With Rifle and Bayonet: A Story of the Boer War

Jack followed this advice. During their long, and generally lonely, rides, he would often fire as many as twenty cartridges in an afternoon, galloping up to the object afterwards to see what success he had had. As a rule, he fired from the saddle, but sometimes he would jump to the ground and aim whilst standing; at other times, at Tom’s suggestion, he would slip from his saddle, scuttle hurriedly across a piece of open ground, taking advantage of every boulder or ant-hill, and firing at an imaginary enemy from behind each one. Then, when he had reached a ridge, or a piece of better cover, a glance from his trained eye would pick out the best spot to fire from, and he would lie prone on the ground, without so much as the brim of his hat showing, while the muzzle of his rifle projected between two boulders and hurled forth a stream of bullets as he used the magazine.

“That’s it, my lad,” Tom would say encouragingly. “That’s just how our Boer friends fight, and it’s the only method nowadays, when bullets carry so far, and everyone is armed with a modern weapon of precision. It’ll be ticklish work, I can tell you, if our fellows have to attack from the open, and that’s what it will have to come to, for you won’t find these Dutchmen exposing themselves if they can help it. They’ll sit tight behind their boulders, and we shall have to turn them out at the point of the bayonet. Yes, it will be ticklish work, and will require real grit, but I’ll bet anything our boys will tackle it. There’s another thing too. Every youngster armed with one of these magazine rifles is inclined to blaze off all his ammunition at the first alarm. It’s wasting cartridges, which cannot always be spared; and what is more, it is apt to demoralise the others. That’s what you must guard against. Never use the magazine unless there are lots of beggars coming pell-mell at you. If there’s a rush, then is the time to pump in the lead as fast as you possibly can.

“Then, too, you must learn to train your pony, and whilst I’m teaching you to use your rifle, I may as well instruct you in the other matter also.”

Jack was naturally only too willing to learn. Riding all day long across the open veldt was somewhat monotonous at times, and his rifle practice and other manoeuvres helped to make the journeys pass more pleasantly.

Thanks to the allowance which his father had left him, and which was regularly transmitted from England, he was always supplied with an ample sum, and this, when supplemented with the wages paid him at Johannesburg, had given him sufficient for all his wants. Something to ride was one of the most pressing of them, and with Tom’s help he had, soon after his arrival at Kimberley, become possessed of two Basuto ponies, noted for their hardiness and agility. They were about the size of an English cob, mouse-coloured, and somewhat scraggy looking. But for all that they were wiry little animals, with plenty of spirit, but not vicious. Jack named one Victoria and the other Prince, and had no need to complain of his purchases. They turned out to be fast and sturdy little animals, who could easily thrive on the veldt when stable-fed horses would have starved. In addition, they were absolutely sure-footed, so that one could trust them to gallop down the side of a rough kopje, with the reins on their neck, without fear of an accident, for they were used to the work, and could be left to themselves to leap the boulders which came in their path, and steer clear of the ant-bear holes and nullahs which cut up the ground in every direction.

A few weeks’ training was sufficient, and before the prospecting tour came to an end they would stand stock-still while Jack fired above their heads, or at a touch from his heel would canter on, and turn swiftly with the merest pressure of a knee. A jerk of the reins across their necks, and down they would drop on the ground, the rider standing in his stirrups and easily freeing himself, and there they would lie while Jack fired his rifle over them. Sometimes, too, he would knee-halter them and leave them to graze unattended. This knee-haltering was rapidly effected. A long thong of untanned hide was passed over the neck, close up to the head, and one end put through a slit in the other. The free end was then taken round the leg just above the knee and secured with a clove hitch. The animal could then hobble about over a limited area in search of grass, but could not get far, and the halter could be thrown off at a moment’s notice.

But by this time other and more important matters began to engage his attention. There was an ominous cloud of unrest hovering over South Africa. It affected all, and filled them with anxious thoughts, for none knew when it would burst and let loose the thunder and lightning of a terrible war.

