With Rifle and Bayonet: A Story of the Boer War

Chapter Eleven.
Tracked by the Enemy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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