flushing with excitement, “you are the most adventurous beggar I have ever come across! First of all, you have excitement sufficient to suit most fellows for a year up there at Talana Hill; then you fight your way through to Kimberley and Mafeking; and finally, through sheer daring and pluck, save me from that beast of a lion. Then, of course, it was mainly through you that we rescued Father and Mr Hunter, not to mention that poor little woman whose husband had been commandeered. No wonder the camp is ringing with your name. By now I expect the news of Piet Maartens and the spies, and the manner in which you checkmated them, has been heliographed across to Buller’s signallers, and I dare say London is reading the news, and every man in England rejoicing over it as he drinks his breakfast coffee. Well, old man, go on a little further. Many of our countrymen will make a name before this war is over, but if Jack Somerton doesn’t top the list—well—I’m a Transvaal burgher, which is the very last thing I shall care to be.”
“Oh, shut up, Guy!” Jack cried warmly, colouring with embarrassment. “It’s all been luck—sheer luck from beginning to end.”
“Luck! Bosh, my dear old chap; bosh!” exclaimed Guy with a merry laugh. “You’re the only fellow who will ever say such a thing.”
“Well, I think so,” Jack answered. “But you’ve talked enough already, Guy. The surgeon expressly told me that you were to keep silent, and here you are chattering away as though there was nothing the matter with you. I shall send in my name as a despatch-rider, and let you know what happens. Now I’ll say good-bye for the present. To-morrow I have to give evidence against Piet Maartens, and after that I expect I shall clear out of Ladysmith. So long, old chap, and mind you keep quiet, as you have been told, or something will go wrong with your wound.”
Pressing Guy’s hand, Jack took his leave, after exchanging a few words with the other wounded soldiers lying in the tent.
On the following morning he attended the court-martial upon the Boer prisoners and gave formal evidence. It went much against his wishes, but the stern necessities of war demanded that spies should be summarily dealt with.
There was no doubt about their guilt. All had been caught red-handed, and in a deathly silence sentence was passed upon them that at dawn on the following morning they should be shot for their offence, in sight of all the troops.
Piet Maartens was a pitiable sight. Unarmed and a prisoner, he was a very different individual from the bumptious Boer who had been taught a lesson by Jack only a few months before. At the reading of the death penalty he turned white with terror, his limbs shook, and perspiration rolled from his forehead. With a shriek of fear he fell upon his knees and begged the president of the court to reconsider his decision. Then, finding him obdurate, he turned to Jack and besought him to say something for him.
Of very different moulding were his companions. Stern, sunburnt young men, they held their heads erect and heard their doom like men, and even harshly remonstrated with Piet Maartens for his cowardice.
Just as the sun rose on the following morning, and one of the loveliest of lovely African days dawned, a dozen rifles cracked, and Piet Maartens and his companions had paid the last penalty of all spies.
Chapter Eighteen.Out of the Trap.On the following day a mounted orderly dashed up to the tent in which Jack was living with Mr Hunter and Mr Richardson, and handed him a note. It was brief and terse, and asked him to call at once at a certain house in the town, close to General White’s quarters, where a proposition would be made to him. Jack at once jammed his hat on his head, and, slinging his rifle and bandolier over his shoulder, set out to keep the appointment.“Ah, good-day, Somerton!” said a young officer of the staff who was standing outside the door of the house. “I waited for you here, and now that you have come we will both go in. My business is the same as yours, and I believe I may say I am about the luckiest beggar in the camp to be chosen for this job.”“Why, what is the job?” Jack asked in some surprise. “Oh, you’ll hear all about that in a moment, old chap!” laughed the officer, whose name was Poynter. “Come along in; they’re waiting for us.”A second later Jack was ushered into a large room, with wide-open windows, through which he could see the helmet and bayonet of a sentry who was marching up and down just out of ear-shot. In the middle was a table, on which were many large plans of Ladysmith and the neighbourhood, while behind it, seated in cane chairs, and in their shirtsleeves, for the heat was oppressive, were three more officers of the staff.“Good-day, Somerton!” said the central one, evidently the senior. “Sit down there for a moment while I just finish this matter, and then we will have a chat.”Jack shook hands with all of them, for he had met them many times before, and then he and Poynter took their seats on a long form close to the window, and waited while the officer finished a document upon which he was engaged.“Now,” he said at last, throwing down his pen, “I am ready. We want you to do something for us, Somerton, and we have sent for you particularly, because the matter is one of some delicacy and of great consequence. Shortly put, it is this. It is of vital importance that certain facts and plans shall be conveyed to General Buller at Chieveley. Of course we could employ one of our native runners, but they are not to be relied upon in every case, and as this matter is of the utmost importance we have decided to send Poynter and another. Will you be that other, my lad? We have all heard about your despatch-carrying over at Kimberley and at Mafeking; and here, too, we have learnt something about you. I am sure you could get through the enemy’s lines if anyone could, and could guide Poynter. What do you say about it?”“Just what I’d like, sir!” exclaimed Jack, springing to his feet in his excitement. “I was on the point of volunteering my services as a despatch-carrier when your orderly galloped up. I’ll undertake the matter with pleasure, and will do my best to steer Poynter clear with me.”“That’s good, Somerton,” answered the officer with satisfaction, “but it is just the answer I expected of you. Now, each of you will be provided with the facts which General White wishes to convey to General Buller, and we want you to commit them to memory. Then there will be no despatches or papers to fall into Joubert’s hands should you be captured, and if only one of you happens to get through, he will still be able to tell Buller what we mean to do. Come over here and sit down by my side, and I will tell you all about it.”Half an hour later Jack and his young friend Poynter were fully primed with official secrets of the greatest importance, and had committed them so well to memory that there was no chance of their forgetting.“Now, I think you have heard all the facts,” exclaimed the officer, “and I leave it to yourselves to arrange how you are to get through the enemy’s lines. I need not tell you how difficult the task is. The knowledge will make you all the more determined. You must go just as you are, so that the harshest of the Boers could not call you spies should they capture you; and, Poynter, you will be well advised to place yourself in Jack Somerton’s hands. People say that he is as ‘slim’ as Kruger himself, and I know,” added the staff-officer with a kindly smile, “that he has any amount of pluck to back it up. Remember, both of you, that this is a service of great danger, for which, if successful, your queen and country will not fail to reward you.”The officer shook hands cordially with Jack and his friend, who stood for one brief moment stiffly at attention, and saluted. Then they hurried away to Poynter’s tent, and, stretched full-length in comfortable lounge chairs, discussed the situation.“I shall do just as the colonel suggested,” said the latter. “You’ve run the gauntlet of these Boers before, and I shall place myself unreservedly in your hands. When shall we start, and what route shall we take? It’s all one to me, so long as we get through.”