Already negotiations between the Boers and the British Government were at a deadlock. Both sides were arming, the former with the absolute certainty and wish for war, and the latter slowly and with evident sorrow. Suspicion was in the air, and hatred between the two races unconcealed. A conference at Bloemfontein had been held between Sir Alfred Milner, the Governor of Cape Colony, and President Kruger, but had led to no result, save a further deadlock. Kruger would make no satisfactory proposals. He was firmly determined that the Transvaal should be for Boers alone, and that no Englishman should have a voice in the country. England asked for equal rights, and was laughed at – defied. Yes, this small state, with a history which could only record some two hundred years of peasant existence, and a total population less than that of one of our big northern towns, had as good as cast down the glove at the British Lion’s feet. And the Lion still sat half-crouched, silently waiting, and hoping that matters might be arranged for peace.

Opposed to England’s forces was a minor state, which was snapping its fingers at her and practically daring her to retaliate. Once before the Transvaal had acted in a similar manner, and then, because there was some doubt as to the justice of our cause, and because we have ever been magnanimous, we made peace with her.

But, like a little dog, the South African Republic had continued yapping at us, distracting our attention while she grew and thrived, and armed herself to the teeth. And now that she had attained to full proportions, the conceit of youth and the impetuous desire to play with her new guns had led her to seek a quarrel, the result of which she hoped would for ever free her from the hated British suzerainty, and give her that independence for which she longed.

And on every side the world looked on and laughed in its sleeve at our difficulties, while it openly upbraided us for having ulterior designs on so small a state.

Matters could not remain as they were. Business was at a standstill, and crowds of refugees were fleeing from the Transvaal. Then the Orange Free State intimated that in the event of hostilities it would cast in its lot with the Transvaal, while there was open disloyalty amongst a portion of the Dutch Cape Colonists, which proved the existence of a wide-spread conspiracy.

England awoke sorrowfully to the fact that hostilities were not to be put off, and, calmly making the best of a bad matter, set to work to prepare for the struggle. Already she had despatched special officers for the defence of certain parts, and now she sent sufficient men to raise the garrisons of Cape Colony and Natal to 20,000, and that done, set to work to mobilise a complete army corps and call up 25,000 of her reserves.

The Boers, too, showed that they meant business. Every male of a certain age was bound to serve, and by October let had been called upon. From Pretoria and Bloemfontein the call to arms was passed on by the telegraph wire, and then by the field-cornets, or local magistrates, and within a few hours, bringing their rifles, horses, food, and ammunition with them, the burghers mustered to their several commandoes. The Orange Free State men manned the passes in the Drakenberg range of mountains looking into Natal, and also sent other commandoes (a large force of men) to watch the southern border along the Orange River, and the Basuto border, where trouble from their old enemies might be expected.

The Transvaallers for the most part went south by train through Volksrust to Laing’s Nek, the scene of the former struggle, while others went north to Komati Poort, where the railway from Delagoa Bay entered the country, and to the northern border near Tuli. A large commando was also despatched to threaten Mafeking, and another marched south towards Kimberley.

Thus, armed to the teeth, the Boers awaited the coming war, and now that they were fully prepared, with all their burghers on the borders and within striking distance, they despatched an ultimatum to the British Government, the more audacity of which set the world agasp, and made our countrymen shut their teeth with rage. It was addressed by President Kruger on October 9th, and declared that forty-eight hours’ grace would be allowed for our forces to be withdrawn from the Cape, our war preparations to be suspended, and our grievances submitted to arbitration. If we refused to do as demanded, war should commence on October the 11th, in the afternoon.

Never before had such an audacious message been addressed to us. There was no answer to be made. Its despatch made war unavoidable. We were forced into it, and accepted the inevitable with a sigh. But had we known all that was in store for us, had we as a nation realised that this was no tribal war, such as we were accustomed to, but a stern struggle against a race of born soldiers armed to the teeth, and favoured by a rough country suited to their tactics, that sigh would have been replaced by a start and by an anxious foreboding which would have led us to throw all our available forces into Africa without a moment’s delay.

But to return to Jack Somerton.

