With Rifle and Bayonet: A Story of the Boer War

“If you take my advice, my boy,” said Mr Hunter, patting him kindly on the back, one day when Jack had suggested it was time to return home, “you will stay on here for a complete year. We are some thousands of feet above the sea-level, and Johannesburg, and indeed most of the Transvaal, is notoriously healthy. You are not fit to go back to the cold English climate. Of course there is not much the matter with you, but I don’t like that weakness you sometimes complain of. I have written to Dr Hanly and your mother, and the former quite agrees with me that a prolonged stay will do you good.”

“There is nothing I should like better, Mr Hunter,” Jack replied, “but what am I to do with myself all day?”

“Oh, that is easily arranged! You seem to have taken quite kindly to shop life, and I am going to propose that you become one of my regular assistants. I shall only want you in the mornings, and as we always open early you will be able to get plenty of exercise in the open air. You have already made many friends here, and no doubt you will find plenty ready to accompany you on horseback out into the veldt. There are two good horses in the stable which you may use whenever you like.”

Accordingly it was settled, much to Jack’s and Wilfred’s delight, that the former should prolong his visit, and very soon he had quite settled down to the life. Early morning found the two lads in their shirt sleeves outside the store taking down the shutters. By breakfast time everything was dusted and the goods uncovered. After the meal they stood behind their counters, and before long Jack knew as well as anyone in Johannesburg what was the current rate of butter and ham, and what was the lowest figure at which sugar could be sold in order to leave a good margin of profit for his employer.

But there was really no need for the cutting down of prices. A store in such a populous town was a valuable property, and Mr Hunter’s had a reputation which ensured the various departments brisk business all day long. All who patronised it seemed to be in a prosperous way, and indeed only grumbled that all their energies and business prospects were smothered by the continual opposition and stupid action of President Kruger and the Boers.

To say that Jack enjoyed the life he was now leading was to describe his feelings rightly. He took the deepest interest in his work, and after his hours in the shop were done, generally went for a gallop with one or more of the many young fellows he knew. Christmas came and went, and by the early months of the New-Year, the eventful and never-to-be-forgotten year of 1899, he was quite himself again, a rosy-cheeked and manly-looking young fellow whom everyone but Piet Maartens and his Boer sympathisers liked.

So well did Jack’s life agree with him that he was within an ace of deciding to forego his commission in the army and remain for good in Africa. But Mr Hunter dissuaded him.

“You are too young to settle down as yet,” he said. “And besides, it was your father’s wish that you should follow his footsteps and enter the army. Of course we should prefer you to stay, but under the circumstances I hope you will return and go up for that examination. Later on, perhaps, when you have knocked about the world a little more, you may wish to resign your commission, and then if you join us here all the better! You will be older and more ready to settle down, and your family ties in England are not likely to prevent your emigrating if you wish to do so.”

Jack recognised the wisdom of doing as Mr Hunter suggested, and accordingly made all preparations to leave Africa in the following August.

But the old proverb that “Man proposes and God disposes” was exemplified in his case. Events proved too strong for him, and he remained in the country, shoulder to shoulder with his English friends, to face the storm of passion which was soon to burst over their heads, and to take his part in the bitter struggle which was to be fought out between the Boers and their allies, and the sons of our mighty empire.

Chapter Four.
A Startling Adventure

“Jack, how would you like to carry out a little piece of business for me?” asked Mr Hunter one morning, extracting a letter from a big bundle which he held in his hand.

“I have just had this offer of leather goods from the agents in Durban, with whom I am in the habit of dealing. In spite of war scares, and the fear that we should have to leave the country suddenly, shoals of new-comers constantly reach us, and such articles as bags and trunks are always in demand by those who are forced to travel from town to town. Saddlery, bits, and reins are also easily disposed of. This would be a good opportunity for you to make a run down to Durban. You have never been there, and you could inspect these goods between the hours when you will be looking round the town.

“There is a list of the articles that have just been shipped over from England, and you will notice that against the prices quoted I have ticked down the amount usually asked for here. If the goods are of first-rate quality, you may close with the agents at once.”

