With Rifle and Bayonet: A Story of the Boer War

Chapter Fifteen.
Saved from an Awful Fate

“Let us stop here a few moments, Guy,” said Jack, when the two had advanced some twenty yards from the mimosa clump in which they had left Mrs Robb and her infant to wait for them. “That is evidently the gun up there at the top, and tied to the wheels are, I suppose, Mr Hunter and your father. Now how are we going to rescue them! It isn’t likely that the Boers will have left them unguarded. You can see for yourself that there is a camp away there on the left, for their fires are burning brightly. And in addition to the men there within easy call, there are certainly others near the gun.”

“Yes, there are sure to be pickets close to the top, for the garrison of Ladysmith might make a sortie at any moment,” Guy answered in a low whisper. “In Pretoria I heard that more than one gun had been put out of action in that manner. But about these pickets – we must slip between them. They are not likely to be awake at this hour. About three o’clock in the morning finds them astir.”

“Very well then, unsling your rifle, Guy, but do not load it. If there is trouble you can open the magazine in a moment, but with a cartridge in the breech, and the bolt pulled back, the slightest touch on the trigger would ruin all. Are you ready? Then keep close behind me, and if any of the Boers challenge I will leave it to you to answer them.”

“Trust me, Jack, old boy,” Guy whispered back. Then, feeling for his friend’s hand, he gave it a cordial grasp, which was returned as eagerly with a squeeze which almost made him cry out with pain. “If things go wrong, Jack,” he said earnestly, “we’ve been good pals. You’re a real brick, old man!”

“Things are not going wrong,” Jack answered grimly. “I’m going to get them both away, or I’ll know the reason why!”

For a moment longer the two young fellows stood facing one another in the darkness, gripping each other by the hand in a manner which said better than words could do that they were determined on one thing at least, and that was to be true to one another to death. Then Jack whispered, “Come along!” And, followed closely by Guy, he commenced to climb the steep and rugged side of the hill.

At any time it was no easy task, but now, when the displacement of a stone, or a footstep upon a piece of exposed rock, would easily have betrayed them, it was a matter of the utmost importance that only soft and grassy spots should be selected to put their feet upon.

By this time both were on hands and knees, and, feeling carefully in front of him, Jack wound from side to side, sometimes going a considerable way out of the direct course in his endeavour to find soft ground.

It was a long and tedious climb, but at last they were within fifty feet of the summit, where they came to a halt and looked cautiously round.

There was no one near them as far as they could see, but above them, standing dimly silhouetted against the sky, was an immense Creuzot gun, looking like some gigantic animal crouching on all-fours.

“Keep a bright look-out!” Jack whispered, with his mouth close to Guy’s ear. “There must be a guard somewhere close at hand.”

“What is that?” Guy answered hoarsely, pointing to the left. “Surely those are men wrapped in blankets and asleep. Yes, I am sure of it.”

“Stay here a moment, and I will see,” said Jack; and a second later he was gone in the darkness, and was creeping towards the ill-defined figures which Guy had pointed out.

It was dangerous work, but he had had a good grounding in the duties of a scout, and now he put into practice all the cunning that Tom Salter and his own quick wits had taught him. Lying almost flat upon the ground, he wriggled his body between the boulders and rapidly advanced. A few moments later he was sufficiently close, and, cautiously standing up behind a jagged mass of rock, peeped over the top.

The sight he saw filled him with satisfaction, for, wrapped from head to foot in blankets, were ten men fast asleep on the side of the hill.

“We ought to get past those fellows safely,” he muttered, “and if there are no more of them we might even be able to make a fight of it. By George, there are their rifles stacked a few feet away from their heads! It is worth the risk, and I will chance it.”

Once more crawling forward, he writhed amongst the boulders, and was soon within easy reach of the weapons, but with a boulder between himself and the recumbent figures. At that moment, despite all his care, the butt of his rifle struck against the rock and gave rise to a sharp sound.

Jack immediately lay flat on the ground, and, placing his thumb on the magazine catch, prepared to shoot a cartridge into the breech, and keep the Boers from taking possession of their Mausers.

