With Rifle and Bayonet: A Story of the Boer War

It was humiliating, bitterly humiliating; but that desperate conflict served, if it did nothing else, to banish the mistaken ideas which each side had for the other. England now knew that she was fighting valiant men, who would be perfect as enemies, and equally chivalrous as her own soldiers, did not many of their number sully a good name by dastardly acts, such as firing upon the red cross and the wounded and making a scandalous use of the white flag. And on the Boer side, where previously scorn and worse for the bravery of the “Rooineks” had been shown, ungrudging praise for their dauntless courage was now given; while those who had stood to face the desperate charge upon the heighs of Caesar’s Camp shivered, and swore silently to themselves that nothing, not even their cherished independence and the longing for a Dutch South Africa, should prevail upon them to commit such an act of madness again.

On the heights of Caesar’s Camp, when the tide of battle had been turned back and the dusk of evening was beginning to fall, there were many poor fellows sleeping their last long sleep upon the grass. They had chosen a soldier’s life, and their reward had been to die for the sacred cause of their country. It was a sad and heart-rending scene, and Jack, as he looked on and endeavoured to help the wounded, fully realised the misery of it all. At his feet lay Guy Richardson, roughly bandaged and waiting to be carried off, while close at hand was the lifeless body of a little rifleman, the face turned upward to the sky, and smiling as though death had laid its hand upon him painlessly.

It was a gruesome scene, but he had little time to brood upon it, for at that moment he caught sight of a familiar figure a few yards away, and, running across the grass, knelt down by the side of Rawlings, the brave and jovial Highlander who had led the assault upon the Boer gun.

“Hallo, Jack!” he panted cheerfully; “not hit, I see. Prop me up, like a good fellow.”

Jack lifted him gently, and propped him up with his knee. Then he unslung his water-bottle and gave the poor fellow a drink.

“Thanks, old man!” the wounded officer said in a weaker voice. “Those beggars have done for me! I’m shot through the chest.”

“Not done for, Rawlings!” Jack answered hopefully. “You’ve many a year to live. You’ll pull through, old chap, never fear.”

“No, I’m going home, Jack,” was the whispered reply. “I can feel the life running out of me. Hold me tight and stay by me, will you? It’s lonely work to die without a friend.”

Jack’s eyes filled with tears, for from the very first he had feared that his poor friend was mortally hit and upon the point of death. He propped him up still higher, and having moistened his lips again, put his arms round him and held him firmly.

There was a long and painful pause, and then the young Highlander spoke again, this time in a stronger voice:

“Jack,” he said earnestly, “I’d have given more than I possess to live to the end of this struggle; but we shall win. Mark the words of a dying man – England shall come out victorious. The cause of freedom and justice shall triumph above all others, and Victoria, God bless her! shall rule this continent.”

He was silent again for a few moments, and then continued in a voice which was scarcely as loud as a whisper:

“Bend down, old chap,” he said. “I’m off to the other land. Remember me, Jack, when I’ve gone, and when you get back to dear old England again, look the people up and tell them that Angus met the end like a soldier and a man. They’ll be sorry. Yes, Mother and Father and the boys and girls will miss me. But they’ll he proud, too, that I died like this – Put your hand in mine, Jack. Ah, now I know you’re there! Good-bye! God bless everyone! My love to you, Dad and Mother! Good – ”

There was a deep sigh, and the head of the gallant young officer fell back upon Jack’s shoulder, and the tears which were streaming down the latter’s cheeks fell upon the pale face of as brave a man as Britain had ever known.

Jack laid him gently on the grass, and, rising sorrowfully to his feet, looked for the last time upon this stalwart young Highlander. He beckoned to some Highlanders who had looked on tearfully all the while, and who now approached and carried their officer away. Then he joined Mr Hunter, and all night long helped to gather the wounded.

When morning dawned again – the morning of the Sabbath – the awful havoc wrought by our shell was for the first time seen. Down the slopes of the hill, and away across the flats, Boer and Briton lay cold and motionless, separately and in groups; sometimes huddled together as if still engaged in a deadly tussle, and sometimes side by side in seeming friendship. Farther away, near the long ridge which the enemy had held, scores of mangled bodies were found, and at once handed over to the Boers, while the poor wounded wretches were tended to by our surgeons.