Early in October he and Tom Salter found themselves back in Kimberley again discussing the news, and on the 9th of the month, the very date upon which President Kruger despatched his ultimatum, a letter reached Jack from Mr Hunter, earnestly begging him to come to his help, and aid Wilfred in escorting Mrs Hunter to the frontier.

I know it is asking a lot of you, he wrote, for it would be awkward if you were found in the Transvaal after the warning you have had. But I know you and Tom have often been prospecting in this country during the past few weeks, and really, my boy, I should be grateful if you could come. Wilfred is a good lad, but scarcely capable of the work which will be required, for I can tell you the refugees are likely to meet with trying times.

Jack naturally determined to go at once, and communicated his intentions to Tom. “I’ll risk it,” he said. “An old tweed suit and a slouch hat ought to disguise me, and if I carry a rifle all the better. I shall ride through on Vic and Prince. It would take longer by rail, and all the stations are certain to be watched. I know the way, and ought to get through in about three days.”

Accordingly he saddled up his ponies, jumped into the old suit in which he had left Mr Hunter’s house, and with a hearty shake of the hand from Tom and his wife, set out towards the north, carrying sufficient water and provisions with him to last for a week.

“Good-bye, old boy!” Tom shouted after him. “We shall expect to see you here in a week or so, but we shall be closely shut up, and you will have to find a way in. Ta, ta! you’ll manage it, I’m sure.”

Jack waved his hand, shouted back that they might expect him in about a fortnight, and, shaking up his ponies, cantered away out of sight.

Chapter Seven.
Refugees

It was shortly after noon when Jack set out from Kimberley on his long ride to Johannesburg, and as he could not expect to get there before the afternoon of 11th October, when the ultimatum addressed by President Kruger to the British Government expired, he determined to ride at a moderate pace, for he knew that Wilfred would wait for his arrival. But there was another matter to be considered. An Englishman would now be a marked man in the Transvaal or the Orange Free State, so that if he wished to get through undetected, he must choose the darkest hours for travelling, and lie up during the day.

About five miles out from Kimberley he pulled up, knee-haltered his ponies, and sat down on a boulder, with a map of the two republics spread out before him.

“Let me see!” he thought; “I must pick out a route which will be little frequented just now. The Transvaallers, I know, are rushing west and north to Mafeking and the northern border, and east and south towards Natal. The other fellows in the southern state are making down this way to Kimberley with some of the Transvaallers, and they are certain to combine at Bloemfontein, coming across country by train. The remainder go east to Natal. That leaves the Vaal River deserted, and that ought to be my direction. I will wait here till dusk, and then cut straight to the right into the Orange Free State, and make for the road to Hoopstad. From there I must manage to get to the neighbourhood of Reitzburg, cross the river, and trust to luck to get through the remaining distance. It will be touch and go, but, dressed as I am, I ought to have a chance.”

And, indeed, looking at Jack anyone might have admitted the same. Clad in Mr Hunter’s old tweed suit, which was a size or two too big for him across the shoulders and round the waist, but all too short at wrists and ankles, he looked for all the world like the average Boer. Beneath his trousers he wore a pair of high riding-boots, round his neck was a blue woollen scarf, and on his head a dilapidated and weather-beaten felt hat. Over his left shoulder was a bandolier filled with cartridges, and hitched over the other, and drawn tight against his back so that the butt swung well free of his saddle, was his Lee-Metford rifle. In addition he carried a water-bottle, a mackintosh sheet, with a hole in the middle through which he could put his head, and his Mauser pistol, which was comfortably hidden away in its old position.

Extra shoes, or implements for putting them on to his ponies, were not wanted, for in addition to their many other good points, these shaggy, unkempt-looking Basuto animals, though never shod, were nevertheless equally fast over grass or stony ground.