“Thanks! It’s very good of you, and I’d like to go immensely, Mr Hunter,” Jack answered. “How many of each of these items am I to buy? I see you have not stated that.”

“Well, I imagine it is a big consignment, Jack, and I believe by buying now I shall be able to sell all at a large profit, for I think there is likely to be an unprecedented demand very shortly. So I shall leave it to your discretion to buy as many as you think reasonable. Here is a signed cheque. Of course you will get something taken off for a large order, and the terms I shall also leave to you. You have already shown you possess a business head, and I can therefore rely upon your carrying the arrangements out satisfactorily. Fill in the cheque and hand it over when you have settled the matter. To-day is Saturday. You had better start on Monday morning, and I shall expect you back on the Thursday or Friday following.”

Jack was delighted at the confidence placed in him, and set off on the Monday morning in the highest spirits. He purchased a return ticket, shook hands with Wilfred – who would have liked to accompany him, but had to remain behind, as his father was going to Kimberley for a few days, – and jumped into a luxuriously-furnished carriage.

It was a long and monotonous journey to Durban. Many of the towns they passed through, however, bore names which only a few months later were to be in the mouths of all Englishmen, in fact of the whole of the civilised world.

Running south towards the Orange Free State border, the railway curved towards the south-east, passing in succession Heidelberg, Standerton, and Volksrust. Then, with a loud and piercing shriek from the engine whistle, the train dived into a long, dark tunnel in the Drakenberg range of mountains, and emerged into Natal, one of England’s most loyal colonies. Sweeping past Laing’s Nek and Majuba Hill, names which will ever cause our countrymen to grit their teeth with vexation and regret, the train passed through a mountainous and extremely rugged country, and finally pulled up at Newcastle, one of the towns where the opening scenes of the second Boer war were to be laid. Then, after a ten-minute wait, the guard’s whistle sounded, and they steamed on past Glencoe and Dundee, and, swerving to the right away from the neighbourhood of Rorke’s Drift (that little mission station on the banks of the deep, swift-flowing Buffalo River, where a mere handful of English soldiers kept at bay the flower of Cetewayo’s army of fierce Zulus), they ran through Elands Laagte and Reitfontein, and drew up once more, at Ladysmith. On proceeding, the train ran down to the river Tugela, skirted its western bank, and thundered across the bridge, and on past Chieveley and Frere to Estcourt, stopping only when it had run into the station at Pietermaritzburg. From there to Durban was only a short spin, and very soon Jack had arrived, and had been whirled to his hotel on a “rickshaw” drawn by a strapping Kafir.

On the following day he called on the agents, and inspected the leather goods he had been commissioned to buy; and having decided how many to take, and offered a certain sum down for the articles he required, he left the warehouses, promising to call at the same hour next day and hear whether they would accept it or not.

Then he took a “rickshaw” a little way out of the town, and called upon a young fellow who had sailed out from England with him.

“What! Somerton! The fellow with a groggy leg whom the ladies on board took so much care of!” the latter exclaimed, shaking Jack cordially by the hand, and forcing him into a chair on the shady verandah on which the two lads had met.

“Boy! Joko! Do you hear?” he shouted. “Look lively! I’m on the verandah.”

“Coming, Baas! coming!” sounded away from the opposite side of the house, from which a Kafir appeared a moment later, in a desperate hurry to obey his master.

“Now, Somerton,” said Jack’s jovial friend, whose name was Turner, “join me in a lemon-squash and a cigarette. It’s a funny combination, but I find it agrees with me, and I’m sure it’s far better for one than drinking spirits as many fellows do.”

Jack gladly agreed to do so, and soon they were lolling back out of the heat of the sun, puffing their cigarettes, for that was a habit which Jack had already learnt to appreciate, and chatting about their respective doings for the past few months.

“So you’re up in the Transvaal with Mr Hunter, and under the eyes of the Boers, are you?” said Turner, when he had heard how Jack had been employing his time. “Well, I dare say you fellows up there know more about affairs than we do here; but there are going to be ructions, awful ructions, I feel sure, and if I were you I should get ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

“Yes, everyone says the same, Turner,” replied Jack, “and from what I can understand, trouble is certain to follow. Some say it will lead to war, and others say it is likely to be merely a kind of storm in a tea-cup. Whatever happens, though, I expect I shall stick to Johannesburg till the Hunters clear out I’ve thrown in my lot with theirs, and I couldn’t very well leave them, you know. Besides, I am not anxious to do so.