“We shall start to-night, of course,” answered Jack after a long pause. “We have been told that it is important that our despatches should get through as early as possible, and by setting out as soon as darkness falls we ought to be at the Tugela by to-morrow night. Then, as regards the road. I was chatting with ‘Israel’, the native runner, a few days ago, and he told me that patrols of Boers were scouring the country everywhere, particularly to east and west, on either side of their lines of trenches. It seems to me that, that being the case, a bold course will be the safest. We could walk over to the neutral camp at Intombi Spruit this evening, to visit the hospitals, and then cut across for Nelthorpe. We shall be within twelve miles of the river, and with luck might even cross it before morning. If not, there must be plenty of dongas in which we could hide up for the day and keep out of sight of the Boers.”“By Jove, I like that idea!” exclaimed Poynter with a gay laugh, “and we’ll have a shot at getting through to-night. What shall we carry with us?”“Our rifles and bayonets, and some provisions; enough to last three days,” Jack answered. “I think we’ve settled everything now, so I’ll go across to my friends. Expect me back at five o’clock, and we’ll stroll over to Intombi Spruit. Take my advice, Poynter, have the magazine of your rifle filled in readiness for a tussle.”“Trust me!” answered Poynter. “Well, so long, Jack! I’ll see you at five.”Jack left him sitting in the shade of the tent inspecting his rifle, with which every officer was now armed in place of a sword, the latter having by its conspicuousness led to the death of many a poor fellow who had been deliberately picked off by the Boer sharpshooters. Then he walked across to Guy Richardson, who was progressing well, and afterwards sat down and had a long chat with Mr Hunter.“Good-bye, Jack, lad!” said the latter as the time arrived for his young friend to keep his appointment with Poynter. “You’re the most venturesome young fellow I have ever come across, and if all goes well, as I feel sure it will, we shall meet again before long. Give my love to the wife when you get through, and tell all the boys that when we’ve eaten all our horses we’ll take to chewing grass before we hand over Ladysmith and ourselves to the Boers. Wasn’t I right, old boy, when I told you long ago up in Johnny’s Burg that Kruger and his pleasant friends had a surprise in store for us. Ha, ha! they were going to drive us into the sea, and eat fish dinners in Durban! And they had got all the guns and men ready close to the frontier too! Remember that. We’ve just checked them now, that’s all, and both sides are sitting still, watching one another. But, bless you! that won’t win this grand country for the Boers. They should be up and doing; instead of that, they act on the defensive alone, save here and at Kimberley and Mafeking, where we’ve pinched their tails pretty sharply for them whenever they have attacked. And all the while our reinforcements are pouring into the country. Mark my words, Jack. We’ve had a troublous time, and we’ve lost many gallant lives, and shall lose more yet; but the tide is on the turn, and soon it will be sweeping in full flood, not towards the coast, but across the Orange Free State to Pretoria.”“Yes, I feel sure it will all come right in the end,” answered Jack, “and you may be certain of this, when that tide does turn I shall be somewhere near the front, and on my way to renew my acquaintance with his honour the President of the Transvaal Republic.”Jack shook hands cordially with Mr Hunter, promised to remember his messages, and departed to join young Poynter. He found him burning with impatience, and longing to set out.Half an hour later they were sauntering across to Intombi Spruit, and here they remained till darkness fell. Then they set out as if to return to Ladysmith, for there was no saying that a spy might not be watching them, and, slipping amongst a pile of boulders, they waited for some moments to make sure that they were not followed. Ten minutes later they had cut across to the left, and were tramping silently over the veldt in the direction of Nelthorpe. For two hours they kept on steadily, Jack carefully selecting a path which took them clear of boulders and rocky ground. Then suddenly, as they climbed to the summit of a long incline, they came in sight of an extended line of fires flickering in front of them, and stretching on either hand as far as they could see.“The road is over to our left,” whispered Jack, “and our best plan will be to cut down to it boldly, and endeavour to slip through the lines. We shall have to be very cautious, for there must be sentries posted.”After another glance at the twinkling dots of fire, Jack and his friend pushed forward, but with renewed caution, and nearly an hour later struck the main wagon-road leading through Nelthorpe and Pieters to Colenso. Then, walking along on the turf which skirted the beaten track, they slowly approached the lines in which the Boers were camped. Soon a large collection of tents away on their left attracted their attention, while the nickering embers now and again showed up a solitary canvas shelter, or a tented wagon, in which no doubt those of the burghers who were not on duty were asleep.Suddenly the clatter of hoofs sounded behind them, and a few moments later a pony cantered past, bearing a man upon its back.Jack and his friend lay flat on the ground as the rider passed, and were on the point of rising to their feet again when the pony was pulled up almost in front of them, and a voice called out a little farther on, in execrable English, which had a highly flavoured foreign accent: “Stop there! Who is that? Advance and give the pass-word.”“Going rounds,” was the answer. Then the rider walked his pony a few feet towards the sentry, who could now be seen in the centre of the road.“Ha, you are wide-awake, I see!” the former exclaimed in a loud tone. “It is only right that you and your friends from the Free State should do something to help us. Be ready to pass a convoy of wagons. We are sending down stores and ammunition to Colenso, besides a few boxes of special shells for the big guns. Remember, ‘Kruger’ is the pass-word. Shoot anyone who does not know it.” A moment later the Boer had ridden away, and the sentry retired into the darkness at the farther side of the road.“Come back here, Poynter,” whispered Jack, pulling him gently by the sleeve.Rising to their feet, they stepped noiselessly across the turf, and retired some hundred yards from the road.“Look here, Poynter, are you ready to try a risky game?” exclaimed Jack shortly, when they were well out of ear-shot of the sentry. “If so, I believe I have got hold of an idea which will get us safely through the Boer lines.”“Of course I am,” the young officer replied, with a gay laugh. “I place myself altogether in your hands, and will back you up through thick and thin. So heave ahead, and tell me all about it.”“To creep through those lines ahead of us will be next door to impossible,” said Jack, “for in the dark we might stumble right up against a sentry, and if the alarm was once given we should have to make a dash back towards Intombi Spruit. Now, it occurred to me that we might get a lift amongst the wagons of this convoy. Each one will be driven by a Kafir, who most likely will be walking alongside his team. Let us select a covered cart and slip into it. There ought to be little difficulty about it this dark night, and if we are lucky we might even get into one drawn by a mule team, and afterwards make use of the animals.”“By George, Jack, what a thing to think of!” exclaimed Poynter in delight. “Why, it’s about the biggest bit of cheek I ever heard of. Still, it is just the kind of dodge to end successfully, and we’ll do as you say.”“Ah! I am glad you approve,” Jack answered quietly; “and now all we have to do is to sit down and wait for the convoy to turn up. By the way, to avoid confusion I will pull your sleeve when the right wagon comes along, and then, while you jump in behind, I will slip in in front. Look out in case someone happens to be inside. It would be a bit of bad luck, and if we failed to silence him, there would be nothing for it but to bolt back to Ladysmith as fast as our legs would take us.”Poynter gave a low grunt to show that he understood, and a minute later, having arranged all their plans, the two young fellows crept down to the edge of the road once more, and hid up in an old and deserted Kafir hut which stood some hundreds of yards from the sentry. They had scarcely settled down when the low rumble of wheels in the distance attracted their attention, and looking back towards Ladysmith, they saw a couple of lanterns suddenly appear within a short distance of them. There was a hoarse shout and a gruff reply as the driver answered the challenge, while at the same moment the rays from the lanterns flashed upon a low, tented wagon, drawn by a long team of mules, at whose head the figure of a Kafir was for one brief second silhouetted against the light, to be swallowed up in the darkness immediately after. Then another wagon came into view, to be followed by another and another, each one of the long string which composed the convoy being inspected by the men who carried the lanterns.