Then, when human skill and care had done all that was possible for the living, the troops formed up and in long lines carried their dead to the cemetery. The rifles rang out the regulation volleys, the bugles wailed the “Last Post”, and all was over, save that each and every soldier bore away with him from that scene a lasting memory of those brave comrades who but a few hours before had been full of life and energy.

After that they thronged into the church, and joined earnestly in the prayer of thanksgiving offered up for their glorious victory.

At the close of the service the men joined with such a will in singing the National Anthem – a loyal ceremony never neglected in a garrison church – that the strains were heard far away by the lonely pickets and patrols, and set each one of them singing blithely as he trudged up and down on his beat.

Jack Somerton sat amongst the officers in the church, and when the service was over he walked across to the hospital marquees and enquired for Guy Richardson. Even now, though the wounded had all been collected, the surgeons had their hands more than full, for typhoid fever and dysentery, those scourges which ever dog the footsteps of an army, had claimed many victims, and these required the most careful attention.

“Well, Jack, old boy,” said Guy cheerfully, “tell me all about Saturday’s affair. Of course I saw that part of the fighting which occurred at Caesar’s Camp; but elsewhere our fellows were hard pressed, they tell me.”

Jack told his friend all that he knew of the engagement, and mentioned the names of the gallant officers who had fallen.

“What are you going to do now, Jack?” his friend asked, after they had chatted for some minutes. “The surgeon who is looking after me says we are likely to be cooped up here for some time longer, and I am sure that will not suit you.”

“No, I don’t think I care much about sticking in Ladysmith while the siege continues,” mused Jack. “You see, the Boers, by all accounts, have entrenched all the hills between this and the Tugela, and with the heavy guns of position which they have been able to bring down by rail from the Transvaal, have practically made their lines impregnable. An officer told me that it would require an army of more than 100,000 to break through them and relieve us, and that even then the job would not be accomplished without frightful loss of life.

“I believe we shall have to wait. Buller and his forces will keep the enemy busy while another army is massing in Cape Colony ready to invade the Orange Free State. That would probably lead to the relief of Kimberley and Mafeking, and possibly Ladysmith. But to get the army in motion and prepare the commissariat is a gigantic undertaking, and will require weeks yet. There will not be another assault here, at least not for many a long day to come, as we have just given the burghers such a smashing, but elsewhere there will be lots of fun. They tell me that despatch-riders are being asked for, and I shall send in my name and risk it. It would be fine to feel that one had been able to creep through to Chieveley in spite of all those Boers.”

“By Jove, Jack,” Guy exclaimed, raising himself upon his elbows and flushing with excitement, “you are the most adventurous beggar I have ever come across! First of all, you have excitement sufficient to suit most fellows for a year up there at Talana Hill; then you fight your way through to Kimberley and Mafeking; and finally, through sheer daring and pluck, save me from that beast of a lion. Then, of course, it was mainly through you that we rescued Father and Mr Hunter, not to mention that poor little woman whose husband had been commandeered. No wonder the camp is ringing with your name. By now I expect the news of Piet Maartens and the spies, and the manner in which you checkmated them, has been heliographed across to Buller’s signallers, and I dare say London is reading the news, and every man in England rejoicing over it as he drinks his breakfast coffee. Well, old man, go on a little further. Many of our countrymen will make a name before this war is over, but if Jack Somerton doesn’t top the list – well – I’m a Transvaal burgher, which is the very last thing I shall care to be.”

“Oh, shut up, Guy!” Jack cried warmly, colouring with embarrassment. “It’s all been luck – sheer luck from beginning to end.”

“Luck! Bosh, my dear old chap; bosh!” exclaimed Guy with a merry laugh. “You’re the only fellow who will ever say such a thing.”

“Well, I think so,” Jack answered. “But you’ve talked enough already, Guy. The surgeon expressly told me that you were to keep silent, and here you are chattering away as though there was nothing the matter with you. I shall send in my name as a despatch-rider, and let you know what happens. Now I’ll say good-bye for the present. To-morrow I have to give evidence against Piet Maartens, and after that I expect I shall clear out of Ladysmith. So long, old chap, and mind you keep quiet, as you have been told, or something will go wrong with your wound.”