“If matters come to a head before August, then I shall stay in the country and see the trouble through; if not, why, I suppose I shall have to go back to England and begin to cram for the army, a grind which I don’t fancy at all.”

“Then the chances are you will be in the thick of it, Somerton, for by August there will either be war, or old Kruger will have knuckled under. I can tell you this, at any rate: the Boers have been arming for years, and if I were in your shoes I should certainly smuggle in some weapon, a revolver for choice. And mark my words, you’ll have need of it before long or I’m a Dutchman! Now what do you say to a spin round the town or down to the quays?

“Joko! We want a couple of ‘rickshaws’. Bustle up and fetch them!”

Jack and his friend were soon bowling along through the streets of Durban, and spent a pleasant afternoon together.

On the following day Jack called on the agents again, and having come to an agreement with them, and arranged that the goods should be despatched by the train which left for Johannesburg the next morning, he sauntered through the town in the direction of his hotel.

“I wonder whether Turner was right about that revolver!” he suddenly thought, a window full of sporting guns and rifles having caught his eye, and caused him to remember the conversation of the previous day. “If all these Boers are really arming it might come in very handy some day. Yes, I will buy one, with plenty of ammunition, and see whether I cannot hide it away where a pretty close search would not discover it.”

To make up his mind was to act, and within a few minutes Jack was in the gun-shop.

“I want a revolver of some sort,” he said. “Something which would be useful, and at the same time not too big and heavy.”

“Then you couldn’t do better than take one of these Mausers,” the owner of the shop, an Englishman, replied. “They lie much flatter than a revolver, are not given to jamming, and fire ten shots in rapid succession. Come in here, sir, and try one. I have a range specially fitted up.”

Jack followed the man into a big shed behind, and here, for an hour, he practised with various pistole, finally deciding upon a Mauser.

“There will be a run on that weapon soon, sir,” remarked the shopman knowingly, “and if all is true that one hears, or indeed only half one hears, the Boers have been buying a heap of them.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that too,” replied Jack, “and also that they take precious good care that none of the Uitlanders get hold of any.”

“That’s so, sir; but still, I dare say there are many of our countrymen who have managed to smuggle in arms. That Mauser you’ve bought could be easily managed if fixed with a good deal of padding beneath the arm.”

“Ah, I dare say!” Jack answered casually, and then left the shop.

“That was a good idea,” he thought, as he walked back to the hotel, “and I’ll just see how I can manage it.”

Arrived at the hotel, he first begged a reel of cotton, a needle, and a small piece of dark serge from the manageress, and then retired to his room. He was wearing a navy-blue suit at the time, and whipping the coat off, he first fitted the Mauser pistol beneath the waistcoat, pushing the muzzle up till it rested in the right armpit.

“Now, all I have to do is to open the seams down each side and let them out,” he murmured. “Then I will sew on a kind of inner pocket, and as soon as it is finished I must pad the waistcoat all round with cotton-wool. It will make it awfully hot, and I dare say I shall make rather a muddle of it, as I never was very grand at sewing. Still, it’s got to be done, and after all, what does it matter how neat the stitching is?”

It took a good two hours to let out the seams and add the pocket, but at last that part was completed, and he sallied out to buy some cotton-wool.

Then he placed the wooden holster of the Mauser in the pocket, and arranged the wool on either side of it and between it and the waistcoat, securing it by cross stitches. An hour later the other side was similarly padded, and he tried the waistcoat on.

The cotton-wool he found had certainly made all the difference. Both sides beneath his arms were well rounded off, and it would require a good deal more than a casual glance to detect that matters were not as they were meant to be. Then he put on the coat, buttoned it up, and, standing in front of the glass, practised drawing the weapon.

