With Rifle and Bayonet: A Story of the Boer War

The battle of Elandslaagte proved to have been almost similar to that of Talana Mill, and as stubbornly fought. Commencing as a mere reconnaissance under General French, it had developed into a pitched battle. As usual the Boers were hidden amongst the boulders of a huge kopje with two guns at the summit; and up the slopes of this, with shell from our own batteries pounding overhead, and a hail of bullets pouring down at them, the Manchesters, the Devons, and the Gordon Highlanders, assisted by the Imperial Light Horse, rushed with dauntless courage, capturing the position, and bayoneting those of the Boers who had not fled. Many of the enemy were thrust through and through by the lances of our troopers and by the sabres of the 5th Dragoon Guards, for our men were not likely to spare anyone when just before they had seen many of their own comrades shot down on the side of the kopje by a party of Boers bearing the white flag.

And all the time, while shells were screaming, and bursting to form a huge red blotch against the dark hillside, while men were gallantly forcing their way up to the summit, and others were shooting them down, a violent storm was raging, and sheets of water were almost hiding the combatants from one another.

And now, as Jack helped to find the killed and wounded, the thunder of the guns and the rattle of the rifles had ceased for good, and only fierce gusts of ice-cold wind and rain whistled across the ground and moaned and shrieked mournfully round the boulders. Late on the following day the list of killed and wounded was complete, and on our side included 4 officers killed and 31 wounded; a total which, with direct evidence from prisoners, went far to prove that the Boers purposely picked off our gallant leaders. Of rank and file we lost 37 killed and 175 wounded; while on the enemy’s side numbers were again uncertain, though more than 100 dead bodies were found, and amongst these that of their commanding officer. Many prisoners were taken, and one of them proved to be Colonel Schiel, an ex-German officer who had trained the Transvaal artillerists in the use of cannon.

Two days after the battle of Elandslaagte, Jack was back at Ladysmith, and having rested his ponies, he managed to secure places in a railway truck for them, and was rapidly conveyed to Durban. Here he engaged a passage in a steamer sailing in less than a week for Port Elizabeth, and, having stabled his ponies, took the train back to ’Maritzburg, where he called upon the Hunters, and took up his quarters with them for the short time which intervened before the ship was to sail.

Later on, full particulars from northern Natal reached him, and he learned with a thrill of pride that despite the numbers of the enemy who were endeavouring to cut off the troops at Glencoe, the latter had retired, under the leadership of General Yule, to Ladysmith, making use of the Helpmakaar road. It had been a dangerous and exceedingly trying march, and to make it possible all the wounded, including the gallant General Symons, who subsequently succumbed to his injury, had been left behind under the red-cross flag and in charge of our own army surgeons. And the Boers had shown that flag all due respect, and had indeed been most kind and humane to all our poor fellows.

To aid the retirement, General White had marched from Ladysmith and had fought an engagement at Reitfontein. Once the forces had joined hands they fell back on Ladysmith. A series of fiercely – contested engagements was then fought out, the British troops slowly retiring upon their camp before the advancing hordes of Boers. An unfortunate accident during this retirement resulted in the capture, after a gallant stand, of some thousand of our brave fellows. They lost their way in the dark, and the mules stampeded with their guns. Still, they occupied Nicholson’s Nek and fought to the bitter end, when, their ammunition having failed, they were compelled to surrender. On our side many were killed and wounded, and on the enemy’s, the losses were reported to have been exceptionally severe. But the Boers pressed on, and at length, after a few days of skirmishing and fighting, closely invested Ladysmith, and then marched on as far as Colenso and the River Tugela.

Then for days and days little was heard of the besieged garrison, save that they were continually bombarded by heavy guns, fired some five miles away, and to which the naval twelve-pounders and 4.7-inch guns replied, the latter having arrived with a naval brigade 500 strong just in the nick of time.

Once the Boers attempted an assault, during which they lost heavily. They were repulsed, and from that date, for many long weeks, they kept up a desultory bombardment, but never returned to the assault. And inside the camp the troops played football and polo, now and again varying the monotony of the siege by a gallant sortie, in which they destroyed more than one of the enemy’s guns. And thus we will leave them for a time, boldly holding their own, while we return to Jack Somerton.

