“Then every station is crammed with armed and excited Transvaallers, who have committed all sorts of detestable acts. I know this is the case, for Joe Pearson, who works on the railway in ordinary times, watched train after train of refugees passing through one of the stations. The older Boers are quiet and well conducted, but it is the younger men who have committed these excesses. Threatening to shoot helpless passengers is the least of them. They have actually kept the poor people in the sidings for as many as twenty-four hours, absolutely preventing their leaving the trucks to obtain food or water. It is really terrible. The unhappy women and children, who form a good proportion of the refugees, have been exposed to the weather for three days between here and Laing’s Nek, and you can imagine what that has meant, for you yourself experienced the heavy rain last night. I hear one or two of the children died on the way down.
“It is dreadfully sad, terribly sad. But there is one consolation, England will demand a just retribution when the time comes.
“That is why I have decided to send Mrs Hunter down by road, rather than let her run the risks of the journey by train. The horses are good ones, and ought to get you to Volksrust quicker than the rail; that is, of course, if they are not commandeered. If that were to happen, I suppose you would have to get to the nearest station. But I can leave that to you, Jack. You have an old head upon those broad shoulders of yours.”
“I’ll do my best, never fear, Mr Hunter,” Jack exclaimed. “And now about starting. I suppose we had better do so at once. Mrs Hunter can ride Vic, and Wilfred and I will take it in turns to get on Prince’s back.”
“Yes, I think you had better go at once, my lad. Mrs Hunter is ready, and Tom Thumb carried over a hamper of provisions to Ted Ellison’s last night. All I shall ask you to carry is this bag of notes and gold-dust. Wilfred has another, and Mrs Hunter a third. I shall stay here to look after the house and property, and to keep an eye on the mines. I have already asked for a permit, and ought to get it, as I am one of the oldest residents here.”
“By the way, Mr Hunter,” said Jack suddenly, “this is the 12th. Has the war begun yet? I suppose it has, as these Boer fellows seem to have been in readiness long ago.
“Yes, it has already opened with a sharp affair with an armoured train below Mafeking, and I am sorry to say our boys, under Captain Nesbit, V.C., were taken prisoners. The news has only just reached us, but it appears they made a gallant stand before they were taken, and accounted for a few of the Boers. They were running up from Kimberley to Mafeking, and suddenly came upon a part where the rails had been broken up. It was a regular trap, for the enemy had their guns already laid for it, and used them freely. Well, it is just the opening incident of a long campaign, that is all.”
By now it was quite dark, and after a tender farewell from her husband, Mrs Hunter and the two lads, Jack and Wilfred, slipped round to the stables.
A few minutes later the door was opened silently, and they issued out on to the veldt, Mrs Hunter and Wilfred mounted respectively upon Vic and Prince, while Jack walked alongside.
An hour and a half later Ted Ellison’s farm was reached. The heavy spring-cart was already standing in the yard, with the hamper stowed inside, and it took very little time to put the team in and hook up the traces.
“Now, Wilfred,” said Jack, who had all this time been thinking how best to arrange matters so as to ensure their safe arrival in Natal, “you hop up there and take the reins. When you get into the road, keep the team at a steady trot, and if anyone shouts to you in Dutch, answer them, and keep rattling on. You know their lingo, and that should be a great advantage. I am going to keep some way ahead of you, and shall scout on one side of the road first and then on the other. If you hear a whistle like this” – and Jack gave a low but peculiarly piercing and long-drawn-out whistle, which he had learnt from Tom Salter – “pull up at once, and wait till I tell you the road is clear. If I whistle twice, turn on to the veldt, and whip up till you are well away from the road.”
Having given his directions, Jack vaulted on to Prince’s back, and, leading Vic, turned away from the farm, after thanking Ted Ellison and his wife, who heartily wished them a safe journey.
For three miles they went at a slow pace, Jack riding close beside the cart. Then they struck across the main wagon-road to Natal, and Jack at once cantered ahead on the veldt. To all appearances he was a young Boer burgher bound for the wars, so that even if he did happen to run across anyone, he was not likely to be recognised in the darkness as an Englishman. Beneath his coat he still wore his bandolier, and his pistol under his waistcoat, while his rifle was firmly strapped to the side of the empty saddle on Vic’s back.