“The first one that comes along is the one for us,” whispered Jack. “The driver is on this side of his team, so we will skip over to the other side of the road. Wait till the wagon is directly in front, and then hop in as quickly as you can.”“Right! I understand,” was Poynter’s answer.By this time the convoy of stores was close at hand, creeping slowly along the road, for many of the teams were composed of oxen, and were consequently incapable of covering much more than two miles in an hour. There were a few minutes of suspense, and then the mules which were leading filed past Jack and his friend like so many ghosts, followed by a lumbering, creaking wagon which groaned and rattled at every inequality in the road.Jack pressed Poynter’s arm, and instantly both rose from the ground and darted towards the vehicle. With a spring Jack landed upon the driving-board, and, diving beneath the apron of the tent, crawled on to the top of a pile of mealie bags. Suddenly his hand fell upon the face of someone who was lying stretched fast asleep on top of the bags, and set his heart thumping heavily with the shock. A second later he had clapped his other hand over the sleeper’s mouth, and called gently to his comrade to help him. But long before Poynter had grasped the awkward situation, Jack and the stranger were engaged in a desperate struggle, the former with both hands clasped across the man’s mouth, and the Boer—for such he proved to be—endeavouring to clutch Jack by the throat. A moment later Poynter had come to the rescue, and long before the line of the enemy’s fires was reached the sleepy burgher was bound hand and foot with cords taken from the mealie bags, while Jack’s handkerchief was secured in his mouth. Then he was lifted to one side, with Poynter in attendance, while Jack stretched himself full-length upon the bags, and peeped out through the opening in the tent.It seemed an age before the sentry was reached, but suddenly the same foreign voice as before called out: “Who goes there?”Jack waited a moment, and as the Kafir driver in charge of the team of mules did not answer, he guessed that the Boer he had discovered asleep upon the mealies was intended to give the pass-word.“Convoy for Colenso!” he called out in a sleepy voice. “Give the pass-word!” replied the sentry, lifting a lantern and flashing the light upon the wagon.“‘Kruger’,” Jack called out in a still more sleepy voice, and as if he were just stifling a yawn.“Pass, convoy; all’s well!” the sentry exclaimed, and a minute later the wagon rumbled by him, and the man in charge of the next was heard giving the pass-word.“Thank goodness that’s over!” whispered Jack, slipping back to Poynter’s side. “Now, we have nothing more to do but to keep this fellow quiet and wait.”“And what then!” asked Poynter, with a chuckle. “What are we going to do?”“You said you’d stick by me through thick and thin,” Jack replied, “and by Jove, I’m not only going to get through to Buller with General White’s despatches, but I’ll take this wagon with me. Are you ready for the job?”“Ready?” asked Poynter, scarcely able to repress a shout of excitement. “Try me and you’ll see soon enough. It would be grand. We should create quite a stir in the camp!”“Then it’s settled!” answered Jack shortly. “But get your gun ready in case of accidents, and whatever you do, keep an eye on that fellow’s gag.”Poynter gave another chuckle expressive of intense enjoyment, and, unslinging his rifle, sat down close to his captive, while Jack once more crawled to the front of the wagon.An hour later the convoy passed through Pieters, being challenged by the Boer sentries, and coming to a halt close to the railway-station. But no one came near them. The Kafir drivers left their teams standing, and, taking buckets from beneath the axles of the wagons, went to a stream and procured water, which they gave to their thirsty animals.Jack kept his eye upon the tall Zulu in charge of the mules, and watched him watering them. Then, as the man jumped on the driving-board, he stretched himself full-length on the mealie bags and snored loudly as if fast asleep. A moment later the Zulu put his head into the tent, and pulling him by the coat asked him whether he should push on, in a language composed of English, Dutch, and Zulu. Jack sat up and yawned in the most natural manner, and growled out an unintelligible answer. Then he pushed the man off the wagon, as if angry with him for waking him, and lay down once more. And all the time the young staff-officer sat beside his unwilling captive, with his hand over his mouth so as to make sure that he could not give an alarm.It was touch and go, but no doubt the Kaffir driver had experienced the ill-temper of his Boer master before, and taking the gruff answer as an order, he sent the lash of his sjambok over the heads of the mules, with a crack as sharp as the report of a rifle, and started them along the road to Colenso.Three hours later there was another halt, and, peering out through the back of the wagon, Jack noticed that all but the leading dozen wagons had turned aside, and their teams were being outspanned upon the veldt. Soon a horseman carrying a lantern rode up and gave a gruff order, and once more the wagons were set in motion.Just as the dawn was beginning to break they reached the road bridge over the River Tugela, and having trundled across it, pushed on towards Colenso.“Now we shall have to look lively, Poynter,” whispered Jack calmly. “Which part of the job will you take? Will you drive the team, or act as rearguard?”“I fancy I had better do the driving,” answered Poynter. “I never was much of a hand with a rifle, while with the ribbons I fancy I take some beating. Tell me what to do, and you can rely upon my carrying it out.”“Very well,” replied Jack; “as soon as we are well in the Boer camp at Colenso I will call the Kafir, and when he puts his head in the tent I will ask him for his whip. The sight of my rifle will persuade him to part with it, I have no doubt. Then I will tell him to clear off, and at the same moment you will pick up the reins, which you will find hooked up above, and will set the team going for all they are worth. You can leave the rest to me.”“Right!” exclaimed Poynter jovially. “I’m to keep these mules going, and if anyone or anything gets in the way I am to drive clean over or through them, while you pick off any of the beggars who may be following. Jack, I’ll wager a pair of boots that we pull this business off.”“Can’t take you,” answered Jack shortly. “We’re going to get this wagon through at all costs!”By now the presence of a number of Boer horsemen galloping about, and a collection of houses, showed that the outskirts of Colenso had been reached, but the wagon still kept on. Then a large open space was reached, evidently in the centre of the town, and a burgher was seen galloping towards them, evidently with orders for them to halt alongside the others already collected there.“Now is our time,” whispered Jack. Then he tapped on the woodwork and gave a hoarse shout. Almost instantly they heard the Kafir driver jump on the plank in front, and a second later he pulled the curtain of the tent aside and thrust his head in. Poynter at once grasped his whip, while Jack presented his rifle at his head.For a moment the Zulu’s eyes nearly started out of his head, and he was speechless with astonishment. Then, with a yell of fear he started back and tumbled off the wagon. Poynter at once stepped out, and, picking up the reins, shook them in a manner that showed he was a practised hand, and with a crack of his whip set the team trotting down the road. Another crack above their heads and they were cantering, and at this pace he kept them, knowing that he could still expect more of them, and that, however fast he drove, he could never keep ahead of the Boer horsemen.Meanwhile Jack had thrown himself upon the mealie bags, and, lifting the flap of the tent behind, peered out in readiness to act should they be followed. At first little notice was taken of them, but the Kafir driver had taken to his heels, shouting that his wagon was stolen, and soon there were loud shouts, followed by the crack of rifles and the whistling of bullets through the tent above his head.