With Rifle and Bayonet: A Story of the Boer War

“We are Uitlanders and have brought you a present,” a voice shouted, and then there was a loud chorus of laughter.

Jack thrust his head out from beneath the truck and looked round. As far as he could ascertain from a hasty glance the trucks had come to a standstill in a large vaulted stone chamber, along the sides of which numerous guns of all sizes were packed, while behind them was a solid wall of boxes, similar to those in the truck above his head labelled “Sugar.”

As he looked out, the four men, including Piet Maartens, who had ridden in the van from Durban, stepped down to the ground, and it was one of these, a short stumpy little German, whom he knew well by sight, having seen him frequently in the streets of Johannesburg, who had made the brilliant joke at which his comrades had laughed. Evidently he was more proficient in the English tongue than in the difficult and uncouth language of which the Boer boasts, and as most of the latter who live in the Transvaal towns can speak English more or less perfectly, the conversation which followed was carried on so as to be perfectly intelligible to Jack.

“Well, Hans,” the big man who had first spoken said, addressing the German, “so you have brought Oom Paul’s groceries through quite safely, and without raising the suspicions of those English fools. Ha, ha! ‘Grapes, to be kept cool.’ Tis a fine idea. But it would never do if others than our own men handled them. They are too heavy, my friends, too heavy by far, and so also is the sugar of which his honour is buying such a large amount. It just shows what fools there are in the world, and what money, liberally spent, can do.”

“True, Oom Schalk,” the German answered, with a chuckle, “there are some fools indeed, as you say, and also there are wise men. Oom Paul is the wise man of this land, and he is slim – ah! so slim that no one has yet got the better of him. It was by his order that all this stuff here came through openly, and labelled as it is. It is just the fact that we make no attempt to hide it that ensures its reaching us in safety. Ah, those English! Well, a time is coming, Oom, when we shall teach them something. Bah! How I hate them! The very sight of one makes me ill.”

“Well, well,” Oom Schalk said with a smile, “you shall have a chance to pay them out, my friend. But now, let us see that all the trucks are right, and then we can leave them till the morning.”

Holding the lantern well above his head, and followed by his four comrades, the big Boer looked into the covered van, and then walked along by the side of the trucks, climbing up and inspecting the contents of each.

Now was Jack’s chance to get away, and he took it at once. Scrambling along on the concrete with which the vault was paved, he slowly passed beneath the trucks till he reached the end of the van. Peeping out to make sure that there was no one about, he stole along in the darkness, and soon was out of the vault and in a large shed built against the opening.

There seemed to be no one near, and the only sound was the grating of the feet of those behind him and the faint hum of their voices.

Standing up, he listened for a few moments, and, hearing nothing suspicious, ran across the shed towards the door. It was standing wide open, and at the sight he almost gave a cry of joy. In a moment he was close to it, and was on the point of rushing through when a strong arm clutched him by the collar, while the cold muzzle of a weapon was thrust into his ear.

It was a terrible shock, and set Jack’s heart throbbing fiercely. But he had the presence of mind to keep perfectly still, for that cold touch at his ear told him better than so many words that the slightest movement would mean his certain death.

A moment later someone else had grasped him on the other side, and he was marched back into the vault, and dragged before Oom Schalk and his companions.

“What is the matter?” the Boer demanded, placing his lantern close to Jack’s face, and scrutinising his features closely. “Why, he is not one of ours! He is a spy!”

“I cannot say who he is or how he came here, Oom,” the man who had captured Jack replied; “but as I stood by the door with Van Zyl and watched you as you walked along the trucks, I suddenly caught sight of someone creeping across the vault. His head passed between me and your lantern, and I saw at once that he was not one of you. So we waited here silently in the dark, and caught him as he was about to run through the door.”

“Who are you, boy?” Oom Schalk demanded fiercely, staring at Jack’s face.

“He’s English. He’s one of the hated Uitlanders!” shouted Piet Maartens, recognising Jack at this moment. “His name is Somerton, and I tell you, Oom, young though he is, he is as much our enemy as any. He is a spy, and has been sent by Hunter, or probably by the British consul, to watch our movements, so that news may be sent to the English Government.”

“A spy, a spy!” shrieked Hans, his fat face becoming livid with fear and rage. “He has seen all, and will betray us, this hated Englishman! Shoot him, Oom, shoot him! No one will know.”

“I am not a spy, and I came here because I could not help myself,” Jack answered defiantly. “I was late for the train at Newcastle, and only just managed to climb on one of these trucks. Before I could get back to the carnages they were gone, and I was being carried down here. Then, when I found none of my own countrymen with you I naturally tried to get away without being seen.”

“And you were not sent by anyone to spy on us?” asked Oom Schalk a little less sternly. “Answer me truly, for if you tell me a lie, as there is a heaven above I will shoot you, so that no one shall ever know what has become of you.”