Chapter Nine.
A Dash for Kimberley

“Well, Jack, what do you think of doing now?” asked Mrs Hunter, as soon as the incidents of Talana Hill and Elandslaagte had been narrated. “Do you intend to do as you had arranged, or will you stay here? I have already put my name down as a nurse, and Wilfred is longing to accompany you to Kimberley, or wherever you decide to go. A letter reached us yesterday from Mr Hunter, in which he says he is to be allowed to remain for the present at Johannesburg, but for how long he cannot tell. Wilfred is to do as he likes, he writes, and since every loyal man in the colony is needed, I will not attempt to dissuade him from joining the troops. England is fighting for freedom and peace, but also for the Uitlander population, and in my opinion every one of those capable of bearing arms should help in the good work.”

“I am going straight up to Kimberley, Mrs Hunter,” Jack replied, “and have already taken a passage to Port Elizabeth, whence I shall go by train as far as De Aar, if that is possible. Once I reach that place I shall ride during the night, and endeavour to slip into the town. Of course the Boers are all round it by now, but others I have no doubt will be able to slip in and out, and I mean to do the same, and once there I shall volunteer as a despatch-rider. It will be exciting work, and suited to my tastes, and the fact that I know the country well all round, and between Kimberley and Mafeking, will help me considerably. If Wilfred likes to come, we will make the attempt at slipping in together, but after that he will have to stay in the town till it is relieved.”

“That will suit me, Jack, old chap,” Wilfred replied eagerly. “The garrison is not likely to sit down and do nothing. There will certainly be exciting times, sorties and so on, and I should like to join in it all. When shall we start?”

“The ship sails in three days, Wilfred. We will telegraph down for a berth for you. By the way, you will want a good mount. One pony will be sufficient.”

“Then I am already set up,” said Wilfred. “Our friends here told me they could let me have a reliable pony whenever I liked to ask for him. Since coming down here I have obtained a complete campaigning kit and a Lee-Metford rifle and bayonet. So I am ready to set off just whenever you like.”

Three days later, therefore, the two lads – or rather, young fellows they should be called, for both stood well above five feet nine inches in their boots, and were broad-shouldered and muscular in proportion – set out for Durban, and having embarked there, arrived in due course at Port Elizabeth, having had a pleasant sail.

An hour after landing they were in the train, and after many long stops and tedious delays arrived at De Aar, a town where there was a small force of troops, and which was likely before long to be a station of some importance, for it was filled with vast military stores, and truck-loads were still arriving.

Here they learned that the Boers had already crossed the Orange River and were invading Cape Colony.

Jack and Wilfred took up their quarters for the night at a small hotel, and having washed, and enjoyed a hearty meal, they lit up their pipes and strolled through the town.

Then they returned, and were chatting with the owner of the hotel when a stranger, to all appearance an English colonist, entered, and without invitation joined in the conversation.

“Warm evening, landlord!” he exclaimed. “The kind of evening that makes one thirsty! Let me have a bottle of something good, and perhaps these gentlemen will join me. All Englishmen are comrades in these times.”

Jack and his friend were naturally surprised, but they had already experienced that sense of brotherhood in the colony now that war had commenced, and rather than offend the stranger they consented to join him, with an expression of their thanks. A moment later the landlord returned with the liquor, and as he placed it on the table and prepared to draw the cork of the bottle which contained it, deliberately nudged Jack, and nodded significantly at the stranger, whose back happened to be turned. Jack was puzzled, but passed on the nudge to Wilfred; then the three sat down and chatted. For half an hour the stranger plied his two guests with all sorts of seemingly careless questions, casually asking them where they were going, and whether they belonged to the volunteers. But the nudge the landlord had given had warned Jack and his friend to be on the alert, and to all the questions they gave incomplete or totally incorrect answers. Then the stranger left, and the landlord came from behind his counter and explained the mystery.

“I don’t know what you two are here for, or where you are going,” he said, “and if you will take my advice you will keep everyone you meet in the same ignorance. That fine chap is a Boer spy, paid with Pretoria gold, and I can tell you this whole colony holds heaps more like him. So my advice is, keep all your own affaire to yourself. Supposing you two wanted to get into Kimberley, and had told him so, thinking him to be a colonist, as he certainly looks, he’d have set the Boers on your trail, and you’d find yourselves prisoners before you could look round.”