“Sit as low as you can, Poynter!” Jack shouted, and his friend, who had also heard the sound of the bullets, crouched down on the driving-board, and, touching up his leaders with his whip, set the team of six mules galloping towards the British camp at their fastest pace.A second later Jack’s rifle spoke out, and was followed by another volley from the Boers, more than thirty of whom had now joined in the chase, while others, hearing the shouts and firing, hurriedly threw themselves into their saddles and came tearing after the lumbering wagon, rising in their stirrups every now and again to discharge their rifles at it.From Colenso to Chieveley the road stretches across five miles of open veldt, and long before Jack and his friend had driven across half of it a large troop of Boers was pursuing them. But Jack’s rifle was already hard at work, and few of his shots went amiss; while in the distance two sudden jets of smoke spurted up into the morning air, and a couple of shrapnel shells hurtled over the roof of the flying wagon, and bursting in their flight, scattered bullets amongst the horsemen. Once more the smoke from the field-guns shot up, one of the missiles striking the tent of the wagon and ripping it to pieces, while the other landed in the middle of the pursuing Boers. Then a column of dust rose from the far-off camp, and before Poynter could quite make out what was happening, two squadrons of irregular horse came spurring towards them.At the sight the Boers with one accord turned back, while Poynter pulled in his panting steeds and walked them towards the British camp. Soon they were surrounded by friends. There were hurried questions and explanations, and as soon as it was known that two of the plucky garrison of Ladysmith had escaped, actually bringing a prisoner with them, cheer after cheer rent the air. Then a horseman was sent forward, and when Jack and his friend drove calmly into General Buller’s camp the road on either side was lined by soldiers and blue-jackets all shouting a welcome.Some refreshment was provided, and afterwards Poynter hurried off to the general’s quarters, while Jack was offered a bed in an officer’s tent, and at once turned in, as he had been awake all night.On the following morning they were the lions of the camp. Their names were published in the orders for the day as having performed a service of signal danger and great merit, and before the sun had risen an hour they were besieged by an army of correspondents, all eager to hear news of Ladysmith and the narrative of their own escape.Jack and Poynter held quite an informal reception, for officers flocked to have a chat with them, and for the greater part of the day their attentions were busily engaged in answering the hundreds of questions put to them. As for Jack, just when he believed that he had secured peace at last, and could enjoy the luxury of an hour’s quiet before dinner, he was suddenly attacked by a world-famous war-correspondent, who had waited till all his friends were satisfied and till he could get the adventurous despatch-rider to himself. Seated in front of our hero, pen and note-book in hand, this genial man, who had seen perhaps far more of war than the oldest veteran in our forces, skilfully extracted all his news, and by dint of careful questioning even managed to get from the bashful and retiring Jack an account of his early escapade in front of Kimberley.“Ah, when I was a youngster like you,” he exclaimed, with some animation, “that despatch-riding was just the kind of work that would have suited me! Mind you, Mr Somerton, I don’t forget for one moment that it is really most risky work and requires a deal of pluck, but that is just where the fascination of it all comes in. I suppose, now that you have done so well, you will be given a commission, and that should suit your tastes, being, as you are, the son of an old officer!”“Yes, I hope some day to have a commission in the service,” Jack answered thoughtfully, “but I fancy I should prefer it after the war is over. You see, if I were made a subaltern now I should no doubt see lots of fighting, but I should be tied and hampered to a great extent. I cannot forget that I left friends in Kimberley whom I promised to call upon again, and now that I am safely out of Ladysmith, with nothing in particular to do, I feel all the more inclined to turn my face that way.”“Ha, ha, ha! Excuse me,” laughed the genial correspondent. “Of course I had not forgotten that you have friends on the Western border, and no doubt you are anxious to meet one of them at least again. Don’t mind my chaff, Somerton. It’s the sign of true friendship when one’s friends remember one. As to your leaving for Kimberley, I certainly advise you to do so, for you are not likely to see much fun hero; and besides, anyone not belonging to the regulars or volunteers is to be rigorously excluded from General Buller’s camp. Ladysmith is a precious tough nut to crack, and to be honest and perfectly candid, I do not believe we shall break our way through the Boers till we have distracted their attention to other quarters, and caused them to weaken their forces here. We are playing a big game, and while we keep Joubert and the Boer army before us by feints and attacks in deadly earnest, we are anxiously awaiting reinforcements to drive them out of Cape Colony, and if possible invade their own territory.”“In that case,” answered Jack, “I shall leave as early as possible and join the troops under Lord Methuen; they are twelve miles south of Kimberley, and barred from reaching the town by General Cronje and the impregnable heights of Magersfontein and Spytfontein. Perhaps a despatch-carrier will be wanted, for Mafeking if not for Kimberley, and I shall offer my services.”A few minutes later, after thanking Jack, the war-correspondent retired to his own tent to write up his despatches, and send them across the telegraph cables to the head offices of the London newspaper for which he worked.Jack joined the officers of one of the regiments at dinner, and afterwards retired to rest. On the following morning, on mentioning to one of the staff of the general that he was about to set out for Kimberley, a letter was given him describing him and his services, and recommending that he be employed as a despatch-carrier.Armed with this, Jack took a hearty farewell of young Poynter, and, climbing on board a coal truck which had come along the line to the front filled with ammunition, he was whirled south to Pietermaritzburg. Here he found that all was bustle. Loyal to the heart, the inhabitants of this old town had for many long weeks been energetically aiding the Government authorities. Relief committees had been instituted to manage the funds sent out from the English public, and had already done enormous good in lessening the sufferings of the poor people who had fled at the commencement of the war from Johannesburg and other parts of the two republics, bringing with them only what wealth they could carry.Hospitals had been arranged in various public buildings, and in these, ladies—high-born, rich, and poor—worked with a will. At the front their services were not wanted, for the war was a stern and sanguinary one in which only men could take a part; but here, out of sound of the cannon’s roar, they were doing a noble work, and while they ministered to the poor suffering soldiers, at the same time they eased their own aching hearts, and distracted in some measure their own troubled thoughts, for scarcely one of them but had some dear one, husband or brother, cooped up in the beleaguered camp of Ladysmith and exposed to the fire of the Boer guns.Amongst them Jack found Mrs Hunter, and one can imagine with what joy and tears she greeted him, and how eagerly she listened to the messages sent her by her husband. In a twinkling the news that someone had arrived who had recently escaped from Ladysmith spread through the town, and nurses flocked from every hospital to interview him.Poor Jack! Naturally a bashful lad, especially where ladies were concerned, it proved a most trying ordeal for him, and far more so than his interview with the correspondent. But at last he satisfied them all, having in the large majority of cases only good news to give. Then he said good-bye to Mrs Hunter, promised to convey all her messages to Wilfred, and once more boarding the train, set out for Durban.Here he was fortunate enough to find a transport sailing for Cape Town, and that night was again at sea.