It was still early in the day, and after riding on a few miles, Jack pulled up again and off-saddled, so as to rest his ponies. Whilst they set about foraging for themselves, he sat under a large eucalyptus-tree, pulled out his pipe and lit it, and proceeded to clean his rifle. A few hours later the shadow in which he sat had lengthened considerably, and he turned round towards the west to see the sun, which had been streaming down upon him all the day, just declining behind a far-distant range of mountains. It was a sight which set Jack moralising, for here, before his eyes, was a gorgeous scene, a fit subject for any artist. The sun was sinking in a splendour of gold and purple lights, and the heavens above it were decked with beautifully red and silver-streaked blue clouds, against which the jagged broken peaks of the mountains stood up boldly, while their rugged and boulder-strewn slopes, and the stretch of rolling veldt below, were already clouded with the shades of coming night. It was a peaceful scene, and why, thought Jack, should not all the beings dwelling within reach of it, or, for the matter of that, dwelling in a country capable of displaying such a prospect as lay before him, live in peace and good brotherhood with one another and enjoy it? South Africa was a vast country, so sparsely populated that one could ride for miles and miles without sighting so much as a roof or habitation, let alone a man. And yet no one thought of the beauties of the country. Other and deeper matters vexed their minds, and because they could not agree they were on the brink of a sanguinary war which would mean an awful loss of life, and – what then?

“Mr Hunter says it’s a case of British supremacy,” he murmured. “Yes, that’s what it is, and that is what it shall be when the war is over.” And straightway Jack forgot all about the declining sun, and the peaceful landscape, and with a curious feeling of elation, which the thought of coming excitement had given him, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, jumped briskly to his feet, and set about saddling his ponies.

Half an hour later it was dark, save for a small moon which just gave sufficient light to show the road. Jack vaulted into his saddle, hitched his rifle over his shoulder, shook the reins, and cantered off across the main road running north, and then on over the rolling veldt, which was just beginning to send forth a few blades of fresh green grass.

Alternately cantering and walking, and changing from one pony to the other, he kept steadily on, the unshod hoofs of his animals making no sound, so that Jack had the advantage of being able to hear anyone approaching. Five hours later he stumbled upon the road from Kimberley to Hoopstad, and at once off-saddled to rest himself and his ponies for an hour.

During that time no one passed, and having eaten a good meal of biscuit and hard-boiled eggs, he started again, riding along just by the side of the road, and turning on to it now and again, when the veldt was so strewn with boulders or cut up by nullahs and deep water-courses as to make it difficult for him to pick his way.

About half an hour later he heard a low, murmuring sound in the distance, and in a few moments could plainly distinguish galloping hoofs. Instantly he turned on to the veldt, and made for a steep kopje a hundred yards off, amongst the boulders of which he quickly hid both himself and the animals.

He was not a moment too soon, for just as he got Vic and Prince prone on the ground, and had seated himself on the quarters of one of them, a couple of horsemen came spurring up alongside the road, while three more at that moment galloped round from the farther side of the kopje on which he was hiding, looking ghostly and white in the faint rays of the moon. They all pulled up within a few yards of Jack, and one of them, whom he recognised at once as Hans Schloss, the fat and vindictive little German, turning in his saddle pointed to the top of the hill, and cried out: “Ha, my friends, there is the flag, and here we shall all gather before riding on to kill those pigs of Englishmen in Kimberley!”

“That’s so,” another voice broke in. “That’s the flag kopje, and your friends the Transvaal burghers will be joining us at midnight. They are coming through from Bloemhof, and should be here in good time. Then, Hans, my boy, we shall ride for Kimberley, but as for killing the Rooineks, that is another matter. We shall not catch them napping. They are ready, but if the good Lord will give us strength we shall drive them out. Then, Hans, you shall kill them, and they shall be filled with fear at the sight of you. Ha, ha! you will frighten them out of their lives, my brave comrade!”

The Boer chuckled audibly, and Hans Schloss, whose self-conceit and density were almost as pronounced as his fatness, failed to see the thinly-veiled sarcasm, and joined in heartily, dropping one hand upon his thigh and assuming such an attitude of importance that his companions roared at the sight.

“Two days more, and we shall be over the border,” another of the Boers cried, when the laughter had died down, “and then there will be good work for all of us. For years we have waited, and now our dreams are to be realised. Even now most of the Uitlanders will have left us, and those who have not gone are hurrying as fast as possible to the frontiers. Well, they had better do so, for after 11th October it will be an evil day for any of them should we catch them. Only a few who have permits signed are to be allowed to stay, and those we will set to work at native labour. It will be more fitted for them.”