Jack and Wilfred took the warning to heart. They had heard that spies were to be found everywhere, even in England itself, so lavishly had the Transvaallers spent their money, and so carefully had they prepared their plans. But they had never met one before, and to find him in the guise of a loyal colonist was a surprise, though, if they had only given the matter a thought, they would have seen that that was the most probable appearance he would assume.

On the following morning Jack and his friend paid their bill and rode off from the hotel.

“I vote we go in the opposite direction from Kimberley, and take the road for Hanover,” said the former as they trotted out of the yard. “That spy may be somewhere about. Yes, there he is! Good-day to you!” he shouted. “We’re off. See you to-night, perhaps.”

The stranger shouted back “Good-day!” and watched them ride out of the town.

“Now he’ll sneak off to the hotel and ask the landlord whether we are coming back,” laughed Wilfred, “and I’ll be bound our friend will answer that we are. Well, we ought to get away from him easily enough. Look, Jack! there are two other fellows riding ahead of us. Let us slip into this farm and hide up in an outhouse. If he really is a spy he will follow before long, and we will let him pass and slip off in the opposite direction.”

Accordingly they turned into the farm, and having entered a cattle kraal which was close to the road, they glued their eyes to the chinks between the boulders of the wall, and waited to see what would happen. Five minutes later there was a sound of galloping hoofs, and to the intense delight of Jack and Wilfred, their host of the previous evening clattered past, with his gaze fixed on the two distant horsemen, who were now almost out of sight.

A little later they emerged from the kraal, and, crossing the road, cantered off across the veldt in the direction of Kimberley. For ten miles they kept on without a halt. Then they drew aside from the road to Hope Town, which they had lately followed, and bivouacked in a dense copse of eucalyptus-trees.

“Now, Wilfred,” said Jack, “out with that piece of beef we brought with us. I’ll get a fire alight, and we’ll have a good meal. Probably it is the last good one we shall be able to eat for some time, and cooking it will help to pass the hours between this and nightfall. We’ll push on then, and we shall have to go carefully, for there are numbers of Boers hereabouts.”

Wilfred at once opened his haversack, while Jack gathered a few twigs and lit a fire between some boulders. Slices of beef were cut, and having been toasted in front of the blaze, were placed on pieces of bread and eaten with great relish. Then they lit up their pipes and smoked, one or other of them occasionally getting up to have a good look round.

Late in the afternoon Jack sighted some horsemen, and as these might be a party of the enemy, the fire was trampled out, and the two crawled to the edge of the trees and looked out. The road ran within twenty feet of them, and very soon ten men, who were undoubtedly Boers, passed by them, laughing, and evidently quite unconscious of the presence of two of the hated Rooineks. And in the centre of the group of horsemen was the English colonist who had made himself so agreeable to them the night before.

“Ah! there is no doubt about his being a scoundrel,” whispered Jack. “Well, we shall know what to do if we meet him in an English town after this; and if I happen to ride this way with despatches I shall certainly call at De Aar and warn them there. Now I think we may as well take it in turns to have a sleep. We’ll start again at nightfall and cover about fifty miles. Then we’ll lie up in a quiet spot I know of, and the following night we ought to get through to Kimberley.”

“All right, Jack! you turn in, and I’ll take the first watch,” answered Wilfred jovially. “I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.”

Accordingly Jack lay down, and, like a hardened campaigner, fell asleep at once. Two hours afterwards Wilfred took his turn, and after a short nap was awakened. Then, saddling their ponies, they turned out of the eucalyptus-trees and started on their long ride.

Before dawn they were securely hidden in a donga, in the midst of a group of small but steep boulder-strewn kopjes, and there, feeling secure from observation, they lay down in their blankets beneath the shade of a huge rock and fell asleep.

When darkness fell again they proceeded on their journey, and a few hours later swam their ponies across the Modder River. It was risky work, but to have attempted to cross by the railway-bridge or at the drift (ford) would have led to certain discovery, for both places were closely watched by the Boers. Instead of that, they had made a wide détour, and crossed at a bend in the river where the stream ran very slowly. Then they turned their faces towards Kimberley, and pressed forward, hoping to reach the beleaguered town an hour or more before daylight.