It was evident that one of the men was a light sleeper, for at the sound of the butt striking the boulder he sat up on his elbow and looked suspiciously round. Then he rose to his feet, shook off the blankets, and strode towards the stack of rifles. Jack covered him and prepared to shoot, but, satisfied that here there was nothing wrong, the Boer again stopped, and then, evidently still suspicious, climbed up the hill to the gun.

Jack followed him, and again hid himself behind a boulder some ten feet away. As he did so, another ghostly-looking figure approached the Boer, and demanded, in somewhat quavering tones, what was the matter. Jack had no difficulty in following his words, for once again, with a start of surprise and an angry snap of his teeth which boded ill for the man should Jack find himself opposed to him, he recognised the voice of the fat little German, Hans Schloss, who had shown himself such a bitter hater of the English.

“That man is always coming across my path,” he muttered grimly to himself, “but let him look out this time; for if he comes between me and my object I will put a bullet through his carcass!”

Then he sat up and craned his head to listen.

“What is the matter, Gert?” the German asked in a trembling voice, which showed that sentry duty in front of these much-despised English was a task he had little liking for.

“Nothing is wrong, little man,” the Boer answered surlily, “but I heard a sound, and came up here to see whether anything had happened. But these prisoners are evidently afraid of you, Hans Schloss. Ah! you are a gallant fighter, and to-morrow you shall help us to work this gun, and see the English shells come bursting close at hand. It will be a fine sight for you to watch those prisoners blown to pieces by the very men they would wish to fight for!”

“Ha, ha, Gert! You were always funny,” Hans answered, with a husky laugh which had no merriment in it, “but to-morrow I have other work to do. It is a misfortune, for I should dearly have loved to witness the execution of these traitors.”

“Well, keep a bright look-out, Hans,” the Boer replied brusquely, “or else you may never live to see to-morrow’s light.” Then he turned about, and swung down the hill past Jack, leaving the little German quivering with fear. Five minutes later the man addressed as Gert was once more wrapped in his blankets, and Jack was crawling back to join Guy.

“Come away over here,” he whispered when he had reached him. “Now lie down flat, and I will tell you what I have seen.”

Then he detailed how ten Boers were sleeping upon the hill, and how Hans Schloss was keeping guard in front.

“With a little luck we shall manage beautifully,” he went on, “but there is always the chance of one of those Boers waking up, or of Hans discovering us. I had intended removing the stacked rifles, but it was too risky a job when one of the men was only half-asleep. But we can do every bit as well by separating. Are you willing to do just as I suggest?”

“I’ll do exactly as you order, Jack,” Guy answered. “You’re boss of this show, and had better continue to act as such. Too many cooks spoil the broth, old chap!”

“Very well, then, you will follow me, and I shall leave you behind a boulder close to the sleeping Boers. When you are safely hidden there, slip a cartridge into the breech and open the magazine. If there is an alarm, it will be your duty to keep anyone from using those rifles, and whatever happens you will stick to your post till I call you.”

“I understand. You can rely upon me,” Guy answered shortly.

“When you are in position,” Jack continued, “I shall sneak up to the gun and cut the prisoners loose. I’d give you that part of the job, Guy, old boy, as your father is there, but I have already been up there and know the ground. When we are ready I will slip across to you, and tell you how matters have gone. Then we will all cut away down the hill, fetch Mrs Robb and the kid, and strike round into the camp. Is that all clear?”

“As clear as daylight, old horse!” exclaimed Guy, with a suspicion of excitement in his voice. “I’m ready now. Let us set about it.”

Once more creeping forward on their knees, it was not long before Jack had guided his friend to the important post he was to occupy. Then he left him there, and, knife in hand, climbed up the hill.

The gun was now only a few yards away, and in little more than a minute Jack was close to it. Dropping flat upon the ground for a moment, he waited till Hans Schloss had moved out of sight. Then he scrambled forward and hastily dived beneath the enormous weapon. On either side of him were the massive wheels, and through the spokes Jack made out the figures of two men.

Rising slowly, he gently pulled the sleeve of one, and whispered in his ear: “Be silent for your life! I am a friend.”

The man gave a start, and almost cried out. Then he turned his head and answered: “Who are you? For God’s sake rescue us!”

Jack recognised the voice as Mr Hunter’s, and placing his lips close to his ear, whispered: “I am Jack Somerton. Stand still. I will cut you loose.”

