With Rifle and Bayonet: A Story of the Boer War

“That’s bad luck!” one of the volunteers snouted; “it has smashed up our sleeping quarters, and has set them on fire. Tumble up, you fellows, and set to work to put the flames out!”

Jack joined the others, and helped to fling water on the flaring timbers. The fire was soon put out, and they returned once more to continue the yarn.

“Well, you’ve seen a good deal of service already, Somerton,” said one of the young fellows, “but if you have nothing to do to-morrow, and care for a new experience, I will take you out to snipe the enemy. It’s a slow game, but has its excitements. We shall have to crawl out in the dark about three o’clock, take up our quarters outside, and wait there till the following night. Perhaps we shall not get a shot all day. But on the other hand we may bag a few of the Boers who show themselves. Will you come?”

Jack willingly assented, and next morning, when it was still dark, followed the young volunteer outside the defences. Each carried a rifle and plenty of ammunition, field-glasses, water and food sufficient to last the day.

“Now the thing is to get hold of a spot where there is some shade to be had,” said the young volunteer, whose name was Francis. “I know a splendid place, where we shall be able to get out of the rays of the sun. We can lie there together and chat. It is much better than being by one’s self.”

Picking their way carefully amongst the boulders, Jack and Francis soon reached a mass of rock which had been specially prepared for sniping. It was really a gigantic boulder, which had at some time split, the two portions rolling a few feet apart. In the gap between, a little wall of boulders and sand-bags had been made. Francis stretched a blanket from one piece of the rock to the other, and kept it in position by means of stones.

“That’s all right,” he said, with satisfaction. “However hot the sun is we shall be sheltered from it. Now we’ll get our rifles ready, and have a snooze till the dawn breaks.”

Placing their weapons against the wall in front, they rolled themselves in their blankets and soon dozed off. An hour later the sun was up, and both prepared for action.

“You’ve been under fire before, at Glencoe, Somerton,” said Francis, “but I fancy you will find this rather different. The Boers hate us fellows who come out here to take potshots at them worse than all the rest. It makes it impossible for them to show themselves for long. Every shot we fire will be answered by a dozen rifles or more, and sometimes they will let off a shell at us. It gets pretty warm work at times. But I dare say you’ll get used to it.”

“I fancy I have had a share of it already,” replied Jack coolly. “You see, before I got out of Glencoe I had some experience of it, and just outside Kimberley a force of Boers bombarded the house in which some friends and I had sheltered, and riddled it with bullets.”

“By Jove! Really!” Francis exclaimed in surprise; for, had the truth been known, he was almost wishing he had not brought this young despatch-rider out with him on such a trying expedition till he had learnt how he conducted himself under fire. “Really!” he repeated, lifting his eyebrows with astonishment. “You did not tell us anything about it last night when all the fellows were asking you for news. Let me know all about it at once, there’s a good chap! It will help to pass the time, and we can keep a sharp look-out all the same.”

“Oh, it was only a small matter, and of little interest!” said Jack in reply; “but if you would really care to hear it I will start right away.”

Accordingly, lying prone behind the breastwork of boulders, Jack commenced his yarn, and modestly told his companion how he had saved a comrade at Talana Hill, and how some days later he had rescued Eileen Russel from the hands of the Boers.

Meanwhile they had kept their eyes open, and had broken off the narrative to fire a couple of shots apiece, one of which evidently found its mark. In response a storm of Mauser bullets was hurled at them on each occasion, and once a shell tore through the air above their heads, and swept the blanket away. In an instant Jack was on his feet, and, running across to the spot to which the blanket had been carried, picked it up, and with the utmost coolness and nonchalance replaced it over their sniping ground.

It was a bold if somewhat foolhardy act, for bullets swished past him all the while, and even threw up the dust between his feet without striking him. But it was just one of those daring deeds for which our countrymen are noted, not performed in the hope of obtaining praise, but merely out of cool bravado, and to show the enemy that pluck is still a feature of the race.

When Jack threw himself down again behind the shelter and commenced to fill his pipe, the remarkable calmness, not to say absolute carelessness of danger, of this new comrade filled the garrison, who happened to be looking on, with wild enthusiasm, and they cheered loudly.