On the following day a mounted orderly dashed up to the tent in which Jack was living with Mr Hunter and Mr Richardson, and handed him a note. It was brief and terse, and asked him to call at once at a certain house in the town, close to General White’s quarters, where a proposition would be made to him. Jack at once jammed his hat on his head, and, slinging his rifle and bandolier over his shoulder, set out to keep the appointment.
“Ah, good-day, Somerton!” said a young officer of the staff who was standing outside the door of the house. “I waited for you here, and now that you have come we will both go in. My business is the same as yours, and I believe I may say I am about the luckiest beggar in the camp to be chosen for this job.”
“Why, what is the job?” Jack asked in some surprise. “Oh, you’ll hear all about that in a moment, old chap!” laughed the officer, whose name was Poynter. “Come along in; they’re waiting for us.”
A second later Jack was ushered into a large room, with wide-open windows, through which he could see the helmet and bayonet of a sentry who was marching up and down just out of ear-shot. In the middle was a table, on which were many large plans of Ladysmith and the neighbourhood, while behind it, seated in cane chairs, and in their shirtsleeves, for the heat was oppressive, were three more officers of the staff.
“Good-day, Somerton!” said the central one, evidently the senior. “Sit down there for a moment while I just finish this matter, and then we will have a chat.”
Jack shook hands with all of them, for he had met them many times before, and then he and Poynter took their seats on a long form close to the window, and waited while the officer finished a document upon which he was engaged.
“Now,” he said at last, throwing down his pen, “I am ready. We want you to do something for us, Somerton, and we have sent for you particularly, because the matter is one of some delicacy and of great consequence. Shortly put, it is this. It is of vital importance that certain facts and plans shall be conveyed to General Buller at Chieveley. Of course we could employ one of our native runners, but they are not to be relied upon in every case, and as this matter is of the utmost importance we have decided to send Poynter and another. Will you be that other, my lad? We have all heard about your despatch-carrying over at Kimberley and at Mafeking; and here, too, we have learnt something about you. I am sure you could get through the enemy’s lines if anyone could, and could guide Poynter. What do you say about it?”
“Just what I’d like, sir!” exclaimed Jack, springing to his feet in his excitement. “I was on the point of volunteering my services as a despatch-carrier when your orderly galloped up. I’ll undertake the matter with pleasure, and will do my best to steer Poynter clear with me.”
“That’s good, Somerton,” answered the officer with satisfaction, “but it is just the answer I expected of you. Now, each of you will be provided with the facts which General White wishes to convey to General Buller, and we want you to commit them to memory. Then there will be no despatches or papers to fall into Joubert’s hands should you be captured, and if only one of you happens to get through, he will still be able to tell Buller what we mean to do. Come over here and sit down by my side, and I will tell you all about it.”
Half an hour later Jack and his young friend Poynter were fully primed with official secrets of the greatest importance, and had committed them so well to memory that there was no chance of their forgetting.
“Now, I think you have heard all the facts,” exclaimed the officer, “and I leave it to yourselves to arrange how you are to get through the enemy’s lines. I need not tell you how difficult the task is. The knowledge will make you all the more determined. You must go just as you are, so that the harshest of the Boers could not call you spies should they capture you; and, Poynter, you will be well advised to place yourself in Jack Somerton’s hands. People say that he is as ‘slim’ as Kruger himself, and I know,” added the staff-officer with a kindly smile, “that he has any amount of pluck to back it up. Remember, both of you, that this is a service of great danger, for which, if successful, your queen and country will not fail to reward you.”
The officer shook hands cordially with Jack and his friend, who stood for one brief moment stiffly at attention, and saluted. Then they hurried away to Poynter’s tent, and, stretched full-length in comfortable lounge chairs, discussed the situation.
“I shall do just as the colonel suggested,” said the latter. “You’ve run the gauntlet of these Boers before, and I shall place myself unreservedly in your hands. When shall we start, and what route shall we take? It’s all one to me, so long as we get through.”
“We shall start to-night, of course,” answered Jack after a long pause. “We have been told that it is important that our despatches should get through as early as possible, and by setting out as soon as darkness falls we ought to be at the Tugela by to-morrow night. Then, as regards the road. I was chatting with ‘Israel’, the native runner, a few days ago, and he told me that patrols of Boers were scouring the country everywhere, particularly to east and west, on either side of their lines of trenches. It seems to me that, that being the case, a bold course will be the safest. We could walk over to the neutral camp at Intombi Spruit this evening, to visit the hospitals, and then cut across for Nelthorpe. We shall be within twelve miles of the river, and with luck might even cross it before morning. If not, there must be plenty of dongas in which we could hide up for the day and keep out of sight of the Boers.”
“By Jove, I like that idea!” exclaimed Poynter with a gay laugh, “and we’ll have a shot at getting through to-night. What shall we carry with us?”
“Our rifles and bayonets, and some provisions; enough to last three days,” Jack answered. “I think we’ve settled everything now, so I’ll go across to my friends. Expect me back at five o’clock, and we’ll stroll over to Intombi Spruit. Take my advice, Poynter, have the magazine of your rifle filled in readiness for a tussle.”
“Trust me!” answered Poynter. “Well, so long, Jack! I’ll see you at five.”
Jack left him sitting in the shade of the tent inspecting his rifle, with which every officer was now armed in place of a sword, the latter having by its conspicuousness led to the death of many a poor fellow who had been deliberately picked off by the Boer sharpshooters. Then he walked across to Guy Richardson, who was progressing well, and afterwards sat down and had a long chat with Mr Hunter.