Feeling along the spokes, he soon found that Mr Hunter’s wrists were lashed together to the hub of the wheel. He severed the cord with his knife.

Then he dived beneath the gun to the other prisoner, and having told him who he was, and that his son was close at hand, set him free also.

A moment later they were ready to start, Mr Hunter and Mr Richardson still standing against the wheels as though their lashings were secure.

“Hush, here comes the sentry!” Mr Hunter whispered as they were about to leave their posts.

Jack at once lay down upon the ground, and, opening the magazine of his rifle, slipped a cartridge in in readiness, in case there should be trouble.

A second later Hans Schloss swaggered up with his Mauser at the slope across his shoulder, and looked closely at each of the prisoners.

“Ha, Oom Hunter and Oom Richardson!” he laughed brutally, “this is a fine night for you. It is your last, my English friends, so make the most of it. Well, you are securely fastened, so I will leave you alone to think of your wives and your homes.”

Neither of the prisoners deigned to answer; but, had the vindictive and cowardly little German but known it, both were braced and ready to hurl themselves upon him and strangle the life out of him should he discover that their bonds were gone.

But, turning round with a sneering and cruel laugh, he walked back to his post, and all three at the gun breathed freely again. Another minute, and they would have hurried away, when a faint sound close in front of them attracted Jack’s attention. It was so faint that neither of the prisoners had heard it, but Jack’s trained ear told him that some men were approaching in the darkness.

“Wait, what is that?” he asked, detaining Mr Hunter and his comrade by the arm. “Surely the Boers are not coming up to work the gun!”

Next second all three became convinced that a large body of men was approaching, and even Hans Schloss had his suspicions aroused. He stopped in his lonely tramp abruptly, faced down the hill towards Ladysmith, and brought his rifle to his shoulder. An instant later a figure bounded into sight close in front of him, and the German fired and turned to fly. But he was too late. The flash of the rifle lit up the darkness, and to the astonishment of Jack and his two companions they saw a swarm of kilted men rushing headlong at the gun, while in front of them was the brawny giant, a fine Scotch lad from the Highlands, at whom the German had fired. The bullet evidently found a mark, for the soldier gave a fierce cry of anger and pain, and, bounding forward, buried his bayonet in Hans Schloss’s body, and with the strength of a Hercules hurled him over his shoulder just as a man might toss a bundle of hay with a pitchfork. Then someone shouted in the darkness, “At them boys! Surround the gun and keep everyone back till we have done the work!”

A second later there was a rush, and a hurricane of bullets swept across the top of the hill, splashing on the gun, and making it uncommonly uncomfortable for Jack and his friends, while the sharp crack of a Mauser close at hand and a series of terrified cries told them that Guy was performing his allotted task.

“Stop! Don’t fire! We are English!” Jack shouted.

“Cease fire there! Steady, men! Cover these fellows till I can get a look at them!” shouted the officer.

“Why, it’s Rawlings!” Jack cried in delight, recognising the voice of an officer he had met in Ladysmith. “Rawlings, I am Jack Somerton. Don’t let your men fire, and we will explain everything.”

At this moment a dark lantern was unmasked, and the rays flashed in Jack’s face.

“By Jove, it’s you right enough!” Rawlings cried. “Who are the others?”

“Prisoners who had been tied to the gun, and whom I and a friend were rescuing,” Jack answered hurriedly. “But I’ll tell you all about it later on. The Boers are away on the left, and that is the side you had best look to.”

“Why, who’s this?” the officer demanded a second later, as Guy was brought up a prisoner and halted in front of him between two Highlanders with fixed bayonets.

“Don’t know, sir,” one of the men answered shortly, with a Scotch accent. “He was firing away like mad down the hill, and there were a couple of dead Boers at his feet lying over a pile of rifles.”

“That’s my friend who was helping me, Rawlings,” Jack explained hastily. “Look here; how long are you likely to be on this hill?”

“Just as long as it takes to blow this infernal gun to pieces,” the officer coolly replied. “Why do you want to know? Can I help you?”

“Yes, we left a poor English lady and her child down there,” Jack answered, pointing down the hill. “I’ll go and fetch her, and then we will all get back together.”