Mile after mile passed by without a single Boer appearing. Then the sky, which had been open up to this, became banked up with clouds, and very soon a heavy storm broke, thunder roared, and large, jagged forks of lightning flickered everywhere, lighting up the lonely road running across the veldt. Then the rain began to pour down in a heavy deluge.
Wilfred and Mrs Hunter were well provided with waterproofs, and Jack by this time was enveloped in his large mackintosh, only his head and his broad-brimmed hat being exposed, while the ends of the rubber sheet fell over his pony’s neck and quarters, and completely protected his legs.
Suddenly, as he was cantering silently along on the veldt, the only sounds being the noise of the thunder and the squish, squish of the ponies’ feet, a brilliant flash of lightning seemed to pierce the ground some yards behind him, and almost instantly a hoarse voice cried out: “Wie gaat daar?”
He cantered on, and a moment after heard Wilfred answer the hail, for it was evident that Jack himself had escaped discovery, while the team and cart, trotting along on the open road, had been shown up by the flash. Then there was a second hoarse hail, and an order for the cart to pull up. But Wilfred paid no heed, and instead whipped up his horses, and sent them flying down the road.
Jack meanwhile had turned to the left and then ridden back, well away from the road, till he was on a level with the cart. Then he turned towards it and pulled up. As he did so a second flash showed Wilfred standing up and using his whip freely, while two mounted Boers were galloping along on either side of the leaders, vainly endeavouring to pull them up. At last, however, finding themselves unsuccessful, and stung to madness by Wilfred’s whip, one of them lifted his rifle and fired at the near leader, bringing the animal to the ground like a stone. The others stopped at once, almost throwing Mrs Hunter and Wilfred out of the cart.
Seeing that there was likely to be trouble, Jack at once reached over and unstrapped his rifle. Then he galloped up to the cart, to find that Mrs Hunter had been roughly dragged on to the road, while the second Boer was hastily lashing Wilfred to the wheel of the cart. What his intentions were was evident, for at that moment he completed the lashing, strode away a few paces, and lifted his rifle to his shoulder.
“Stop that!” shouted Jack, pulling up close to him. “We are refugees and deserve fair treatment!”
In an instant the Boer, who was a fierce young fellow, swung round and fired point-blank at him, the bullet cutting a streak from the brim of his hat.
Jack’s answer was even more rapid. His rifle spoke out, and the Boer dropped prone on the road. Then he swung round just in time to duck and escape a second bullet from the other Boer, and before the latter could load again, Jack’s Mauser pistol had safely reached his hand beneath the mackintosh, and the muzzle of it just showed at the edge in front, directed straight for the man’s head.
“Drop your rifle!” he said sternly. “That’s it! Now take off your cartridge-belt! That will do! Stand over there in the road! Now, Wilfred,” he said, turning to his friend, “as soon as Mrs Hunter has set you loose, back the cart away from the leader and cut the harness. Then drive on, and I will catch you up.”
“Move on up the road in front of me,” he continued, addressing the Boer, “and if you attempt any tricks I’ll put a bullet through you!”
The young Boer evidently understood every word, for with a downcast air he set out along the road in the direction of Johannesburg, with Jack a couple of yards behind him. A mile farther on, when the storm seemed to have reached its height, and the thunder was roaring overhead in long, continuous claps, Jack quietly pulled up, turned on to the veldt, and galloped back, leaving his prisoner still marching on in blissful ignorance.
When he arrived at the scene of the recent conflict he dismounted, picked up both of the Boer rifles and bandoliers, and, mounting again, galloped away into the veldt, where he smashed the butts against a boulder.
“That fellow is safe to return as soon as he finds I have slipped away,” he thought, “and if I left the rifles the chances are he would follow and stalk me. That will settle him at any rate.”
Once more he cantered on, and caught up the cart about two miles along the road. Wilfred at once pulled up, and the two young fellows held a consultation.
“It was a piece of bad luck all through,” said Jack, with an exclamation of disgust. “If there had been light enough I should have seen those fellows, and could have warned you so as to avoid them. That flash of lightning just spoilt our chances. If it hadn’t been for that we should have got through. One thing is certain too, that if we had given in to them, and pulled up when they ordered us to do so, we should have had our cart and horses commandeered, and then we should have been in a nice pickle.”