“Good-bye, Jack, lad!” said the latter as the time arrived for his young friend to keep his appointment with Poynter. “You’re the most venturesome young fellow I have ever come across, and if all goes well, as I feel sure it will, we shall meet again before long. Give my love to the wife when you get through, and tell all the boys that when we’ve eaten all our horses we’ll take to chewing grass before we hand over Ladysmith and ourselves to the Boers. Wasn’t I right, old boy, when I told you long ago up in Johnny’s Burg that Kruger and his pleasant friends had a surprise in store for us. Ha, ha! they were going to drive us into the sea, and eat fish dinners in Durban! And they had got all the guns and men ready close to the frontier too! Remember that. We’ve just checked them now, that’s all, and both sides are sitting still, watching one another. But, bless you! that won’t win this grand country for the Boers. They should be up and doing; instead of that, they act on the defensive alone, save here and at Kimberley and Mafeking, where we’ve pinched their tails pretty sharply for them whenever they have attacked. And all the while our reinforcements are pouring into the country. Mark my words, Jack. We’ve had a troublous time, and we’ve lost many gallant lives, and shall lose more yet; but the tide is on the turn, and soon it will be sweeping in full flood, not towards the coast, but across the Orange Free State to Pretoria.”
“Yes, I feel sure it will all come right in the end,” answered Jack, “and you may be certain of this, when that tide does turn I shall be somewhere near the front, and on my way to renew my acquaintance with his honour the President of the Transvaal Republic.”
Jack shook hands cordially with Mr Hunter, promised to remember his messages, and departed to join young Poynter. He found him burning with impatience, and longing to set out.
Half an hour later they were sauntering across to Intombi Spruit, and here they remained till darkness fell. Then they set out as if to return to Ladysmith, for there was no saying that a spy might not be watching them, and, slipping amongst a pile of boulders, they waited for some moments to make sure that they were not followed. Ten minutes later they had cut across to the left, and were tramping silently over the veldt in the direction of Nelthorpe. For two hours they kept on steadily, Jack carefully selecting a path which took them clear of boulders and rocky ground. Then suddenly, as they climbed to the summit of a long incline, they came in sight of an extended line of fires flickering in front of them, and stretching on either hand as far as they could see.
“The road is over to our left,” whispered Jack, “and our best plan will be to cut down to it boldly, and endeavour to slip through the lines. We shall have to be very cautious, for there must be sentries posted.”
After another glance at the twinkling dots of fire, Jack and his friend pushed forward, but with renewed caution, and nearly an hour later struck the main wagon-road leading through Nelthorpe and Pieters to Colenso. Then, walking along on the turf which skirted the beaten track, they slowly approached the lines in which the Boers were camped. Soon a large collection of tents away on their left attracted their attention, while the nickering embers now and again showed up a solitary canvas shelter, or a tented wagon, in which no doubt those of the burghers who were not on duty were asleep.
Suddenly the clatter of hoofs sounded behind them, and a few moments later a pony cantered past, bearing a man upon its back.
Jack and his friend lay flat on the ground as the rider passed, and were on the point of rising to their feet again when the pony was pulled up almost in front of them, and a voice called out a little farther on, in execrable English, which had a highly flavoured foreign accent: “Stop there! Who is that? Advance and give the pass-word.”
“Going rounds,” was the answer. Then the rider walked his pony a few feet towards the sentry, who could now be seen in the centre of the road.
“Ha, you are wide-awake, I see!” the former exclaimed in a loud tone. “It is only right that you and your friends from the Free State should do something to help us. Be ready to pass a convoy of wagons. We are sending down stores and ammunition to Colenso, besides a few boxes of special shells for the big guns. Remember, ‘Kruger’ is the pass-word. Shoot anyone who does not know it.” A moment later the Boer had ridden away, and the sentry retired into the darkness at the farther side of the road.
“Come back here, Poynter,” whispered Jack, pulling him gently by the sleeve.
Rising to their feet, they stepped noiselessly across the turf, and retired some hundred yards from the road.
“Look here, Poynter, are you ready to try a risky game?” exclaimed Jack shortly, when they were well out of ear-shot of the sentry. “If so, I believe I have got hold of an idea which will get us safely through the Boer lines.”
“Of course I am,” the young officer replied, with a gay laugh. “I place myself altogether in your hands, and will back you up through thick and thin. So heave ahead, and tell me all about it.”
“To creep through those lines ahead of us will be next door to impossible,” said Jack, “for in the dark we might stumble right up against a sentry, and if the alarm was once given we should have to make a dash back towards Intombi Spruit. Now, it occurred to me that we might get a lift amongst the wagons of this convoy. Each one will be driven by a Kafir, who most likely will be walking alongside his team. Let us select a covered cart and slip into it. There ought to be little difficulty about it this dark night, and if we are lucky we might even get into one drawn by a mule team, and afterwards make use of the animals.”
“By George, Jack, what a thing to think of!” exclaimed Poynter in delight. “Why, it’s about the biggest bit of cheek I ever heard of. Still, it is just the kind of dodge to end successfully, and we’ll do as you say.”
“Ah! I am glad you approve,” Jack answered quietly; “and now all we have to do is to sit down and wait for the convoy to turn up. By the way, to avoid confusion I will pull your sleeve when the right wagon comes along, and then, while you jump in behind, I will slip in in front. Look out in case someone happens to be inside. It would be a bit of bad luck, and if we failed to silence him, there would be nothing for it but to bolt back to Ladysmith as fast as our legs would take us.”
Poynter gave a low grunt to show that he understood, and a minute later, having arranged all their plans, the two young fellows crept down to the edge of the road once more, and hid up in an old and deserted Kafir hut which stood some hundreds of yards from the sentry. They had scarcely settled down when the low rumble of wheels in the distance attracted their attention, and looking back towards Ladysmith, they saw a couple of lanterns suddenly appear within a short distance of them. There was a hoarse shout and a gruff reply as the driver answered the challenge, while at the same moment the rays from the lanterns flashed upon a low, tented wagon, drawn by a long team of mules, at whose head the figure of a Kafir was for one brief second silhouetted against the light, to be swallowed up in the darkness immediately after. Then another wagon came into view, to be followed by another and another, each one of the long string which composed the convoy being inspected by the men who carried the lanterns.
“The first one that comes along is the one for us,” whispered Jack. “The driver is on this side of his team, so we will skip over to the other side of the road. Wait till the wagon is directly in front, and then hop in as quickly as you can.”
“Right! I understand,” was Poynter’s answer.
By this time the convoy of stores was close at hand, creeping slowly along the road, for many of the teams were composed of oxen, and were consequently incapable of covering much more than two miles in an hour. There were a few minutes of suspense, and then the mules which were leading filed past Jack and his friend like so many ghosts, followed by a lumbering, creaking wagon which groaned and rattled at every inequality in the road.