“That’ll suit me, Somerton,” Rawlings replied. “A lady in distress, old boy, and you never need appeal twice to a soldier. Cut along then, and get back as soon as you can. Sergeant, detail three men to help. Quick about it, lads! Sing out when you’re near again.”

A minute later Jack and his escort were tearing down the hill, and having found Mrs Robb, returned with her to their friends.

“Ah! you’re there, are you, Somerton?” Rawlings cried calmly. “All right then! slip along down the hill and we’ll follow you. Now, where’s the lantern? That’s it. Line the top of the hill, boys, till the fuse begins to splutter. Then we’ll run for it.”

It was an exciting moment, and Jack, who had stayed behind, revelled in it, for this was just the kind of hazardous work that he enjoyed. But by this time the fuse was burning brightly, and the Highlanders fell back, having placed a heavy charge of gun-cotton in the breech of the Creuzot gun.

Five minutes later there was a loud report, and the breech had been blown to atoms and the rifling destroyed.

But it must not be supposed that all this time the sortie party had been left undisturbed. On the contrary, a dash, which had at first been merely in the nature of a gallant attempt to destroy a gun which had annoyed the garrison in the camp below, had now developed into a sharp affair. Recovering from their first surprise, the Boers on the left of the hill had leapt from their hard couches, and had moved upwards against the British troops in extended order. Soon their bullets began to swish close to the gun, and one or two of the Highlanders were wounded. But the others lay down behind boulders, and soon their rifle fire was answering the flashes below.

Immediately the fuse had become fairly alight the officer drew off his men, and, carrying the wounded, moved down the hill towards the camp. A minute later and Mrs Robb and her child were in the centre.

“Look out, sir!” the sergeant shouted at this moment; “they’ve got between us and the camp!”

“Then are you ready with those bayonets?” Rawlings cried cheerfully. “Charge right through them!”

Five minutes of wild, fierce fighting followed, for British troops, whether English, Irish, or Scotch, are perfect demons when their blood is roused and they are armed with that deadly weapon which none know better how to use. It seems to be an understood thing with them that, however much firing of guns there may be, and however thickly the bullets may fly, matters are not satisfactory and ended as they should be unless the bugle sounds “the charge”, and they rush with a cheer and hurl themselves upon the enemy.

The brave Highlanders, with their kilts blowing from side to side, rushed headlong at the Boers, and simply split them into two parties. Then they turned upon each one, and with a savage fierceness and a splendid disregard of the danger they incurred, forged a way into them and thrust them back at the points of the murderous bayonets.

Prominent amongst them was the giant who had ended Hans Schloss’s career, and by his side, using a bayonet which he had taken from a wounded soldier, was Jack Somerton, using it too with a vigour and a quickness which sent many a Boer to his last account.

“Get together there, me boys!” the Highlander by his side shouted. “Now, at ’em! Remember Majuba, and give them a taste of your steel!” His comrades answered with a hoarse cheer, and shouting “Remember Majuba!” fell upon the remaining Boers and put them to flight. Then they picked up those who had fallen and returned slowly to the camp, a rearguard marching behind them and answering the volleys discharged at them with a brisk fusillade.

Soon they were out of harm’s way, and stepped forward to the inspiriting wail of a bagpipe. About half an hour later it became light, and the whole garrison of Ladysmith who were free to do so turned out to welcome them. They had heard the firing, seen the flash of the gun-cotton which had destroyed the gun, and so learned that some of their number were making a sortie. It was a surprise to them as much as to the enemy; but to have published the news the day before would have meant a certain reverse, for in the town and camp, fraternising with our troops, were still men bought with Pretoria gold – spies and traitors who lived in the guise of harmless and refugee civilians, and yet were ready to send news of intended movements to the Boers.

But now that the sortie was an accomplished fact, and had proved such a signal success, the troops flocked out in hundreds and cheered the gallant party, relieving of their burdens those who were carrying the wounded.

Then a couple of ambulance wagons galloped up, and while one of them halted and took in the poor fellows, the other went ahead, one of the surgeons climbing in behind. A few hundred yards farther on a shell dropped and exploded near them, and a groan burst from all who were watching; for the work done for all who were helpless or hurt, by the medical staff, had already roused a feeling of deep gratitude in the hearts of the men.