“That’s just what I thought,” answered Wilfred. “I knew it meant that we were prisoners, or that the cart and team would go, so I held on and gave them a taste of the whip when they came alongside. My word, though, it was a precious near shave for us! I very nearly went flying on to the horses’ backs. But as it is, neither of us is hurt, thanks to you, Jack, old boy!”
“Well, it was a near shave,” agreed Jack. “That Boer’s bullet has cut a long slice out of my hat. I was sorry to shoot the poor fellow, but he brought it on himself, and certainly deserved it, for he meant to kill you. But now, about the other man. I took him up the road, and on the way back broke the rifles. I noticed, too, that both their horses had scampered away on to the veldt. For all that he is now on his way to the nearest station, and before two hours have passed the news will have been telegraphed down the road to Yolksrust, and the Boers will be on the look-out for us. What are we to do? We are sure to run our heads into a trap if we go on in this direction.”
“Why not bear to the right and strike into the road for Villiersdorp in the Orange Free State, and from there to Harrismith?” asked Mrs Hunter. “I have driven along it more than once. We can cross the Vaal by the drift (ford), and by taking that route shall put the Boers off the scent.”
“That’s a capital plan, Mrs Hunter!” cried Jack. “What do you think, Wilfred?”
“Yes, I quite agree with Mother,” Wilfred answered. “The Villiersdorp road will be the one for us, and once we get into the other state we shall be comparatively safe from molestation, for the burghers there are not nearly so bitter against us as are these Transvaallers.”
Accordingly the cart was driven off the road to the right, and then across the veldt in a south-westerly direction. Soon they bumped across the railway, and before dawn were on the other road. Driving along it a little way they came to a part which was covered with kopjes, and here, within easy distance of the road, they made a halt, pulling the cart into a deep donga (big water-course), where it was completely hidden. Alongside it they stretched out their mackintoshes on the sodden ground, and having waited till the day had broken, and satisfied themselves that no one was about, they lay down and fell asleep.
Three nights later they were in the neighbourhood of Harrismith without having met with any adventure of note upon the way, and on the following night they drove past Albertina, where they discarded the cart, leaving it for the first comer to appropriate, and pushed forward to Van Reenen’s Pass in the Drakenberg mountains. This they knew was already watched by a force of Free Stater Boers, but they were looking more for an invasion from Natal than for refugees endeavouring to slip through from their own country.
Jack scouted ahead, and having found the pass free of men, went back and informed his companions. Then they pushed on again, Wilfred leading one of the three horses and riding another, while Mrs Hunter boldly clung to the back of the third. A pitch-black darkness and heavy rain again favoured them, and they slipped through the pass and down to the plain below unchallenged.
Two hours later the welcome hail “Who goes there?” in healthy English, greeted them, and having shouted back “Friends”, they halted and waited for the cavalry patrol to give them permission to go on.
Soon afterwards they were in Ladysmith, and had found rooms at the hotel, where their arrival after their long and adventurous drive caused quite a sensation. But all three were too tired to do much talking. They snatched a hasty meal, and retired to bed, where they were soon sleeping the sleep of exhaustion.
There was no need for them to rise at dusk and set out again, for they were now in the British camp and in British territory, so that when Jack did wake, late in the afternoon, he rolled over again and dozed off for more than two hours longer. Then he turned out, shook Wilfred, who was asleep in a bed in the same room, and, accompanied by him, crossed the camp and indulged in a swim in a large pool of water where many of the soldiers were bathing.
“Now, what is the order?” cried Jack, when they had returned to the hotel and had sat down to dinner with Mrs Hunter, in a room in which many of the officers were dining. “I suppose you will go down to Pietermaritzburg or Durban, Mrs Hunter, and if Wilfred will escort you there, I will stay here for a day or two, and then make across to Kimberley. There may be something going on here during the next few days, and if so I should like to be in it.”
“Yes, that is what I shall do, Jack,” Mrs Hunter replied. “I have friends at ’Maritzburg, and will join them to-morrow. Probably any wounded there may be – and I fear there will be many of them, poor fellows, before long – will be sent down there to the hospitals, and if so I shall occupy myself in nursing them. I have had some experience, and I dare say everyone willing to act the good Samaritan will be welcomed.”