Jack pressed Poynter’s arm, and instantly both rose from the ground and darted towards the vehicle. With a spring Jack landed upon the driving-board, and, diving beneath the apron of the tent, crawled on to the top of a pile of mealie bags. Suddenly his hand fell upon the face of someone who was lying stretched fast asleep on top of the bags, and set his heart thumping heavily with the shock. A second later he had clapped his other hand over the sleeper’s mouth, and called gently to his comrade to help him. But long before Poynter had grasped the awkward situation, Jack and the stranger were engaged in a desperate struggle, the former with both hands clasped across the man’s mouth, and the Boer—for such he proved to be—endeavouring to clutch Jack by the throat. A moment later Poynter had come to the rescue, and long before the line of the enemy’s fires was reached the sleepy burgher was bound hand and foot with cords taken from the mealie bags, while Jack’s handkerchief was secured in his mouth. Then he was lifted to one side, with Poynter in attendance, while Jack stretched himself full-length upon the bags, and peeped out through the opening in the tent.
It seemed an age before the sentry was reached, but suddenly the same foreign voice as before called out: “Who goes there?”
Jack waited a moment, and as the Kafir driver in charge of the team of mules did not answer, he guessed that the Boer he had discovered asleep upon the mealies was intended to give the pass-word.
“Convoy for Colenso!” he called out in a sleepy voice. “Give the pass-word!” replied the sentry, lifting a lantern and flashing the light upon the wagon.
“‘Kruger’,” Jack called out in a still more sleepy voice, and as if he were just stifling a yawn.
“Pass, convoy; all’s well!” the sentry exclaimed, and a minute later the wagon rumbled by him, and the man in charge of the next was heard giving the pass-word.
“Thank goodness that’s over!” whispered Jack, slipping back to Poynter’s side. “Now, we have nothing more to do but to keep this fellow quiet and wait.”
“And what then!” asked Poynter, with a chuckle. “What are we going to do?”
“You said you’d stick by me through thick and thin,” Jack replied, “and by Jove, I’m not only going to get through to Buller with General White’s despatches, but I’ll take this wagon with me. Are you ready for the job?”
“Ready?” asked Poynter, scarcely able to repress a shout of excitement. “Try me and you’ll see soon enough. It would be grand. We should create quite a stir in the camp!”
“Then it’s settled!” answered Jack shortly. “But get your gun ready in case of accidents, and whatever you do, keep an eye on that fellow’s gag.”
Poynter gave another chuckle expressive of intense enjoyment, and, unslinging his rifle, sat down close to his captive, while Jack once more crawled to the front of the wagon.
An hour later the convoy passed through Pieters, being challenged by the Boer sentries, and coming to a halt close to the railway-station. But no one came near them. The Kafir drivers left their teams standing, and, taking buckets from beneath the axles of the wagons, went to a stream and procured water, which they gave to their thirsty animals.
Jack kept his eye upon the tall Zulu in charge of the mules, and watched him watering them. Then, as the man jumped on the driving-board, he stretched himself full-length on the mealie bags and snored loudly as if fast asleep. A moment later the Zulu put his head into the tent, and pulling him by the coat asked him whether he should push on, in a language composed of English, Dutch, and Zulu. Jack sat up and yawned in the most natural manner, and growled out an unintelligible answer. Then he pushed the man off the wagon, as if angry with him for waking him, and lay down once more. And all the time the young staff-officer sat beside his unwilling captive, with his hand over his mouth so as to make sure that he could not give an alarm.
It was touch and go, but no doubt the Kaffir driver had experienced the ill-temper of his Boer master before, and taking the gruff answer as an order, he sent the lash of his sjambok over the heads of the mules, with a crack as sharp as the report of a rifle, and started them along the road to Colenso.
Three hours later there was another halt, and, peering out through the back of the wagon, Jack noticed that all but the leading dozen wagons had turned aside, and their teams were being outspanned upon the veldt. Soon a horseman carrying a lantern rode up and gave a gruff order, and once more the wagons were set in motion.
Just as the dawn was beginning to break they reached the road bridge over the River Tugela, and having trundled across it, pushed on towards Colenso.
“Now we shall have to look lively, Poynter,” whispered Jack calmly. “Which part of the job will you take? Will you drive the team, or act as rearguard?”
“I fancy I had better do the driving,” answered Poynter. “I never was much of a hand with a rifle, while with the ribbons I fancy I take some beating. Tell me what to do, and you can rely upon my carrying it out.”
“Very well,” replied Jack; “as soon as we are well in the Boer camp at Colenso I will call the Kafir, and when he puts his head in the tent I will ask him for his whip. The sight of my rifle will persuade him to part with it, I have no doubt. Then I will tell him to clear off, and at the same moment you will pick up the reins, which you will find hooked up above, and will set the team going for all they are worth. You can leave the rest to me.”
“Right!” exclaimed Poynter jovially. “I’m to keep these mules going, and if anyone or anything gets in the way I am to drive clean over or through them, while you pick off any of the beggars who may be following. Jack, I’ll wager a pair of boots that we pull this business off.”
“Can’t take you,” answered Jack shortly. “We’re going to get this wagon through at all costs!”
By now the presence of a number of Boer horsemen galloping about, and a collection of houses, showed that the outskirts of Colenso had been reached, but the wagon still kept on. Then a large open space was reached, evidently in the centre of the town, and a burgher was seen galloping towards them, evidently with orders for them to halt alongside the others already collected there.
“Now is our time,” whispered Jack. Then he tapped on the woodwork and gave a hoarse shout. Almost instantly they heard the Kafir driver jump on the plank in front, and a second later he pulled the curtain of the tent aside and thrust his head in. Poynter at once grasped his whip, while Jack presented his rifle at his head.
For a moment the Zulu’s eyes nearly started out of his head, and he was speechless with astonishment. Then, with a yell of fear he started back and tumbled off the wagon. Poynter at once stepped out, and, picking up the reins, shook them in a manner that showed he was a practised hand, and with a crack of his whip set the team trotting down the road. Another crack above their heads and they were cantering, and at this pace he kept them, knowing that he could still expect more of them, and that, however fast he drove, he could never keep ahead of the Boer horsemen.
Meanwhile Jack had thrown himself upon the mealie bags, and, lifting the flap of the tent behind, peered out in readiness to act should they be followed. At first little notice was taken of them, but the Kafir driver had taken to his heels, shouting that his wagon was stolen, and soon there were loud shouts, followed by the crack of rifles and the whistling of bullets through the tent above his head.
“Sit as low as you can, Poynter!” Jack shouted, and his friend, who had also heard the sound of the bullets, crouched down on the driving-board, and, touching up his leaders with his whip, set the team of six mules galloping towards the British camp at their fastest pace.
