With Rifle and Bayonet: A Story of the Boer War

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The other man boldly stood his ground, and, rising in his stirrup, took a deliberate aim and sent a bullet swishing so close past Jack’s head that it cut his ear. Before he could repeat the shot Jack was on him, and had thrust his bayonet through him and swept him off his saddle.

After that there was a quarter of an hour of the wildest excitement. Tearing madly forward, his pony leapt everything that came in its path and soon outdistanced the pursuers, who had halted at the fringe of bush and were now sending volleys after him. But horse and rider seemed to bear a charmed life, till an unlucky bullet struck the plucky little animal and caused it to fall. Jack went flying some yards ahead into a thick mimosa bush, which broke his fall, and, extricating himself and picking up his rifle, darted off. Showers of bullets followed him, but by bending low he escaped them all, and an hour later was in the heart of the bush and safe from the pursuing Boers. By that time he was thoroughly exhausted. He threw himself panting on the ground and remained motionless for a long time. Then he rose to his feet once more and set off in the direction of Mafeking.

All that night he trudged on, and spent the following day beneath the shade of a friendly thorn bush. Then he started again, and reached his destination just as the next day was dawning. Footsore and weary, he staggered up to one of the pickets, and, hastily answering his hail of “Who goes there?” with “Friend”, snatched at the man’s water-bottle and greedily gulped down the contents. Then, feeling stronger and more refreshed, he limped on into the town and handed his despatches to the redoubtable Baden-Powell, who welcomed him heartily.

Chapter Twelve.

Gallant Mafeking!

Had he been the bearer of the most eagerly-looked-for news, Jack could not have received a more enthusiastic welcome than he obtained from the gallant little garrison of Mafeking. As he staggered into the town, hot, dusty, and dishevelled, and worn out with his long tramp, a horn was sounded, and hosts of men flocked towards him, and, gathering in a circle round him, listened while Colonel Baden-Powell – affectionately known as B. – P. by his men – questioned him.

A stiff glass of brandy made him feel quite fresh again, and, sitting down on a box at the colonel’s invitation, Jack detailed his news and delivered his despatch. That done, he was hurried off by a number of the town volunteers to an underground cell built close behind a parapet of sand-bags, and there given a couple of blankets to lie on. He was tired out by his long march, and in a few moments was asleep.

When he woke again the afternoon was far advanced. Rising from his bed, he crawled out of the cell and found a young fellow busily tending some pans suspended over a blazing fire.

“Oh, there you are at last!” the latter exclaimed cheerfully. “We’ve been dying to hear all your news, but have had to wait patiently for you to wake up. Can I do anything for you?”

“Yes, if you could tell me where I can obtain a bucket of water and a makeshift for a towel I should be obliged,” answered Jack cheerfully. “I haven’t had a wash for three days.”

“Oh, that’s nothing!” the other answered, with a gay laugh. “It’s nearly three weeks since I had a shave, and when I got a look at myself in a bit of glass yesterday I nearly had a fit. Such a fright I look with this beard! But we’re all the same, that’s one comfort. But you want some water! You’ll find some behind that house over there. Keep your eyes open as you go, and if you hear the horn sound make a bolt for this bomb-proof cell. We always keep a fellow on watch, and as soon as he sees the smoke from the Boers’ guns he sounds his horn and we all run for shelter. It generally gives us plenty of time to get under cover. But sometimes some poor chap is caught.”

Jack thanked the volunteer for his information, and strolled across to the house. There was a pump and trough behind it, and, stripping off his coat and shirt, he enjoyed a thorough rinse. He had already borrowed a towel, and on returning he obtained a small piece of comb and the corner of a splintered looking-glass, and made his hair tidy. Then he stood outside the cell and chatted with the volunteer who had first spoken to him, and asked him to tell him what had occurred at Mafeking.

“Oh, we’ve had pretty lively times, I can tell you, Somerton!” the young fellow exclaimed jovially. “Of course you know that B. – P. turned up here some weeks ago, and started at once to enlist a colonial mounted corps. There wasn’t much difficulty about it either, for we knew something about him, and rushed to put in our names. Then old Kruger despatched his ultimatum, and we sent most of our women and children south with Nesbit, who, as I dare say you have already heard, was captured on the return journey. By October 14th we were surrounded, but B. – P. didn’t let the grass grow much before he was at them. For instance, on the 13th he sent out a couple of trucks of dynamite, which were a positive danger to us in the town. They were attached to an engine, and backed a mile or more up the line. The Boers spotted them, and galloped forward when they saw the engine uncouple and steam back without them. I suppose they thought they were armoured trucks filled with men, and when they were within close range blazed away at them. There was a terrific explosion, and it is reported that a hundred were killed. Then on the 14th we made a sortie and drew our friends into an ambush, in which they suffered still more heavily.

“Since that time there has not been much doing, though I expect we shall beat them again soon. A few days ago they started bombarding us at a range of two and a half miles with three Krupp guns, but now they have got some heavier metal about five miles away, and the shells are by no means pleasant. Still, we have come off well up to this. Now, Somerton, the fellows will not be back for half an hour, so give me some of the outside news.”

Jack told him all he knew about Glencoe and the campaign in Natal, and wound up with his ride to Kimberley and on to Mafeking.

“’Pon my word, I believe you have seen more of the war than anyone!” exclaimed his friend enviously. “But I suppose I ought not to grumble. Here we are, volunteers, and a detachment of the Munster Fusiliers, and townsmen, about 1200 all told, and if things turn out as is expected we shall have precious tough work to hold the place against the enemy.”

“From what you have told me of B. – P. I have no doubt you will see plenty of fighting before the siege is over,” answered Jack. “For my part, this despatch work is more fascinating than any. It gives one a splendid outdoor life, with plenty of adventure, and the dangers are not really more than those you incur here. You never know when these shells may drop on your head, so that, however carefully you keep below the sand-bag parapet, you may be struck down at any moment.”

A few minutes later ten men came hurrying along the street, and joined Jack and the volunteer. They had just been relieved of picket duty, and tackled the meal which had been preparing for them with the greatest gusto. A stalwart, sunburnt set of young Englishmen they were. Dressed in the usual riding kit and shirt, with sleeves rolled up to the elbow and slouch hat upon their heads, they looked capable of the toughest fighting. Nearly every one of these young fellows was the younger son of gentlefolks in England. Restless young spirits, full of pluck and go, who had failed in their examinations at home, or could not settle down to the humdrum life of an office in London. One could easily imagine that only a few years before every one of them was the pride and joy of some particular public school in old England – the kind of boy who captained the football or cricket teams, and with the roar of his schoolfellows’ cheers behind him carried the leather to the back of the goal-posts of some opposing team; or perhaps the calm, big-limbed, young hero, dressed in white flannels and shirt, who stood fast at the wickets and saved the day for his comrades, sending the strongest balls delivered to him away to the boundary. That is the kind of lad that most of these had been, and now, under vastly altered circumstances, they showed the same sort of spirit. Throwing themselves upon the ground in the shade, they ate their meals with a good appetite. Then, pulling out their pipes, they made a circle, and listened eagerly to Jack’s news.

In the middle of a glowing description of Glencoe and the storming of the heights of Talana Hill a horn sounded in the distance, and instantly all scuttled into the bomb-proof shelter. They were not a moment too soon. Less than five seconds later a huge shell shrieked just above their heads, and, striking the house opposite, exploded with a terrific flash and roar, shattering the walls to pieces.