“Then I will take you down there, Mother,” said Wilfred, “and after that will go with Jack if I may. Father told me it was more than probable that he would be ejected from the Transvaal before long, for he has no direct connection with the mines. In that case he will come south, and I shall wait here on the chance of his doing so. We shall hear from him before long, and if he is able to remain in Johannesburg I shall go across to Kimberley and join Jack.”
“Very well, then, I shall expect you some day, but I think you will have to wait for the relieving force,” Jack said. “Kimberley is already closely invested, I have no doubt, and you would have no chance of getting in, for you do not know the country. I do, however, and now that I have had such practice at long-distance riding, I shall slip in if I can, and then volunteer to carry despatches either south to De Aar, or north to Mafeking. Later on, if the town is not relieved – and a long siege seems to be expected, – I shall get out again, and see whether I cannot join one or other of the relieving-forces which are certain to be sent. For the present I shall rest here a little while.”
Accordingly Jack made himself at home, and on the following day, when Wilfred and Mrs Hunter had departed, he turned out into the camp, and was not long in making friends with a number of young officers, and with some of the soldiers.
Ladysmith he found was much like other towns in the district. Its most prominent building was the Town Hall, round which there were clusters of stores and verandahed houses, mostly with tin roofs, which reflected the rays of the sun like a number of large mirrors. In and about the houses, and around the town, was a more or less treeless, open plain, while surrounding it on every side were ridges and mountains which had a most imposing effect.
Jack was soon in conversation with a young captain of the gunners, and with him he made a tour of the camps, thoroughly enjoying the sight of all the tents, wagons, and guns, and the hundreds of khaki-clothed soldiers bustling about in their shirt sleeves preparing the mid-day meal All seemed to be in the very cheeriest of spirits, and as Jack and his new friend passed amongst them he heard many a laughing allusion to “Old Crujer” and the Boers.
In one corner of the camp a game of football was going on, and the combatants, selected from two of the British regiments, were playing in their shirt sleeves with as much keenness and energy as they would have displayed at home before a crowd of onlookers. Here, however, there were only a few officers watching the game, and a sprinkling of other “Tommies”, smart, healthy-looking men, smoking their pipes and cigarettes, and making the most of the few days of ease which remained before a sterner struggle would demand all their strength and courage.
“Fine boys, aren’t they!” remarked the captain. “They are never so happy as when they are kicking a football, or joining in some sort of sport. I dare say if we have to stay here very long we shall hold a gymkhana, a kind of athletic meeting on a large scale, and then Tommy is in his element. Ah, they are jolly good fellows, and it’s a real pleasure to serve with them!”
Soon after this Jack said “Good-bye!” and returned to his hotel, where, after luncheon, he again turned in for a sleep, for he had ridden some four hundred miles in little more than a week, and still felt the effect of the fatigue.
Chapter Eight.
The Battle of Glencoe
When Jack came down to breakfast on the morning following the departure of Mrs Hunter and Wilfred for Pietermaritzburg, there was only one vacant place in the cramped little dining-room of the hotel, and on taking his seat he found himself face to face with a young fellow some three years older than himself, who was dressed in civilian riding-costume which closely resembled the khaki uniform worn by officers.
He was a jovial-looking fellow, with clean-shaven face, laughing eyes, and a head which was covered with closely-cropped red hair.
“Good morning!” he said, as Jack sat down. “It’s not much of a breakfast this morning; but then what can you expect with so many of these lusty officers about. They’ve eaten us out of house and home. Well, they’ll fight all the better. By the way, what are you? Volunteer, Natal carbineer, or civilian? Excuse my asking, but I am a stranger here, and am anxious to get information.”
“Then you have come to the wrong man this time,” Jack answered with a smile. “I only arrived a day ago, and know simply nothing.”
“In that case I dare say I shall be able to teach you then. My name’s O’Farnel, Lord Edward O’Farnel, commonly known as ‘Farney’. If we’re both strangers we had better look round together.”
“Delighted, I’m sure!” Jack exclaimed. “I was wondering what I should do with myself. I only came through from Johnny’s Burg a few days ago, and before that I had ridden over from Kimberley; so you can understand I am a perfect stranger here.”
“That was a long ride,” said Lord O’Farnel. “Tell me about it, and what kind of an experience you had coming down. By all accounts some of the refugees had a terrible time of it.”