A second later Jack’s rifle spoke out, and was followed by another volley from the Boers, more than thirty of whom had now joined in the chase, while others, hearing the shouts and firing, hurriedly threw themselves into their saddles and came tearing after the lumbering wagon, rising in their stirrups every now and again to discharge their rifles at it.
From Colenso to Chieveley the road stretches across five miles of open veldt, and long before Jack and his friend had driven across half of it a large troop of Boers was pursuing them. But Jack’s rifle was already hard at work, and few of his shots went amiss; while in the distance two sudden jets of smoke spurted up into the morning air, and a couple of shrapnel shells hurtled over the roof of the flying wagon, and bursting in their flight, scattered bullets amongst the horsemen. Once more the smoke from the field-guns shot up, one of the missiles striking the tent of the wagon and ripping it to pieces, while the other landed in the middle of the pursuing Boers. Then a column of dust rose from the far-off camp, and before Poynter could quite make out what was happening, two squadrons of irregular horse came spurring towards them.
At the sight the Boers with one accord turned back, while Poynter pulled in his panting steeds and walked them towards the British camp. Soon they were surrounded by friends. There were hurried questions and explanations, and as soon as it was known that two of the plucky garrison of Ladysmith had escaped, actually bringing a prisoner with them, cheer after cheer rent the air. Then a horseman was sent forward, and when Jack and his friend drove calmly into General Buller’s camp the road on either side was lined by soldiers and blue-jackets all shouting a welcome.
Some refreshment was provided, and afterwards Poynter hurried off to the general’s quarters, while Jack was offered a bed in an officer’s tent, and at once turned in, as he had been awake all night.
On the following morning they were the lions of the camp. Their names were published in the orders for the day as having performed a service of signal danger and great merit, and before the sun had risen an hour they were besieged by an army of correspondents, all eager to hear news of Ladysmith and the narrative of their own escape.
Jack and Poynter held quite an informal reception, for officers flocked to have a chat with them, and for the greater part of the day their attentions were busily engaged in answering the hundreds of questions put to them. As for Jack, just when he believed that he had secured peace at last, and could enjoy the luxury of an hour’s quiet before dinner, he was suddenly attacked by a world-famous war-correspondent, who had waited till all his friends were satisfied and till he could get the adventurous despatch-rider to himself. Seated in front of our hero, pen and note-book in hand, this genial man, who had seen perhaps far more of war than the oldest veteran in our forces, skilfully extracted all his news, and by dint of careful questioning even managed to get from the bashful and retiring Jack an account of his early escapade in front of Kimberley.
“Ah, when I was a youngster like you,” he exclaimed, with some animation, “that despatch-riding was just the kind of work that would have suited me! Mind you, Mr Somerton, I don’t forget for one moment that it is really most risky work and requires a deal of pluck, but that is just where the fascination of it all comes in. I suppose, now that you have done so well, you will be given a commission, and that should suit your tastes, being, as you are, the son of an old officer!”
“Yes, I hope some day to have a commission in the service,” Jack answered thoughtfully, “but I fancy I should prefer it after the war is over. You see, if I were made a subaltern now I should no doubt see lots of fighting, but I should be tied and hampered to a great extent. I cannot forget that I left friends in Kimberley whom I promised to call upon again, and now that I am safely out of Ladysmith, with nothing in particular to do, I feel all the more inclined to turn my face that way.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Excuse me,” laughed the genial correspondent. “Of course I had not forgotten that you have friends on the Western border, and no doubt you are anxious to meet one of them at least again. Don’t mind my chaff, Somerton. It’s the sign of true friendship when one’s friends remember one. As to your leaving for Kimberley, I certainly advise you to do so, for you are not likely to see much fun hero; and besides, anyone not belonging to the regulars or volunteers is to be rigorously excluded from General Buller’s camp. Ladysmith is a precious tough nut to crack, and to be honest and perfectly candid, I do not believe we shall break our way through the Boers till we have distracted their attention to other quarters, and caused them to weaken their forces here. We are playing a big game, and while we keep Joubert and the Boer army before us by feints and attacks in deadly earnest, we are anxiously awaiting reinforcements to drive them out of Cape Colony, and if possible invade their own territory.”
“In that case,” answered Jack, “I shall leave as early as possible and join the troops under Lord Methuen; they are twelve miles south of Kimberley, and barred from reaching the town by General Cronje and the impregnable heights of Magersfontein and Spytfontein. Perhaps a despatch-carrier will be wanted, for Mafeking if not for Kimberley, and I shall offer my services.”
A few minutes later, after thanking Jack, the war-correspondent retired to his own tent to write up his despatches, and send them across the telegraph cables to the head offices of the London newspaper for which he worked.
Jack joined the officers of one of the regiments at dinner, and afterwards retired to rest. On the following morning, on mentioning to one of the staff of the general that he was about to set out for Kimberley, a letter was given him describing him and his services, and recommending that he be employed as a despatch-carrier.
Armed with this, Jack took a hearty farewell of young Poynter, and, climbing on board a coal truck which had come along the line to the front filled with ammunition, he was whirled south to Pietermaritzburg. Here he found that all was bustle. Loyal to the heart, the inhabitants of this old town had for many long weeks been energetically aiding the Government authorities. Relief committees had been instituted to manage the funds sent out from the English public, and had already done enormous good in lessening the sufferings of the poor people who had fled at the commencement of the war from Johannesburg and other parts of the two republics, bringing with them only what wealth they could carry.
Hospitals had been arranged in various public buildings, and in these, ladies—high-born, rich, and poor—worked with a will. At the front their services were not wanted, for the war was a stern and sanguinary one in which only men could take a part; but here, out of sound of the cannon’s roar, they were doing a noble work, and while they ministered to the poor suffering soldiers, at the same time they eased their own aching hearts, and distracted in some measure their own troubled thoughts, for scarcely one of them but had some dear one, husband or brother, cooped up in the beleaguered camp of Ladysmith and exposed to the fire of the Boer guns.
Amongst them Jack found Mrs Hunter, and one can imagine with what joy and tears she greeted him, and how eagerly she listened to the messages sent her by her husband. In a twinkling the news that someone had arrived who had recently escaped from Ladysmith spread through the town, and nurses flocked from every hospital to interview him.
Poor Jack! Naturally a bashful lad, especially where ladies were concerned, it proved a most trying ordeal for him, and far more so than his interview with the correspondent. But at last he satisfied them all, having in the large majority of cases only good news to give. Then he said good-bye to Mrs Hunter, promised to convey all her messages to Wilfred, and once more boarding the train, set out for Durban.
Here he was fortunate enough to find a transport sailing for Cape Town, and that night was again at sea.