Pressing Guy’s hand, Jack took his leave, after exchanging a few words with the other wounded soldiers lying in the tent.

On the following morning he attended the court-martial upon the Boer prisoners and gave formal evidence. It went much against his wishes, but the stern necessities of war demanded that spies should be summarily dealt with.

There was no doubt about their guilt. All had been caught red-handed, and in a deathly silence sentence was passed upon them that at dawn on the following morning they should be shot for their offence, in sight of all the troops.

Piet Maartens was a pitiable sight. Unarmed and a prisoner, he was a very different individual from the bumptious Boer who had been taught a lesson by Jack only a few months before. At the reading of the death penalty he turned white with terror, his limbs shook, and perspiration rolled from his forehead. With a shriek of fear he fell upon his knees and begged the president of the court to reconsider his decision. Then, finding him obdurate, he turned to Jack and besought him to say something for him.

Of very different moulding were his companions. Stern, sunburnt young men, they held their heads erect and heard their doom like men, and even harshly remonstrated with Piet Maartens for his cowardice.

Just as the sun rose on the following morning, and one of the loveliest of lovely African days dawned, a dozen rifles cracked, and Piet Maartens and his companions had paid the last penalty of all spies.

Chapter Eighteen.

Out of the Trap

On the following day a mounted orderly dashed up to the tent in which Jack was living with Mr Hunter and Mr Richardson, and handed him a note. It was brief and terse, and asked him to call at once at a certain house in the town, close to General White’s quarters, where a proposition would be made to him. Jack at once jammed his hat on his head, and, slinging his rifle and bandolier over his shoulder, set out to keep the appointment.

“Ah, good-day, Somerton!” said a young officer of the staff who was standing outside the door of the house. “I waited for you here, and now that you have come we will both go in. My business is the same as yours, and I believe I may say I am about the luckiest beggar in the camp to be chosen for this job.”

“Why, what is the job?” Jack asked in some surprise. “Oh, you’ll hear all about that in a moment, old chap!” laughed the officer, whose name was Poynter. “Come along in; they’re waiting for us.”

A second later Jack was ushered into a large room, with wide-open windows, through which he could see the helmet and bayonet of a sentry who was marching up and down just out of ear-shot. In the middle was a table, on which were many large plans of Ladysmith and the neighbourhood, while behind it, seated in cane chairs, and in their shirtsleeves, for the heat was oppressive, were three more officers of the staff.

“Good-day, Somerton!” said the central one, evidently the senior. “Sit down there for a moment while I just finish this matter, and then we will have a chat.”

Jack shook hands with all of them, for he had met them many times before, and then he and Poynter took their seats on a long form close to the window, and waited while the officer finished a document upon which he was engaged.

“Now,” he said at last, throwing down his pen, “I am ready. We want you to do something for us, Somerton, and we have sent for you particularly, because the matter is one of some delicacy and of great consequence. Shortly put, it is this. It is of vital importance that certain facts and plans shall be conveyed to General Buller at Chieveley. Of course we could employ one of our native runners, but they are not to be relied upon in every case, and as this matter is of the utmost importance we have decided to send Poynter and another. Will you be that other, my lad? We have all heard about your despatch-carrying over at Kimberley and at Mafeking; and here, too, we have learnt something about you. I am sure you could get through the enemy’s lines if anyone could, and could guide Poynter. What do you say about it?”

“Just what I’d like, sir!” exclaimed Jack, springing to his feet in his excitement. “I was on the point of volunteering my services as a despatch-carrier when your orderly galloped up. I’ll undertake the matter with pleasure, and will do my best to steer Poynter clear with me.”

“That’s good, Somerton,” answered the officer with satisfaction, “but it is just the answer I expected of you. Now, each of you will be provided with the facts which General White wishes to convey to General Buller, and we want you to commit them to memory. Then there will be no despatches or papers to fall into Joubert’s hands should you be captured, and if only one of you happens to get through, he will still be able to tell Buller what we mean to do. Come over here and sit down by my side, and I will tell you all about it.”