Jack at once complied, and before the meal was over found himself on most friendly terms with the young lord who sat opposite him.
“Now tell me something about yourself,” he said, when he had told O’Farnel how he had come down from Johannesburg, and how he had spent his time since arriving in Africa.
“Something about myself, is it?” replied his companion. “Well, there’s very little. I’m twenty-two or thereabouts, Irish, and have no profession. Away back in good old Ireland I’ve a castle and a mansion, and any amount of acres which bring me in about twopence halfpenny a year. Ah, it’s a fine place, and very good to look at, but ruination to keep up! I said ‘Good-bye’ to it three years ago, and since then I have been travelling round. Last year I went home for a week, thinking they’d be pleased to see me; but, bless your life, the old caretaker in the mansion was the only one who cared a jot. The others thought I had come for the rent, so the very next morning they had dug a grave in front of the hall-door and put an old black coffin near it with a notice on top, written in the best of Irish, advising me to clear out at once. Pleasant fellows! They’ve quaint ways about them, but they are good-hearted all the same.
“I took their advice and left at once, and then came out here to see what I could do at the mines. But Kruger and his friends had upset everything, so I went south to Durban for a time, and when there was a talk of fun up here I took the train and came on the chance of seeing it. But how to do it is the next thing. What do you think, Somerton?”
“I am going back to Kimberley very soon,” said Jack; “but if there is to be a struggle in this direction I shall stay for a time and join in if I can. I was told yesterday that volunteers are badly wanted, and that anyone could be taken for the Imperial Light Horse. But that would be more or less of a tie. I really don’t see why we should not take part in all the fun as simple volunteers. Have you a rifle and a mount?”
“Yes, I have a good pony and the usual rifle,” O’Farnel answered; “and what is more, my kit makes me practically the same as any of the volunteers. I have been here for the last week, and so can put you in the way of things. I know one of the officers in a regiment stationed here. Let us look him up. I dare say he could get whatever you want, and I should advise you to buy a suit of khaki and a pair of putties. Then we will see whether we cannot go along with the troops.”
Accordingly Jack and O’Farnel strolled across to one of the camps and were fortunate enough to find the officer of whom the latter had spoken.
“Hallo, Farney!” he exclaimed, as they stopped opposite his tent. “So you’ve come up here! I thought you were going to stay at Durban.”
“No, I’ve got a restless fit on, Roper, and have come to see what is doing here. This is Jack Somerton, a friend of mine. By the way, he wants to get some kit. Can you help him?”
“I may be able to,” answered Roper. “Come over to the quartermaster and we will see what he has to say.” When they reached the quartermaster’s stores, which were temporarily in a large tin house, they found that he had a complete kit to sell, one of the men having been killed on the way up to Ladysmith in a railway accident.
The clothes were just the right size for Jack, and he quickly became possessed of them.
“There,” said Roper, as he handed them to Jack, “it’s not exactly correct, you know. These should be sold by auction in the regiment. But no one wants them, and you have paid more than they would have fetched at a sale.”
“Now we want to know whether you can help us to see some of the fun,” said O’Farnel. “We will volunteer for anything so long as it does not tie us down.”
“Then I should advise your going farther north,” said Roper. “Here you are not likely to come in for much, for the Free Staters compel us to keep on the watch. But General Symons is at Dundee, up towards the north of Natal, about thirty miles away, and if you go up there you are certain to see some fighting. He has 4000 men, and he will strike the first big blow. Look here, Farney, I’ll give you a note to a fellow I know in the Hussars up there, and if there’s to be a battle, he will see that you both have a share in it.”
“Thanks, that will suit us capitally!” said Lord O’Farnel. “We’ll start as soon as you can give me the note, for it would be an awful disappointment to arrive too late.”
A few moments afterwards they returned to their hotel, where Jack discarded his shabby tweed suit and donned the khaki.
“There you are now,” said Farney, looking quizzically at him. “You look just like the ordinary ‘Tommy’, and will do. My word, though, I thought what a quiet-looking fellow you were before; but now, what with the rifle and bayonet and that broad-brimmed hat, you look a regular mountebank! But come along. There is nothing to keep us, and we may as well start north at once.”
Having paid their bills, Jack and his new friend, Farney, saddled up their ponies and took the road for Glencoe.