“Yes,” chimed in another with a hoarse chuckle, “they shall be set to work at our trenches, and if an English bullet should pick them out, then all the better. But softly, Carl! In two days’ time we shall be rid of the Rooineks, ’tis true, but they are a stubborn nation, and these boys they send against us are filled with pluck. Our leaders have asked us to believe otherwise, but we, who have lived in the towns, know that it is not always so. They will fight us, and to the death. But we shall beat them, and then what a prospect there will be before us! Ourselves one of the big Dutch states of Africa, we shall have ships upon the sea, while here the natives will slave to dig out the gold and diamonds. Independence is a great thing, but for us who have seen something of the world besides a lonely farm, wealth and riches in abundance are more to be desired. And we shall get them by the help of these Kafirs, while we live the same old peaceful life. Then we shall sail over to London – if England still exists – and our old enemies will be glad to welcome the Boer millionaires who have come to visit them and help them with their gold.”

What other wild dreams this bearded young man would have spoken of is difficult to guess, for at this moment a commando of Boer horsemen trotted up on the road. Within five minutes all had halted, and were seated upon the ground or boulders lying thickly everywhere, smoking their pipes and conversing in loud tones while they waited for the arrival of their friends who were following them, and for the burghers from the Transvaal who were to join with them in attacking Kimberley.

All this time Jack had remained silently amongst the huge splintered rocks tumbled haphazard on the kopje, listening with all his ears, and ready at a moment’s notice to slip away and gallop for his life. He was in a precarious position, even more so than when a prisoner in the magazine near Volksrust. For here he was surrounded by a band of men armed to the teeth and ready for war, and only too willing to wreak their vengeance on the hated English. Glancing up at the top of the kopje, he noticed now what he had failed to see before, a broad flag, the vierkleur, flying from a post wedged between the rocks. A few seconds’ consideration showed him that his best course was to lie quietly where he was, without attempting to move, unless some Boer happened to discover him. His ponies lay as if dead upon the ground, and were not likely to betray him except by snorting or answering the neighs of other animals, and to guard against this he rapidly passed the thong employed in knee-haltering them round their muzzles, effectively preventing them from making a sound.

Minutes passed, dragging terribly slowly for Jack, but at last there was a distant shout, and a few moments later a commando, about five hundred strong, rode silently across the veldt and pulled up on the road. Almost at the same instant a large force of men and wagons came up on the road from Hoopstad, and after all bad exchanged greetings, and a brief prayer had been recited by one of them, who was evidently in command, they scrambled into their saddles and set off at a walk.

Jack watched them file past, in threes and fours, and in any kind of order. Then came the wagons, drawn by long spans of patient, toiling oxen, showing clearly in the white moonlight, so that several large pieces of cannon were visible. More wagons followed, heaped high with shell and cases of ammunition, while others contained sacks of flour and mealies, and a few Boer women who had cast in their lot with their men folk, and had come to act as cooks. There were also a few Kafir servants and drivers; while in rear of all rode a small body of bearded men, joking and laughing uproariously, and evidently in the highest spirits at the prospects before them. Jack gave them half an hour to get well away, and to make sure that there were no stragglers following. Then he cast off the thongs from the muzzles of Vic and Prince, and was soon cantering along by the side of the road as before in the direction of Hoopstad. By four in the morning, when the clouds in the east were beginning to brighten, he had ridden some sixty miles, and was within fifteen of Hoopstad. He now searched about for a secure hiding-place, and presently came across an isolated farm standing a few miles back from the road. Leaving his ponies hidden upon the side of another convenient kopje, he stole forward, and soon reached the building. There was no one about, not even a dog, and he at once boldly walked up to the door. It was locked, but a window he tried was unlatched, and Jack at once squeezed through it and drew up the blind. The farmhouse consisted of two large rooms, a kitchen and a bedroom, and both were empty.

“Ah, all gone to the war!” thought Jack. “This place will suit me perfectly. It’s well away from the road, so that no one is likely to come near, and if anyone does, he will find the door locked, and will probably go away at once.”