They were now in a country overrun by Boers, and they therefore rode in silence, with their bayonets fixed and the magazines of their rifles filled, but without a cartridge in the breech, for the accidental pressure on a trigger might easily have betrayed them. Five miles farther on, the flash of the search-light caught their eyes as it slowly swept a broad beam across the veldt surrounding the town.

“Turn to the left – quick!” whispered Jack. “Now get in under this boulder. It would never do to stand out in the open. That light would show us up at once.”

A minute or two later the electric beam had passed by, and they pushed on once more.

“That is Frank Russel’s farm over there,” said Jack, a quarter of an hour later, as a house loomed up on their left. “He is evidently standing by his property, and trusting to the Boers to leave him alone, for you can see the lights in his windows – Hold on a moment, Wilfred! What was that? I thought I heard shouts.”

“Sounds to me like a concert or something of the sort going on,” answered Wilfred, pulling up alongside Jack and listening intently. “Yes, I’m sure of it; there are a lot of fellows singing together.”

“Then they must be Boers, Wilfred! Frank Russel is an oldish man, steady and quiet, and he would never think of entertaining a party of rowdies, especially if they belonged to the enemy. He held a good position at home, but something caused him to come out here with his wife, where he has lived for about twenty years, cattle-ranching and farming. Tom Salter and I have had a cup of tea with him many a time. His wife is dead, and he has a rather pretty daughter, who runs the home for him. I wonder what is going on over there? Frank is loyal to the backbone, and would never think of harbouring one of England’s enemies.”

“Ho, ho! There’s a girl there, and a pretty one too, is there, Jack?” Wilfred chuckled. “Well, if you think that something is happening to them we may as well go over and investigate.”

“Just what I think, Wilfred. I don’t like the look of things. Either Frank has changed his mind and gone into Kimberley with Eileen, or the Boers are ill-treating them. Keep close beside me, and we’ll see what’s up. I know every foot of the ground round here, and will see that we do not fall into a trap.”

Jack at once touched his pony with his heel, and in absolute silence the two moved forward towards the farmhouse. It consisted of one small building, surrounded by a neat English flower-garden, and lying isolated in the middle of the veldt, the outhouses and sheds for cattle being at least a mile away.

As they rode up to it on the soft noiseless turf, the sound of uproarious singing became louder, and was interrupted by bursts of hoarse laughter.

“Hold on to my ponies,” whispered Jack, when they had reached the edge of the garden. “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve seen what is going on.”

Slipping to the ground, he passed the reins to Wilfred, and, climbing the iron railing which fringed the garden, stole across the beds towards the house. At the door a number of ponies were standing, knee-haltered, and picking the grass from the borders of the garden. Jack got close up to them and made sure that they were animate belonging to the Boers. Then he crept up to one of the windows, and peered in beneath the blind, which was only partly drawn.

The sight which met his eyes caused him to give a start, while an exclamation of anger escaped his lips, for Jack was a kind-hearted lad, and to see anyone wantonly inflicting pain upon a fellow-being, or indeed upon any dumb animal, was hateful to him, and doubly so when, as in this case, it was a helpless girl who was being tormented.

As he looked into the room, which was lit by a hanging lamp, he saw Eileen Russel standing, violin in hand, in the opposite corner, the very picture of terror, grief, and despair, playing an air which had been popular in Johannesburg a few months before; while, seated round a table, in all sorts of attitudes, were ten men, shouting the chorus in a mixture of Dutch and English which grated on his ear.

Jack watched them closely, and recognised with another start that the man in the centre, leaning back in his chair, with his legs upon the table, was none other than the dapper English colonist who had questioned them so closely at De Aar.

Satisfied with his inspection, he slipped back again, and a moment or two later stood by Wilfred’s side.

“We’re going to stop here for a little while,” he said shortly. “There’s a bit of bullying going on over there. Bring the ponies round into the garden, and we’ll tie them up at the back of the house.”

Wilfred looked searchingly at his friend, but recognising from the resolute tone that Jack meant every word he said, he sent the ponies ahead, and soon had them at the back of the farmhouse.

“Look here, Wilfred,” said Jack brusquely, as soon as the animals were fastened to the rails, “there’s a scandalous piece of business going on in there. That spy fellow from De Aar is chief of the gang of Boers, who are ill-treating Eileen Russel. She and her father have shown me many a kindness, and I am going to repay it. There are ten of them altogether. If you don’t like the job you can slip outside and wait till I’ve done with them.”