It was a long ride, but the road passed through some wonderful bits of rugged scenery, and about half-way up they fell in with an ammunition column, with a small escort, and an officer who proved a perfect mine of information.
“Oh, yes!” he said, when Farney asked him, “there’s going to be a big battle up this way within a very short time. We are stationed at Dundee to check the invasion. We cannot stop it, for I suppose there must be thirty to forty thousand Boers marching south, besides others threatening our communications with Ladysmith. But we are bound to make a stand somewhere, just to show the beggars that they cannot have things all their own way.
“I hear all the enemy came over the border on the evening of 11th October, and on Saturday they were at Newcastle. Since then they have been pushing slowly south, while hundreds of wagons have followed them. They mean business, do those Boers, and we shall have a pretty hard job to turn them out of Natal when reinforcements reach us.”
“Then you think we shall have to retire?” said Jack.
“I’m sure,” replied the officer. “Joubert is as cunning as a fox, and a clever soldier. He is marching in three columns. One came through Botha’s Pass, close below Majuba. The centre one has passed through Newcastle, and the third, on our right, is marching down the eastern border, and will no doubt make a dash to cut our communications. They are too many for us. We shall have a go at them, hammer them, and then retire to Ladysmith, where we shall entrench ourselves and wait for reinforcements, which will take some weeks to reach us.
“I suppose you fellows are going up as volunteers? There are lots more like you. If you have never been under fire, you will have that experience before long. It’s not so bad after all. Keep cool, and take, advantage of every scrap of cover. Keep an eye overhead, too, if you can. It is possible to dodge a shell, and the farther you can get away from it the better.”
It was late on the evening of 19th October when Jack and Farney reached the British tents at Craigside Camp, between Dundee and Glencoe, and close against Talana Hill, which was to be the scene of the next day’s battle.
A few enquiries soon brought them to the Hussar quarters, and having introduced themselves to Roper’s friend, by means of his note, they were both able to get a shake-down in a tent near by for the night, as well as a good meal.
They had had a long and tiring ride, and were soon asleep, wrapped in the blankets which each one had carried strapped behind his saddle.
Just as daylight dawned on the following morning they were startled from their sleep by a succession of loud reports, followed in a few seconds by the screaming of several shells overhead and by an explosion close at hand.
“By Jove, they’ve started already, so we’re in the nick of time!” exclaimed Jack, jumping up and rushing outside the tent, where he was joined by Farney. “What has happened?” he asked an officer, who was passing at that moment.
“Lucas Meyer has occupied Talana Hill,” was the reply, “and he is shelling us with six guns. Wait a few minutes! Our batteries are galloping out, and you will see how soon they will polish those beggars off!”
Hastily slinging their belts across their shoulders and picking up their rifles and blankets, Jack and his friend saddled their ponies, which had spent the night close by, and cantered out of the camp after the British guns, which had already taken up a position.
“That was a close one,” exclaimed Jack calmly a moment later, as a shell whizzed just above his head and plunged into the ground behind, where it failed to explode. “A foot lower and it would have knocked my head to pieces!”
“Ah, there’s many a slip!” laughed Farney light-heartedly. “Look at our fellows! They are giving our friends over there a good peppering.”
Jack turned to watch the British guns, of which there were twelve, and then directed the field-glasses which he had purchased in Ladysmith at the heights of the Talana Hill. There he could see six cannon belching forth sharp spirts of flame, but no smoke, for the latest ammunition was being used.
As he looked, the British batteries spoke out, and the reports were followed by a succession of blinding flashes close by the Boer guns.
For twenty minutes the storm of shell continued to fall, and by that time the enemy had ceased to fire, and their guns stood unattended.
By now the troops had poured out of the camp, and while some remained behind in case of an attack, the King’s Royal Rifles, a gallant corps commonly known as the 60th, the Dublin Fusiliers, and the Royal Irish Fusiliers, both regiments composed of stalwart, dashing Irishmen, fell in on the bugle-call, and formed up for the attack. Smart, bold fellows they all looked too, clad in their khaki uniforms, with belts, helmets, and buttons all of the same mud-colour. And true heroes they were soon to prove themselves, for the bugles now rang out the “Advance”, and in open order they set off for Talana Hill across a wide, sweeping plain, almost completely devoid of cover, and shortly to be swept by a murderous hail of Mauser bullets directed by unseen hands.