As for Francis, himself by no means a coward, he was quite upset. “Well, I’m jiggered!” he exclaimed, shaking Jack warmly by the hand. “Here are you walking about under fire as cool as an icicle, and only an hour ago I was wondering whether, after all, I had been wise to ask you to come out here, and whether you would funk a bit when the bullets began to fly. I can tell you this is one of the warmest jobs to be found, as you can see for yourself, and I’ve known fellows who were good at a sortie, and always did their fair share in a fight, who couldn’t stand this kind of work. It’s too cold-blooded for them. Let them get their monkey up and they are fit for any job; but to lie down here in the open, and never know when a shell may knock you to pieces, is too trying for them. Somerton, you’re a perfect wonder. Just fancy your arriving in time to save that girl! She was an old friend of yours, wasn’t she? Dear me, can I congratulate you, old chap? Any engagement?”

“Oh, humbug; of course not!” Jack exclaimed warmly, flushing up to the roots of his hair. “Both Eileen Russel and I are far too young to be thinking of marriage; besides, I’ve only met her a few times. What rot you talk, Francis! Look out, there’s a Boer showing up over there!”

Jack got quite wrathful, and, taking up his rifle, fired at the man who had just appeared, and had the satisfaction of seeing him go limping away.

That appeased him, and he once more chatted in a friendly manner with Francis. But in spite of himself, Eileen’s pretty face would appear before him in fancy as he lay there puffing at his pipe, and he could not help wondering with some anxiety how she was, and whether a safe place had been found for her in Kimberley, where she would be out of harm’s way.

That night, when they slipped back within the defences, they received quite an ovation, and Jack was compelled to repeat the story of his adventures. In return for doing so he was offered the very last bottle of beer to be obtained in the town.

“You’re a plucky young beggar,” exclaimed one of the garrison, “and as a mark of our appreciation we offer you this. Take it at once and drink it, or else the others will repent and want it back. We’ve run clean out of beer, worse luck, for in this hot weather something else besides water is wanted. And a fellow begins to long for a change, too, especially when he’s been used to taking it. Why, only two days ago one of the officers who was at school with me happened to pass, and I offered him one of our precious bottles. He nearly fainted, it was such a treat, for the poor beggars are worse off than ourselves in that respect.”

Jack laughed heartily at the anecdote, and, pouring out the beer, drank to the health of all present. Then someone started a song, and for two hours the party kept the town awake. Then they wrapped themselves in their blankets and all became quiet, and nothing disturbed the silence save an occasional challenge from a picket as the officer made his rounds.

The next day was Sunday, and by mutual agreement a day of peace for Boers and British alike. In the enemy’s camp solemn services were held in the open air, while in solitary little Mafeking all who could flocked to the church. In the afternoon everyone gathered in the market square where the band played, and before they parted for the night stood stiffly at attention, hat in hand, or at the salute, while the National Anthem was played.

And outside, lying in their cheerless trenches, the Boers heard it, and forgot to jeer as formerly; for this little town, far away from all help, with its indomitable commander and plucky garrison, had already taught them in the space of less than a month more respect for the British than they had learnt in their whole lives before. They listened to the strains in silence, and a chill went through many of their frames, for it was beginning now to dawn upon them that England’s day was still to come; and in their heart of hearts the majority of these sturdy peasants believed that that day was getting close at hand, and that when it came they too would acknowledge England as their ruler just as their forefathers had done years before. It was a bitter thought to these misguided men, to whom independence was so dear, and damped their spirits so effectually that they preserved a sullen silence and listened to the distant strains of the band despondently.

On the following day Jack received a message from one of the officers who acted for Colonel Baden-Powell, and on entering the bomb-proof fort in which the latter lived, was asked if he was willing to ride out of the town again.

“We are naturally anxious to know how Colonel Plumer and the Rhodesian forces are doing at Tuli,” the officer said, “and also whether we can receive relief from them. Will you undertake to find out, and return with whatever information you can get? We can supply you with a good horse, and I have also a map and a compass which will help you on the way.”

Jack jumped at the offer, for it was just the kind of adventurous work that suited him.