“Of course I like it,” Wilfred whispered back indignantly. “Shut up, Jack! If there’s a row on, of course I shall help you!”

“Then, come along, but don’t do anything till I give the word.”

Stealing across to the window, they raised their heads and looked in, to find the Boers in much the same position, except that most of them were drinking the contents of long tumblers of whisky and water, which “Tim”, a faithful Zulu servant of the Russels, had just placed in front of them. Eileen had stopped her playing, and stood in her corner looking like a hunted animal, while tears trickled down her cheeks.

“Here, you black animal! Go and fetch me some more drink,” shouted the Boer leader at this moment. “Do you hear? Get away with you! Now, Miss – what’s your name, play ‘God Save the Queen!’ You’ll not have many opportunities of doing so after this, for England’s going to the wall, and that old tune will soon be forgotten. Now then, strike up, and let it be sharp and merry.”

The spy gave vent to a coarse laugh, shouted once more at the trembling girl, and gulped down a glass of spirit which “Tim” placed close to his hand at that moment.

But, like her father, this delicate English girl was loyal-hearted and true to her beloved queen and country. Her head, which had drooped before this, was now held proudly erect in the air; she faced her tormentors steadily, and in a voice which scarcely quivered, refused to play any more for them.

“No,” she said firmly, “I will not play our national anthem for you. You would only jeer at it, like the cowards you are. One of these days you and all your countrymen shall be proud to call yourselves subjects of our queen, and will sing in all earnestness that sacred song you now ask me to play!”

“None of your threats! Do as you’re told!” snarled the Boer leader angrily. “It will be many a long year before your queen claims a single one of us as a subject; but let me tell you, miss, it will be only a very few minutes before this ugly-looking thing does you a mischief, if you refuse to play ‘God Save the Queen’!”

As he spoke the villain snatched a Mauser pistol from his belt and held it pointed at Eileen’s head.

Jack’s teeth ground together, and, quickly slipping a cartridge into his rifle, he covered the Boer leader, and was on the point of pressing the trigger when Tim, the gallant Zulu boy, his eyes glaring with rage, rushed at the man and struck him from his chair. He was seized at once, and held in front of the villain who had dared to threaten Eileen, who again lifted his Mauser, placed the muzzle against the poor fellow’s head, and held it there a moment, so as to prolong the agony of fear, ere he pressed the trigger and sent Tim to his last account.

That pause proved the latter’s salvation, while to the Boer it meant a sudden death. Jack, who had kept him covered, thrust the end of his rifle through the glass and fired, dropping the villain in his tracks. Then shouting: “Give it to them, boys!” he opened his magazine and poured a hail of shot into the house, taking care to miss Tim and Eileen Russel.

Startled by the shot and alarmed by Jack’s shout, which seemed to show that there were many there besides himself, the Boers started to their feet and rushed through the door. A minute later they were flying away across the veldt, leaving four of their number lying dead upon the floor of the farmhouse.

Jack and Wilfred at once ran round to the door, which stood wide open, and stepped in.

“Don’t be frightened, Eileen,” said the former soothingly. “Those cowards have bolted, and you are safe for a time at least. What has happened to your father?”

“Ah! is that you, Jack Somerton?” the poor girl asked in a dreamy way, as if she were not quite certain that her eyes had told her correctly – “Jack Somerton, the young Englishman who used to come here with our old friend Tom Salter?”

“Yes, it’s Jack all right, Eileen,” he replied. “Now tell me how those villains happened to find you here alone.”

Eileen Russel stepped forward from her corner, and, grasping Jack by the hand, gazed searchingly into his face, as though she was still uncertain of his identity. Then she suddenly sat down in a chair, and, hiding her face in her hands, sobbed as if her heart would break. But it was merely the reaction after the terrible hour of torment she had suffered, and, cheered by a gentle pat on the back from Jack’s strong hand, she soon regained her composure and dried her eyes.

“Father is here, Jack,” she exclaimed eagerly. “He is down below in the cellar, where Tim and I hid him. He is wounded – badly, I fear. Those Boer cowards rode up here just before daylight, and ordered Father to come out and be taken before their leader. Father asked what they wanted with him, and they shouted back that this part of English territory had been annexed by the Boers, and that as an old inhabitant he was bound to fight for them now that he was no longer a subject of the queen.”