Half an hour later Jack and his young friend Poynter were fully primed with official secrets of the greatest importance, and had committed them so well to memory that there was no chance of their forgetting.

“Now, I think you have heard all the facts,” exclaimed the officer, “and I leave it to yourselves to arrange how you are to get through the enemy’s lines. I need not tell you how difficult the task is. The knowledge will make you all the more determined. You must go just as you are, so that the harshest of the Boers could not call you spies should they capture you; and, Poynter, you will be well advised to place yourself in Jack Somerton’s hands. People say that he is as ‘slim’ as Kruger himself, and I know,” added the staff-officer with a kindly smile, “that he has any amount of pluck to back it up. Remember, both of you, that this is a service of great danger, for which, if successful, your queen and country will not fail to reward you.”

The officer shook hands cordially with Jack and his friend, who stood for one brief moment stiffly at attention, and saluted. Then they hurried away to Poynter’s tent, and, stretched full-length in comfortable lounge chairs, discussed the situation.

“I shall do just as the colonel suggested,” said the latter. “You’ve run the gauntlet of these Boers before, and I shall place myself unreservedly in your hands. When shall we start, and what route shall we take? It’s all one to me, so long as we get through.”

“We shall start to-night, of course,” answered Jack after a long pause. “We have been told that it is important that our despatches should get through as early as possible, and by setting out as soon as darkness falls we ought to be at the Tugela by to-morrow night. Then, as regards the road. I was chatting with ‘Israel’, the native runner, a few days ago, and he told me that patrols of Boers were scouring the country everywhere, particularly to east and west, on either side of their lines of trenches. It seems to me that, that being the case, a bold course will be the safest. We could walk over to the neutral camp at Intombi Spruit this evening, to visit the hospitals, and then cut across for Nelthorpe. We shall be within twelve miles of the river, and with luck might even cross it before morning. If not, there must be plenty of dongas in which we could hide up for the day and keep out of sight of the Boers.”

“By Jove, I like that idea!” exclaimed Poynter with a gay laugh, “and we’ll have a shot at getting through to-night. What shall we carry with us?”

“Our rifles and bayonets, and some provisions; enough to last three days,” Jack answered. “I think we’ve settled everything now, so I’ll go across to my friends. Expect me back at five o’clock, and we’ll stroll over to Intombi Spruit. Take my advice, Poynter, have the magazine of your rifle filled in readiness for a tussle.”

“Trust me!” answered Poynter. “Well, so long, Jack! I’ll see you at five.”

Jack left him sitting in the shade of the tent inspecting his rifle, with which every officer was now armed in place of a sword, the latter having by its conspicuousness led to the death of many a poor fellow who had been deliberately picked off by the Boer sharpshooters. Then he walked across to Guy Richardson, who was progressing well, and afterwards sat down and had a long chat with Mr Hunter.

“Good-bye, Jack, lad!” said the latter as the time arrived for his young friend to keep his appointment with Poynter. “You’re the most venturesome young fellow I have ever come across, and if all goes well, as I feel sure it will, we shall meet again before long. Give my love to the wife when you get through, and tell all the boys that when we’ve eaten all our horses we’ll take to chewing grass before we hand over Ladysmith and ourselves to the Boers. Wasn’t I right, old boy, when I told you long ago up in Johnny’s Burg that Kruger and his pleasant friends had a surprise in store for us. Ha, ha! they were going to drive us into the sea, and eat fish dinners in Durban! And they had got all the guns and men ready close to the frontier too! Remember that. We’ve just checked them now, that’s all, and both sides are sitting still, watching one another. But, bless you! that won’t win this grand country for the Boers. They should be up and doing; instead of that, they act on the defensive alone, save here and at Kimberley and Mafeking, where we’ve pinched their tails pretty sharply for them whenever they have attacked. And all the while our reinforcements are pouring into the country. Mark my words, Jack. We’ve had a troublous time, and we’ve lost many gallant lives, and shall lose more yet; but the tide is on the turn, and soon it will be sweeping in full flood, not towards the coast, but across the Orange Free State to Pretoria.”

“Yes, I feel sure it will all come right in the end,” answered Jack, “and you may be certain of this, when that tide does turn I shall be somewhere near the front, and on my way to renew my acquaintance with his honour the President of the Transvaal Republic.”