It was wonderful how quickly he could change himself from an unarmed English youth to one with a deadly Mauser, with ten bullets between himself and disaster. To thrust his hand beneath his coat, touch the spring, and unbutton the flap of his hidden pocket was the work of only a moment, and an instant later the pistol had by its own weight slipped out, and the butt was in his grasp, while the holster remained in its old position ready to conceal the weapon again.

Jack practised diligently with and then without the glass, and finally, feeling satisfied that he was now prepared in case of accidents, donned his hat and went out for a walk.

No one suspected him, or looked after him as though they had noticed that he was carrying hidden arms, and even Turner, when he accidentally ran across him, not only failed to perceive that Jack had something beneath his arm, but once more dilated on the possibilities of trouble in the future, and urged him to buy some weapon before returning to Johannesburg.

“You’d better do as I say, old chap,” he said persuasively. “Those Boers are bad ’uns to deal with at any time, but when they are armed and you are not – and they know it too – well, it’s apt to go hard with the poor Uitlander.”

“Ah, well, I fancy I’ll take my chance, or perhaps get a revolver next time I come south to Durban!” answered Jack with a quiet smile. “You see, from all accounts they are awfully suspicious fellows, and no one can pass into the Transvaal with so much as a cartridge; at least, that’s what I have been told.”

“Yes, Somerton, there is that difficulty about it,” Turner answered, wrinkling his forehead. “Well, I shouldn’t think that any Boer would be ass enough to search you. You don’t look the sort of fellow to smuggle arms; in fact, if you’ll excuse my saying it, old chap, you’re about the most innocent-looking and harmless young Englishman of my acquaintance. But I must be going now. So long, old horse, and mind you, if you think of that revolver, or want anything sent up to Johnny’s Burg, drop me a line, and I’ll get it forwarded to you somehow or other.”

The two young fellows shook hands, nodded, and went their different ways, Jack to various shops to carry out sundry small commissions with which Mrs Hunter had entrusted him, and Fred Turner to his office.

On the following morning Jack was whirled to the station on a rickshaw, and, leaping to the ground, paid the Zulu “boy”, who, as a matter of fact, was a fine, big, strapping man of about thirty-five, with a long scar down the side of his face, evidently the result of some old assagai stab, but which, curiously enough, served only to make a naturally jovial expression all the more pronounced.

Then he carried his bag, which contained all his purchases, to the train, and placed it on the seat he intended to occupy.

He had arrived a good ten minutes before the time announced for the departure of the Pretoria and Johannesburg express, and employed it in walking up to the engine, which he admired as a very fine specimen of machinery. Then he strolled back along the platform, dodging the passengers, who had now commenced to arrive in large numbers, and finally reached the end of the train. It was rather longer than usual, he noticed, and curiously enough, tacked on to the back of the guard’s van there were six trucks open and one closed, five of the former filled with an assortment of wooden cases labelled “Sugar”, while the sixth was loaded with a consignment of finely-broken coal.

Having satisfied his curiosity, he returned to his carriage, first ascertaining that the leather goods he had bought for Mr Hunter were on board the train and duly labelled.

Soon the last of the passengers came tearing across to the train, ticket in mouth and a heavy bag in each hand, and he had barely flung open a door and sprung in before the engine gave a loud grunt and they were off.

It was a long run up to the tip of Natal, and the latter part of it somewhat slow and tedious, in spite of occasional snatches of lovely scenery; but at last they reached Newcastle, and pulled up in the station.

“Twenty minutes’ wait here, sir,” said the guard, putting his head in through the window. “You can get something to eat on the platform if you like.”

Jack jumped out at once, bought a bag of buns, and drank a glass of milk. Then he walked out of the station and into the town, thinking he would like to have a glimpse of it. But it was getting dusk, and lights were already appearing. Still, he went for some distance, forgetful of the fact that the minutes were rapidly flying, and that the moment for the departure of his train was getting very close.

Suddenly he looked at his watch, and found with a start that in three minutes it would leave. Darting through the street, he ran towards the station at his fastest pace, only to find, when he reached it, that the outside door was closed and to hear the guard’s whistle sounding.

It was an awkward dilemma, but Jack was not to be beaten. Running along towards the front part of the platform, he climbed some rails, crossed a siding full of coal wagons, between which he dived, and rushed up the incline on to the platform only to see the train steaming off. More than half the carriages had already passed him, and the first of the trucks at the tail of the train was abreast of him.