Undaunted by the shell, and by another which quickly followed it, the ambulance wagon galloped on, a white flag with the red cross of Geneva flying above it. On arriving close to the hill, the surgeon was seen to leap out, and, followed by four stretcher-bearers, to walk hither and thither in search of the one or two men who had been left behind. Soon they found them, in the midst of a pile of wounded Boers, and, carrying them to the wagon, returned to the camp at a leisurely pace, the enemy this time letting them go unmolested.

Meanwhile the sortie party had almost been carried to their tents, while the officer who had been in command turned to the strangers who had so strangely joined his forces.

“What’s the matter, Somerton?” he cried. “You look awfully white. Not hit, I hope?”

“Oh, I’m all right! It’s nothing, thanks!” Jack answered. But his looks belied his words. He was deadly pale. His head was in a whirl, and now that all the excitement and danger was over, the power to control his feelings deserted him. His rifle dropped from his hand, he staggered forward, and fell senseless at the feet of his astonished friends.

Guy rushed to his side, and with the help of Rawlings, Mr Hunter, and Mr Richardson carried him to a field hospital which happened to be near. There it was found that a bullet had struck the magazine of his Mauser pistol, and, exploding the ammunition, had shattered the weapon and torn a deep wound in his side. But, strange to say, Jack had barely felt it at the time, though on the way back to the camp the pain had been excruciating. He had received the wound when charging with the bayonet, and the loss of blood which followed had at last told upon his strength.

When he recovered consciousness he was lying in a comfortable cot in a huge marquee, in which were fifteen others. In front of him, calmly stitching beneath the flap-like awning, was an army nursing sister, one of that band of noble women who follow our armies everywhere. She was stitching quietly, and seemed quite unconcerned when shell after shell, thrown from the Boer guns, fell in the camp.

Jack stirred, and at once gave vent to a sharp cry of pain, for the slightest movement caused him agony.

“Ah, so you’ve come to at last!” said the sister in a gentle voice, jumping up from her seat and coming to the side of his cot. “Now you must drink this. It is nasty stuff, but will do you good, and to-morrow, if you are strong enough, I will tell you how my life has been pestered these last two days by the hundreds of friends who have called to ask after you.”

“Friends!” said Jack feebly. “What friends? I have only a few here.”

“You have far more than you imagine,” the sister replied with a smile. “But I am disobeying orders. You are not to talk.”

With gentle hands she arranged his pillows and saw that he was comfortable, and Jack fell into an easy sleep as he was in the act of thanking her.

But on the following day he was unconscious again, for his wound was inflamed and he was in the height of a fever. Against this his iron constitution fought for two long weeks, during which he was tenderly looked after by the nurse, and watched with anxious feeling by the surgeons. And all this time Guy and his father and Mr Hunter hovered outside in the depths of despair, waiting impatiently for the first good news of their friend.

At last one day he showed signs of improvement, and two weeks later was rapidly recovering. The change in his condition caused a wave of gladness to spread over the beleaguered town, for Guy and his noble comrade, to whom he unstintingly and generously gave most of the credit, were the heroes of Ladysmith. Their adventures were detailed round many a camp fire, and if one soldier puffed more fiercely at his pipe, and swore beneath his breath that Jack was a downright good fellow, hundreds did, from the officers downwards.

As for Mrs Robb, the forlorn but brave little English lady whom the two young fellows had befriended at such risk to themselves, she was now quite happy once more, for her husband had escaped from his captors and had joined her in the camp.

And now to return for one brief moment to Frampton Grange, the family seat of the Somertons, and the amiable mistress and youth who resided there. Jack’s accident in London and his voyage to Africa had long ceased to be topics of interest to them, and, indeed, beyond wondering occasionally what had become of him, they never troubled themselves about him. Jack had written to them several times, but neither Mrs Somerton nor Frank had deigned to respond, and in consequence he had for months kept silent, so that they had no idea of his whereabouts.

But Dr Hanly was a regular correspondent of Jack’s, and when the latter wrote and said that they were on the eve of war, and that he should volunteer for service, the doctor sent the letter down to the Grange, so that Mrs Somerton might read it.