“I will do my best,” he answered, “and I think I stand a good chance of getting through, for I have already prospected up some way north of this, though not so far as Tuli. I shall be ready to start to-night, and with luck shall be back here in three weeks’ time.”

A few minutes sufficed to make all arrangements, and that night, after a farewell supper with Francis and his friends, Jack shook hands cordially with them all and said good-bye. Then, mounting the animal which had been sent down for him, he shook the reins and trotted off into the darkness. Turning to the left, he was soon out in the open veldt, and in half an hour was well away from the beleaguered town and the investing forces without having been challenged by anyone.

Riding by night at first, and then during the day, he had covered a considerable number of miles at the end of three days. On the third evening he rode into a deserted native kraal, and having knee-haltered his pony, stretched his blankets on the floor of one of the huts and was soon asleep. Some hours later he was awakened by the creak of wagon wheels, and, springing to his feet and peering out through the doorway, found that a force of some thirty Boers had laagered within the walls of the kraal. It was still night, but the moon was up, and in its light Jack watched the figures flitting about in the open space amongst the huts. The wagon had been left in one corner and the oxen outspanned, and a Kafir servant was in the act of setting all the wearied beasts free to graze outside, when there was a bellowing roar, which seemed to shake the huts, and a huge animal landed in the centre of the kraal and stood crouching there, one forepaw poised in the air, while his tail lashed angrily from side to side.

It was an immense African lion, rendered bold and reckless by hunger; a terrifying sight as it stood there roaring loudly, and crouching lower, ready to spring upon the nearest object.

As the beast landed in the kraal the Boers were on the point of making a fire and cooking a meal. Now they turned and bolted at headlong speed, but not so rapidly as to escape the dreaded lion. With a deafening roar it leapt high in the air, and landing on the shoulders of one of the burghers, beat in his skull like an egg-shell. Then it stood defiantly over the body and growled ominously.

But it was not to carry off the body without interference, for one of the Boers had gallantly remained behind, and, stepping forward and lifting his rifle to his shoulder, he fired point-blank at the lion’s head.

Jack watched for the result with breathless excitement, and the next moment ran out of the hut towards the scene of the struggle; for, stung to madness by the bullet, the fierce animal had left its first victim, and with a spring which carried it at least six feet in the air, dashed the plucky burgher to the ground. Jack slipped his thumb on to the magazine catch and opened it; then, taking a steady aim, he pulled the trigger, and sent a bullet crashing through the lion’s body. It failed to touch a vital spot, and once more sighting for the angry beast’s head, Jack discharged his weapon. But again the small bullet failed to kill, and, roused to madness by his wounds, the lion roared savagely and sprang at him.

To lift his rifle and fire at the flying mass was the work of a moment. Next second Jack was struck senseless to the ground, and lay there motionless, almost smothered by the huge limp animal lying stone-dead upon him.

When Jack recovered consciousness again, two bearded men were bending over him, and were gently dressing a large wound in his shoulder. With a dying effort the huge African lion had struck him on the shoulder, and had torn a deep gash in his chest and arm, and this the Boers were now tending. Finding that their patient was sensible again, they smiled kindly at him, and soon afterwards applied dressings.

It was an extremely painful operation, but Jack bore it all without a murmur. Then he was given some weak brandy and water.

“How do you feel now?” asked one of the Boers. “Better, I hope? It was a close shave for you, but your last bullet went through the lion’s heart and killed the animal.”

“Oh, I’m all right again now!” replied Jack, endeavouring to sit up, but falling back with a groan. “That beast has knocked all the strength out of me,” he continued. “But tell me, who are you, and was the other man killed?”

“His arm was broken,” the Boer answered, “and he has to thank you for his life. It was a brave act to come forward and fight the lion alone, and your life was in God’s hands. It was doubly noble of you, Englishman, for by attacking that lion you fell into our hands and are a prisoner. But do not let that worry you. You shall be well treated, and in Pretoria you will be far safer than out here as a despatch-rider.”

“A prisoner!” exclaimed Jack indignantly. “Surely you will not take me to Pretoria. After all I might have stood quietly in the hut, and let the lion carry off your comrade without moving a finger to help him. You say it was brave of me, then why not let me go on that account!”