Jack determined not to be beaten, and, calmly judging the time, he grasped the hand-rail in the centre of the last van of all, and swung himself on to the narrow step which was secured along the side. Next moment he was carried on into the darkness without a soul having seen him join the train.

“Well, I caught it after all!” he murmured to himself with an exclamation of satisfaction; “but I shall never be able to hold on here for long. Besides, there’s no saying when I may be jerked off, or smashed against a signal-post. There’s a door along there, and I’ll see whether I cannot open it and get into the van.”

Climbing along the footboard, with his body held as close against the van as possible, he was not long in reaching the door and in wrenching it open. The rest was easy, and in a few moments he was safely inside, with the door closed.

To his surprise he found that there was a dim oil-lamp burning at the end, not that he could see it very well, for a wall of small cases was built between him and it. But, by climbing on to this and peeping over, he was able to see that it was a small lantern slung from the roof, and swinging backwards and forwards and from side to side as the van jerked.

But what was, perhaps, more surprising than all, was to find four men seated on as many boxes in the space that was walled off, playing a game of cards. They were typical Boers; that is to say, three of them were big, bearded men dressed in rough suits and felt hats, whilst the fourth was none other than Piet Maartens, more carefully clothed than his companions, and with a clean-shaven and evil-looking face. Close beside each man was a Mauser rifle and a bandolier full of cartridges.

“Whew!” whistled Jack under his breath, climbing stealthily down. “What are those men doing here, and armed too! What does it mean, I wonder?”

For a few moments he sat on the floor puzzling his brains, and then a suspicion that he had accidentally made a discovery dawned upon him.

“They’re up to no good, those fellows,” he said to himself, “and it looks very much as though they were in charge of this van-load of boxes. I wonder what’s inside them! Let me see. They’re labelled ‘Grapes – to be kept cool’, and are addressed to President Kruger himself.”

Having inspected the outside of the cases, Jack’s suspicions led him to test the weight of one of them, for, like every other Uitlander, he had heard that quantities of ammunition and arms were being secretly imported by the Boers.

“Phew!” he muttered, hurriedly putting it back in its place. “Not grapes, but Mauser cartridges, I’ll be bound. It’s twenty times as heavy as a case of grapes would be.”

There was no doubt now that Jack had hit upon something more than curious, and, having discovered a van loaded presumably with grapes but undoubtedly with Mauser cartridges, and in charge of a party of Boers whilst still in an English colony, his curiosity led him to persevere and probe the matter thoroughly.

“I’ll just see what is at this end now,” he thought, “and if I find the same I shall certainly get out of this as soon as possible. Those fellows would have no hesitation in shooting me to ensure my keeping a silent tongue; and Piet Maartens would certainly help them to get rid of me.”

Jack now crept across the narrow space which had been left opposite the doors of the van, and inspected the end nearest the engine. It, too, was apparently full of cases of grapes, but on climbing along on the top – for the boxes were here several tiers in thickness – he came to another large space left in the centre of them, and on lowering himself into it and feeling about with his hands, discovered no fewer than three Maxim guns jammed close together, whilst beneath them, packed loosely in straw, were piles on piles of rifles, undoubtedly of the Mauser pattern, as he could tell to a certainty by the shape of the breech-lock. Here was a position for a young lad to find himself in! By the merest accident he had managed to get into an extremely dangerous situation, and common sense advised him to quit it at once.

Stealthily climbing out of the hiding-place again, he waited till a sudden roar, as the train ran over a small culvert, gave him an opportunity to open the door and slip out of the van.

Clinging to the rail, he made his way along the footboard, stretched across to the truck in front, and soon had the satisfaction of finding himself sitting on top of a truck-load of fine coal.

But Jack’s surprises were not ended by any means, for as he went on all-fours to creep into a safer position, there was a sudden tearing sound, and one leg went deep down through the coal, to be followed instantly by the other. Next moment he was standing on the wooden flooring of the truck, with a layer of coal round his middle, while, strangely enough, his legs were quite free to move about.