Unlocking the door, he went out and fetched his ponies, leading them into the farmhouse, and stabling them in the kitchen. Then he searched about in the few outhouses, and having discovered some straw and oats, came back and made his animals quite comfortable. Another journey procured water for them, and then, locking the door once more and pulling down the blind, Jack first indulged in a much-needed meal, and then lay down in a bed in the sleeping-room.

When he awoke the sun was already more than half-way overhead, and as soon as it was dark he set out again, and by early morning had reached the neighbourhood of Reitzburg. Here he was forced to camp in the open, in a thick belt of scrub composed of acacias and mimosa shrubs, for there was no comfortable farmhouse available. But it was much the same to Jack. He enjoyed a good meal, watered Vic and Prince, knee-haltered them, and once more lay down to sleep.

Early on the following morning, as day was beginning to break, he rode round to the back of Johannesburg and pulled up at Mr Hunter’s house. No one was to be seen, so he stabled his ponies, and then knocked loudly at the door.

“Who’s that?” Mr Hunter shouted from above; and then, when Jack had made himself known and had been admitted, cried in astonishment: “Good heavens, my boy! I did not expect you for two days at least, and perhaps not then, for I asked you to do an almost impossible thing. However have you managed to get here? My letter can only have reached you on the 9th at the earliest, and here you are at dawn on the 12th. But come in, my lad; you must be tired out, and will want a good sleep.”

“Yes, I am a little done up,” Jack admitted. “I have been riding ever since dusk yesterday, and did the same for two whole nights before that. I have ridden every inch of the way from Kimberley, through Hoopstad and Reitzburg, and my legs and back are so stiff that I can scarcely move them. I think I’ll have a hot bath if I can get one, and then get Tom Thumb to rub me down with oil. A good tuck-in and a small nip of brandy will set me up again, and after a few hours’ sleep I shall be fit to start for the border.”

Accordingly Jack jumped into a hot bath, and was well rubbed with oil. After that he partook of a good meal and at once turned in between beautifully-clean sheets, to which, down Kimberley way, he had been a total stranger, except when he and Tom returned from one of their expeditions.

Almost before his head was on the pillow he was fast asleep, and when he woke again, feeling wonderfully refreshed, it was already getting dusk.

“Ah, there you are!” cried Mr Hunter with satisfaction, when he made his appearance in the dining-room. “Now I will tell you what has happened since the ultimatum, and indeed since war became a certainty. On October let the governments at Pretoria and Bloemfontein called up their burghers, and since then our streets have been filled with men, all on their way to the front, armed and supplied with ammunition, and trusting to an iniquitous system of commandeering to obtain other necessaries. No one’s property has been safe, and we in Johannesburg have suffered, I believe, more heavily than any others. My store has been practically denuded of its contents, so that I now congratulate myself on having cancelled all expected consignments of goods from Durban for the past three months, and having cleared all goods remaining here as rapidly as possible. Some of my friends have not been so fortunate, and have lost everything valuable to men about to embark in a campaign. Horses have been seized everywhere, and there again I have been wise in time. Two weeks ago I sent over the four-wheeled cart and four good horses to Ted Ellison’s farm, ten miles out from here. They will be perfectly safe there, for Ted married a Boer girl five years ago, and she is a good little woman, who would gladly see all this trouble over and a British government here, with the usual peace and good order.

“At the present moment my stables are cleared of everything save your two ponies, and they will be safe till you start, for the Boers have twice paid me a visit, and have commandeered every saddle and horse I had left.”

“I’m glad to hear about the team and cart,” said Jack thoughtfully. “But why not take the train down to the border. Surely Kruger and his friends will grant all refugees a safe-conduct?”

“Safe-conduct! A precious fine conduct they are giving us! Thousands of poor creatures are clamouring to be taken down, and have been doing so for these past three days. But what can you expect, Jack? It is a single line to Natal, and every inch of it is occupied in passing down trains laden with burghers. The refugees are quite a secondary matter, and by all accounts are experiencing cruel times. All available carriages are packed with Boers, and our poor country-people have to do as best they can in open cattle trucks or coal wagons.