“My friend, that would be impossible,” the Boer replied kindly. “You are too weak to stand now, and believe me, you will be much the same for a week or more. If we left you you would certainly die, for I have seen enough of wounds, especially of this class, to know that if not carefully attended to they prove dangerous. We are returning to Pretoria, and you must accompany us. After all, it will be some consolation to you to know that the young burgher you saved is an Englishman by birth. He was commandeered to fight for us, but we all know that his heart is with his countrymen. Cheer up! He will be a comrade for you.”

Jack remained silent for some time after the Boer doctor had left him, and was at first inclined to grumble at his luck. Then, as he began to realise how weak he really was, he saw that to be taken prisoner was really the best thing that could happen to him.

“After all,” he thought, “I shall have a chance of escaping, and I am sure if I were given my liberty I should die out here in the bush like a dog. I’m as weak as a rat now, but by the time we reach Pretoria I ought to be strong again. Then, if I do manage to get away, and I shall certainly have a try, I ought to be able to carry valuable information with me. Yes, after all, I am not so badly off, and will make the best of matters.”

About half an hour later the Boer doctor returned, and with the help of three other men, who treated Jack with the utmost kindness, lifted him gently and carried him towards the wagon. Day had already dawned, so that Jack was able to see that another figure lay on a rough bed of rugs beneath the huge canvas tent which covered the cumbersome vehicle. It was the young English burgher who had first attacked the lion, and as they approached the wagon he sat up with a jerk and looked eagerly at Jack.

He was a broad-shouldered young fellow, with a pleasant, open face, now somewhat pale from the effects of the injury he had received and from the pain he suffered. His right arm was suspended in a sling, and there was a deep scratch across his forehead.

No sooner was Jack laid beside him than his comrade in misfortune leant across, and, taking up his hand, pressed it warmly and endeavoured to speak. But he was evidently too much overcome by emotion, and his lips trembled so much that he looked as though he were on the point of bursting into tears. With a visible effort he steadied himself, and, still pressing Jack’s hand, began to talk to him.

“We’re strangers,” he exclaimed excitedly, “but for all that we are brothers! My God, how I have longed for the sight of an honest Englishman! and last night, if I had thought that by being carried away by that lion I should have met one, I almost think I should have been glad if the beast had picked me up and walked off with me. And they tell me I have to thank you for my life, and that you tackled the lion alone, and so fell into their hands. I’m sorry that you should be a prisoner, but I can’t tell you how glad I am to have a comrade.”

“Yes; it’s an awful sell to find myself a prisoner when I had covered so much of the journey,” Jack answered; “but I suppose it’s for the best. I should have died if I had been left here alone. But tell me about yourself. The Boer doctor said you had been commandeered against your will.”

“That is true. My name is Guy Richardson, and I’ve lived all my life in the Transvaal. But for all that, Father and I are British to the backbone, and would sooner shoot ourselves than fight against our countrymen. But I’ll tell you all about it if you like, and if you feel strong enough to listen.”

“Just push something under my head, so that I can look at you without straining my neck,” said Jack. “That’s it, thank you! Now, fire away; I shall be delighted to hear the tale. But first of all let me tell you that my name is Jack Somerton, and that you’ve nothing to thank me for. You forget that you were the only one of all the Boers who stood your ground when the lion sprang into the kraal.”

“That’s true, Somerton,” Guy Richardson agreed; “but for all that I know that I owe my life to you. But now that you are comfortable, I’ll go ahead with the yarn. To begin with, I must explain that Father came to the Transvaal five years before the annexation by Sir Theophilus Shepstone, and as soon as the Boer trouble was over, and the Transvaal had become a republic, he became a naturalised burgher, for he found it was a necessity if he wished to prosper in business. I was born quite close to Johnny’s Burg, and can speak the Boer tongue as well as our own. We got on pretty well with our neighbours, but our sympathies have been with the Uitlanders, and when matters got to such a pass that war seemed probable, it became a question as to whether we should follow Mother down to Durban. But to take that step would mean absolute ruin, for all our property would be confiscated by the Transvaal Government; so, after a long discussion, Father and I decided to stay, on the distinct understanding that we were not to bear arms against the British. For a week after the ultimatum we were employed as town guards in Johnny’s Burg. Then we were commandeered for service, for every available man was wanted to make good the losses the Boers had suffered. For another week we were kept in laager near Pretoria, and then we were separated, Father being dragged down south, while I was compelled to accompany this commando. We were in desperate straits, but we swore we would never fire a shot against the English.