Jack shook hands cordially with Mr Hunter, promised to remember his messages, and departed to join young Poynter. He found him burning with impatience, and longing to set out.

Half an hour later they were sauntering across to Intombi Spruit, and here they remained till darkness fell. Then they set out as if to return to Ladysmith, for there was no saying that a spy might not be watching them, and, slipping amongst a pile of boulders, they waited for some moments to make sure that they were not followed. Ten minutes later they had cut across to the left, and were tramping silently over the veldt in the direction of Nelthorpe. For two hours they kept on steadily, Jack carefully selecting a path which took them clear of boulders and rocky ground. Then suddenly, as they climbed to the summit of a long incline, they came in sight of an extended line of fires flickering in front of them, and stretching on either hand as far as they could see.

“The road is over to our left,” whispered Jack, “and our best plan will be to cut down to it boldly, and endeavour to slip through the lines. We shall have to be very cautious, for there must be sentries posted.”

After another glance at the twinkling dots of fire, Jack and his friend pushed forward, but with renewed caution, and nearly an hour later struck the main wagon-road leading through Nelthorpe and Pieters to Colenso. Then, walking along on the turf which skirted the beaten track, they slowly approached the lines in which the Boers were camped. Soon a large collection of tents away on their left attracted their attention, while the nickering embers now and again showed up a solitary canvas shelter, or a tented wagon, in which no doubt those of the burghers who were not on duty were asleep.

Suddenly the clatter of hoofs sounded behind them, and a few moments later a pony cantered past, bearing a man upon its back.

Jack and his friend lay flat on the ground as the rider passed, and were on the point of rising to their feet again when the pony was pulled up almost in front of them, and a voice called out a little farther on, in execrable English, which had a highly flavoured foreign accent: “Stop there! Who is that? Advance and give the pass-word.”

“Going rounds,” was the answer. Then the rider walked his pony a few feet towards the sentry, who could now be seen in the centre of the road.

“Ha, you are wide-awake, I see!” the former exclaimed in a loud tone. “It is only right that you and your friends from the Free State should do something to help us. Be ready to pass a convoy of wagons. We are sending down stores and ammunition to Colenso, besides a few boxes of special shells for the big guns. Remember, ‘Kruger’ is the pass-word. Shoot anyone who does not know it.” A moment later the Boer had ridden away, and the sentry retired into the darkness at the farther side of the road.

“Come back here, Poynter,” whispered Jack, pulling him gently by the sleeve.

Rising to their feet, they stepped noiselessly across the turf, and retired some hundred yards from the road.

“Look here, Poynter, are you ready to try a risky game?” exclaimed Jack shortly, when they were well out of ear-shot of the sentry. “If so, I believe I have got hold of an idea which will get us safely through the Boer lines.”

“Of course I am,” the young officer replied, with a gay laugh. “I place myself altogether in your hands, and will back you up through thick and thin. So heave ahead, and tell me all about it.”

“To creep through those lines ahead of us will be next door to impossible,” said Jack, “for in the dark we might stumble right up against a sentry, and if the alarm was once given we should have to make a dash back towards Intombi Spruit. Now, it occurred to me that we might get a lift amongst the wagons of this convoy. Each one will be driven by a Kafir, who most likely will be walking alongside his team. Let us select a covered cart and slip into it. There ought to be little difficulty about it this dark night, and if we are lucky we might even get into one drawn by a mule team, and afterwards make use of the animals.”

“By George, Jack, what a thing to think of!” exclaimed Poynter in delight. “Why, it’s about the biggest bit of cheek I ever heard of. Still, it is just the kind of dodge to end successfully, and we’ll do as you say.”

“Ah! I am glad you approve,” Jack answered quietly; “and now all we have to do is to sit down and wait for the convoy to turn up. By the way, to avoid confusion I will pull your sleeve when the right wagon comes along, and then, while you jump in behind, I will slip in in front. Look out in case someone happens to be inside. It would be a bit of bad luck, and if we failed to silence him, there would be nothing for it but to bolt back to Ladysmith as fast as our legs would take us.”