Who shall say what were the thoughts of this disappointed woman, or of the worldly son who lived with her? Frampton Grange was a charming and luxurious residence, and the legacy to which Jack was entitled at a certain age was by no means a small one. What if something happened to him? Then all would come to Mrs Somerton, and in due course to Frank. The very thought of it made the latter more unbearable, his airs and graces grew even more exasperating, and he finally became a veritable ruler of the house, with the result that there were many changes in the household. The first to leave was the old butler, who had been for years in the service of the family, and then one by one the other domestics quitted the house.

Kruger’s ultimatum was delivered, hostilities commenced, and mother and son scanned the newspapers and the long list of casualties with expectant feelings. Judge of their disappointment, then, when, instead of wounded, killed, or missing, Jack’s name appeared in large type, and beneath it a long article describing the adventures of a young Englishman, by name Jack Somerton, of a good old family at home, who had ridden from Kimberley to Johannesburg to aid the refugees, and had afterwards brought news to the beleaguered town, after having accomplished a gallant deed on the way.

No sooner had this appeared than another telegram announced his successful dash for Mafeking, and his subsequent daring ride to the north.

Then came silence. There was no news of him. Messages from Tuli and Mafeking stated that nothing further had been heard of him, and it was feared that he had been captured. But advices from Pretoria failed to mention his name amongst the lists of prisoners, and the master and mistress of Frampton Grange felt their hopes rise high.

But later, after more than a month of silence, the busy flash-light from Ladysmith explained how Jack Somerton had come nobly to the fore again.

Dr Hanly was beside himself with pride and pleasure, and no sooner had he read the news than he darted off to the Grange and congratulated Mrs Somerton. He was an observant man, was this little doctor; given to thinking charitably of everyone; but when he saw the little enthusiasm his intelligence caused he was astounded and disgusted, and at once left the house with the firm intention of never going there again till Jack returned.

Dr Hanly was not the only neighbour who showed his appreciation of our hero’s services to his country. From far and near people called to offer their congratulations, and letters poured in in shoals. So much so, indeed, that Mrs Somerton and her son gradually began to look upon the other side. They were not altogether bad or selfish, and in time they too, feeling a kind of reflected glory, began to think more kindly of the homeless lad they had treated so harshly. In this satisfactory condition we will leave them, and while Jack Somerton lies in his bed in that field hospital in the invested camp at Ladysmith we will return to the British troops in other parts of South Africa.

It will be remembered that on the receipt of Kruger’s ultimatum England had despatched a large army over the 6000 miles of water which cut her off from South Africa, and this force had arrived at its destination in due course, armed and ready for war, and accompanied by supplies. In addition, local colonial forces were rapidly enlisted, for it was apparent to all that no one could approach so close to the Boers in slimness and astuteness in fighting as these hardy young sons of the old country, who, finding themselves crowded out by the more fortunate ones, had betaken themselves to this fair land of South Africa to set up new homes. And with them, to do all and every arm of the service justice, must be classed the gallant volunteers from Australia, Canada, and New Zealand. For the most part used to a rough life in the bush, they proved most valuable scouts, and were as fine a body of men as could be met with.

Thus it will be seen that we had a large army in the field, and when it is recollected that some 10,000 troops were hemmed in at Ladysmith, while others kept the foe at bay in Cape Colony, Kimberley, and Mafeking, it will be realised that England was well represented.

A glance at the map of South Africa will show the four railway systems leading into or close by the two republics in arms against us. Those who know the country through which they run believed that General Buller, the able leader of the British forces, would invade the Orange Free State by way of the Orange River, and thus draw off the investing forces from Ladysmith and the other besieged towns.

But a little consideration will show that such a task was all too formidable for the army we had accumulated. To begin with, the Boers far outnumbered us – not that that damped the spirits of our men, but it was a fact to be seriously reckoned with. Then Cape Colony was seething with sedition, and a revolt was to be feared unless troops were there to keep the rebels in check. But perhaps the greatest difficulty was that this necessity for troops in all parts of the country, and along the railway to the Orange River, the absolute importance of keeping the communications open from the advancing army right away to the sea, and above all the large force required to keep the Boers in check in Natal and south of Kimberley, capped the strength of our army corps to such an extent that when all demands had been supplied its numbers had dwindled so alarmingly that the idea of an invasion had to be promptly abandoned.