“What has happened to Father I do not know. For myself I should have escaped long ago, but each one of these Boers has instructions to shoot me on suspicion of such an attempt, and they watch me constantly. It is awful, Somerton! If we meet the British troops these fiends will stand behind me and shoot me if I refuse to fight.”

“Good heavens, you don’t say so!” Jack exclaimed indignantly. “To force a man to fight against his own flesh and blood is simply monstrous!”

“It’s true all the same,” replied Guy Richardson dejectedly. “There are hosts more like myself. Good Englishmen, who know that this war has been wilfully forced on the empire by the Boers, and who are determined to escape from their adopted Republic and fight for the queen. But we are all carefully watched, and I fear that more than one of the poor fellows have lost their lives. Only a few days ago I heard that they have been forced to fight in the most exposed positions, and these men here have threatened that I shall have such a post. If a bullet finds me out when I am fighting for England I shall not grumble, but if I am to be struck down by my own people, would rather shoot myself. It is awful, but I have sworn never to fire a gun for these brutes, and I will stick to that determination.”

“Tell me where you have been,” said Jack. “From the fact of this being such a small commando, I imagine there are none of our troops near at hand. I was riding up to meet Plumer’s force.”

“We have been on a visit to the natives, Somerton,” Guy Richardson replied, “and although I have not been told the motive, it is easy to guess that the Boers wish to stir them up so as to increase our difficulties. We are now returning to Pretoria. I am thankful that I have broken my arm, for now they will not be able to send me to the front. I wish, though, I could find out what has happened to Father.”

“I suppose they will put us in hospital when we reach the end of our journey, Richardson,” Jack said thoughtfully. “If so, and you are ready to come with me, we will make an attempt at escape. I have been in difficulties in the Transvaal once before, and got out safely.”

“I’ll stand by you and make the attempt at any time,” exclaimed Richardson impulsively. “Anything to get out of the hands of these Boers!”

“Then we’ll take it as settled that we will have a try to get away at the first opportunity,” Jack replied. “We shall have lots of time to talk the matter over, but one thing has occurred to me. We must make believe that we are worse than we really are. That will make any guards placed over us less watchful, and will give us a better chance.”

That evening Jack’s wound was dressed again with the greatest tenderness by the Boer doctor, and on the following morning the oxen were inspanned, and the small commando set off for Pretoria, carrying with them as a trophy the skin of the African lion.

A week later they reached the seat of the Boer Government, and, much to Jack’s pleasure, he was placed in hospital side by side with Guy Richardson, with whom he had already struck up a firm friendship. He had quite expected to be placed amongst the English prisoners, of whom there were unfortunately a large number already; and though he would have been glad to be with them, his plans for escape would have become all the more difficult. As it was, he was surrounded by Boers, and still under the care of the same doctor, who seemed to have taken quite a fancy to him.

Two weeks later he was about, with his arm in a sling, and was able to see what Pretoria was like during these days of struggle. Once, too, the President passed close to him when making a visit to the hospital, and though it might have been merely imagination, Jack fancied that his heavy face bore traces of ever-growing sorrow, and that the broad, stooping shoulders were bowed a little more than usual under a load of anxious care, and under the bitter disappointment of an overwhelming ambition which had been cherished and nurtured for a lifetime. Nor was the President the only one who felt the anxiety of these times of war. The Boer forces, though long prepared for their work, had not swooped down and driven the hated British into the sea. The Dutch population of South Africa had not risen as was expected, and joined their kith and kin to shake off English rule. But instead, Joubert and his hordes of burghers had invaded Natal only to a point a few miles south of Colenso, while in Cape Colony the Free Staters had barely passed the borders, and Mafeking and Kimberley still laughed at the invading forces. It was not a brilliant prospect, when the Boers had hoped to crush the British in three weeks.