Jack was as sharp as most lads of his age, and though he could not exactly see through a brick wall, he could certainly, now that suspicion had sharpened his wits, get to the bottom of this new discovery.

With the greatest care he swept the coal aside till he came to a tarpaulin some five inches beneath it, which was evidently stretched across the truck. Through this he had already forced a hole, and he had soon completely disappeared beneath it, and, nothing daunted by the novelty or danger of the situation, had begun to grope about in the dark. From end to end of the truck he crawled, going over every inch of the space, and when his inspection was finished he had counted two more big guns of some description, besides a vast number of Mauser rifles.

“Ah, this is really serious!” he muttered gravely to himself. “A van-load of grapes, which are really cartridges, for President Kruger, and a truck-load of coal, hiding no end of guns, not to mention those hidden by the cases of grapes. And I suppose the other trucks in front are just the same. I wonder now where they are going to! I’d very much like to find out; but just now, if I want to see the Hunters again, I had better get back to my own carriage.”

Jack popped up through the hole again, and was on the point of moving along the top of the coal when, with a shriek and a deafening roar the train dived into the long tunnel which connects Natal and the Transvaal. To attempt to move now would have been to run the chance of having his brains knocked out against the arch above, for the coal-van was one with sides of sheet-iron, built very much higher than those usually seen on our English railways. He therefore lay down flat upon the thin layer of coal, taking good care to spread his weight over as much surface as possible. Five minutes later the train emerged from the tunnel and rushed out into the open. Once more Jack crawled to the side of the truck, and having worked his way to the foremost end of it, clambered over on to the buffer, and from there on to the next truck.

“Now I shall be able to get along far more quickly,” he thought. “But first of all I will try the weight of one of these cases labelled ‘Sugar’. Ah, I thought as much! this one is so heavy that I can scarcely lift it.”

Stumbling along on top of the cases, he tried first one and then another, till he was convinced that here again he had hit upon a large consignment of war material of some sort. For if it was not ammunition, or something of that nature, what could it be? And why should the cases be labelled ‘Sugar’? Obviously it was extremely likely that all the trucks were loaded with war material, for otherwise why the secrecy and incorrect labelling?

Satisfied that he had discovered a secret of the Boers, Jack scrambled from truck to truck on his way back to his carriage.

It was by no means easy work, for the train was now rushing along at a rapid pace, swaying from side to side and necessitating great caution, especially when he was stretching across the space which separated the trucks.

However, by dint of due caution he at last reached the foremost truck, and was on the point of lowering himself on to the buffers when his hand struck against a cord which seemed to run from end to end over the middle of the wooden cases. He ran his fingers along it, and was wondering what it could be, when the flash of a light from the open veldt at the side of the line caught his eye. A second later it had been left behind, but the rope in his hand jerked and then stretched tight, as though the flash had been a signal and someone were pulling.

At that moment the train was rushing downhill, and the brakes were applied to steady it. The grinding roar, and the sparks as they gripped the wheels, attracted Jack’s attention, while the tension on the cord in his hand became instantly greater. Then there was a succession of loud bangs and heavy jolts as the buffers of the carriages and trucks came together. Before Jack could so much as guess at the meaning of it all, the cord became suddenly slack, the brakes were clapped on to the wheels of the trucks, almost throwing him over the front with the jerk they caused, and the Johannesburg express was racing away from him into the darkness. For five minutes the trucks followed in the wake of the express, their pace getting every moment less. Then there was a clank and a jar, and they swerved from the main track through a siding behind a station, which was totally unlighted, and on beneath some overhanging trees, and out on to the veldt once more. A couple of hundred yards farther on a big hill loomed up directly in front of them, a large shed appeared in sight, and within five minutes the trucks had run beneath it and on a little way into the hill. Then the brakes bit the steel rims harder, and the whole came to a stop.

Jack had not wasted his time meanwhile. Feeling sure that he had accidentally got into a very dangerous corner, he crouched low upon the cases, and the instant the trucks pulled up, jumped over the side and darted underneath.

“Wie gaat daar?” (who goes there?) he heard someone exclaim, and a big Boer, with an iron-grey beard, appeared, carrying a lantern.