With Rifle and Bayonet: A Story of the Boer War

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.

Chapter Nineteen.
Jack Finds a Sweetheart

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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