“‘Get away from here at once,’ Father shouted back, as soon as he had heard what they had to say. ‘I am a British subject, and shall be to the end. None of your republics or presidents for me! Clear off, all of you; and if one of you dares to attempt to come in I will shoot!’

“The Boers laughed at his threat, and attempted to beat in the door, but Father was as good as his word, and shot one of them at once. The others poured a volley into the house, and one of the bullets passed through the wall and wounded Father in the shoulder. Then the Boers made a rush, and began to force the door open, and as we knew that they would have little mercy for Father, Tim and I hid him away in a cellar down below, which he had constructed to keep stores and ammunition in. Then we lowered the trap-door and placed the table over it.

“They broke in a few minutes later, but, failing to find him, thought he had escaped through the window. Then they forced me to play my violin, and just as I thought they would shoot Tim or myself, the leader fell dead and the others ran for their lives.”

“Well, you are safe for the present at least,” answered Jack. “Sit down there, Eileen, and rest yourself. We will get your father up again. Those fellows will not be coming back yet awhile, so that we need not fear a surprise. Now, Wilfred and Tim, lend a hand and pull up this trap.”

A minute later the table had been removed to one side, and Jack was clambering down into the cellar, Tim lowering the lamp after him. On the boarded floor he found Frank Russel lying upon his back, and making feeble efforts to rise, for the reports of Jack’s rifle had roused him from unconsciousness.

“Where am I? What has happened?” he asked. “Hallo! is that you, Jack! Where’s Tom Salter?”

Then he suddenly remembered the Boers and sat up with a jerk.

“Ah! what has become of those brutes?” he demanded, clutching at the rifle which had been placed beside him, while his face flushed red with rage.

“Now don’t worry about them,” said Jack kindly. “They’ve bolted, and Wilfred and I arrived here just in the nick of time. Let us get you up on top and look at the wound. When that is seen to, we will discuss the situation.”

Frank Russel was still too much dazed to offer any resistance, and was soon carried up the ladder and laid on a bed. Then Jack opened up the seams of his jacket, and cut away the shirt over his left shoulder. A close inspection showed two little blue wounds, the size of a pea, one in front, and one behind where the Mauser bullet had made its exit. There had been scarcely any loss of blood, and luckily no bones broken. Eileen meanwhile had produced a basin of cold water and a soft towel, and with this they dressed the wound and bandaged the shoulder. A stiff glass of spirits pulled Frank Russel round, and now that he was over the first shock, he very quickly became himself again, for he was as hard as iron, and accustomed to the rough life of a colonist. Ten minutes later he was standing up lighting a big pipe, and even using his left hand, so little pain did his wound give him.

“Now tell me all about it, Jack Somerton,” he said, puffing big clouds of smoke into the air with the greatest satisfaction.

As soon as the brutal action of the Boer spy and his friends had been narrated, and followed by a description of their flight, Frank Russel sprang to his feet and shook Jack and Wilfred heartily by the hand.

“My lads,” he said in a husky, trembling voice, “you’ve won the deep gratitude of old Frank Russel. I’d sooner see every Boer in Africa dead than hear that one of them had ill-treated my darling child. Ah! she’s all I have left since the wife went to her home above, and a good, dutiful, and loving girl she is! Come here, Eileen dear, and kiss your father. You’ve had a close shave, and but for these brave Englishmen that brute would have murdered you. And Tim, too, has proved a faithful boy. Well, he shall not regret it, for from this day he shall never have a fear for his old age. I will give him sufficient to ensure his independence.

“But now we have other things to think about. Kimberley is closely besieged, and though we are only five miles away we are surrounded by hosts of Boers. They will be back here soon, and then it will be all up with us.”

“Why not ride off at once?” asked Wilfred. “There are four of the Boer ponies outside, and Jack and I have our own.”

“It would be useless,” replied Frank Russel, with a vigorous shake of his head. “Those fellows have already warned the whole district, and by this time we are closely surrounded. Look away over there. That small light is their signal, and it is flashing a message in the darkness which every Boer can read. No, I fear it is all up with us. I’m sorry, lads; you two would have got in safely if you hadn’t come along in this direction and helped us in our trouble. If there was a chance of your succeeding now, I’d say go at once and leave us. But there isn’t, not the slightest, and it’s only fair to say so.”