“I am telling you the truth,” Jack answered stubbornly. “I can say no more. If you shoot me, you will be committing a foul murder, and will some day regret it bitterly.”

“Don’t believe him, Oom! Don’t believe the dog!” cried Piet Maartens savagely, scowling angrily at Jack. “He lies. I can see it on his face. He is a spy, and we must shoot him.”

“Yes, shoot him, shoot him!” chimed in the German. “What does it matter one proud Englishman more or less?”

“Softly, softly, Hans Schloss and Piet Maartens,” exclaimed Oom Schalk. “We need not hurry about this matter. The lad is young – no older than my own son – and I will not kill him yet. Wait till to-morrow, and we will learn more about him. All Englishmen are hateful, but I will not take the life of a single one of them unless there be good cause. Remember, my friends, there is but one God above us, and He will judge us for our acts. If this lad is guilty of spying he shall die, but in proper form, for I will not have him murdered. But he has a truthful face, and I am inclined to believe his story, for who would be such a fool, even amongst these Uitlanders, as to spy upon us here? No, no. It is unlikely, and we will wait till to-morrow to learn more about him, and sift the matter properly.”

“Bah! You have too soft a heart, Oom Schalk,” Hans Schloss shouted. “I say, let us end his spying at once, for if you wait he will manage to escape from us.”

“Wait, wait!” exclaimed Oom Schalk, with some show of temper. “You would not be so ready for me to carry out the sentence if you were in his place. To-morrow we will see about the matter, and meanwhile I place the prisoner in your hands. You will be responsible for him, and see that no harm comes to him, or I will show you that Oom Schalk has a stony heart at times.”

The big Boer nodded to Jack, and stalked out of the vault.

For a few moments Jack faced unflinchingly the six men who remained, wondering whether, now that their commandant had gone, they would shoot him or injure him in any way. But with a few muttered oaths and sneering remarks as to what would happen to him on the morrow, they turned away, Piet Maartens giving orders that he should be bound with a rope.

Five minutes later Jack was tied hand and foot, and placed upon the concrete flooring with his back resting against a wheel of one of the trucks. From here he watched his captors, who had retired into the shed. Placing their lanterns on the ground, they wrapped themselves in blankets, and, leaving one of their number seated on a stool, threw themselves down to sleep.

“I’m in a nasty hole,” thought Jack, “a very awkward fix indeed. If it had not been for Oom Schalk those brutes would certainly have shot me; and I’m not at all sure that they won’t do so after all, for there is no one to prove that I am telling the truth. Even if they don’t harm me, they are bound to get rid of me, for they can never allow me to remain in the Transvaal after this. Well, I must get away somehow.”

For half an hour he sat quietly thinking, with his eyes fixed upon the lanterns and upon the figure sitting close to them. The Boer had lit his pipe, but it constantly went out, and he as constantly lifted a lantern to get a light again. Then he put it on the ground, folded his arms, and stared about him. Soon his head drooped, and nodded gently, then his chin went down on his chest with a jerk, and he sat upright again, shrugged his burly shoulders, yawned, and looked about him. Jack watched him with deep interest, and soon saw that he had fallen asleep.

Now was his time, and noiselessly bringing his heels close beneath him, he gave his body a jerk forward by pressing against the truck with the back of his head, and in another moment was standing on his feet.

He was still helpless, for he was firmly bound, with his hands behind his back. But he had not been racking his brains all this time for nothing. He remembered that at Durban he had noticed that the corners of the iron trucks were not turned over, but bolted to angle-irons inside, leaving a more or less rough surface at the edge. It was a small matter, but he had noticed it just as one does take note of trivial points, and he now determined to put it to a good purpose. Inch by inch he shuffled along till he reached the corner of the truck against which he had been placed, then he leant against it, and commenced to rub the cords which bound his wrists up and down the roughened edge.

It was difficult work, but he clenched his teeth and put all his strength into it. After more than half an hour’s nibbing the cord was cut through and his hands were free. To release his legs was now a simple matter, and in a few minutes he was standing close to the truck, with his boots off, and slung across his shoulders by the laces. Then he undid his secret pocket, pressed the spring, and gripped the butt of his Mauser pistol.

At this moment there was a sound from the shed, and on looking in that direction Jack noticed that the sleepy sentry was half-awake once more, and was making a desperate effort to stand upon his feet. He yawned several times, shook himself, rubbed his eyes, and then suddenly turned and looked towards the trucks.

But Jack had expected such a movement, and when the sentry turned, the dim light showed him the prisoner still seated in the same position. Once more his head nodded, and within a few minutes he had dozed off again.

In a moment Jack was on his feet, and was darting across the concrete. A few seconds took him into the hut, and in another moment he was at the door. There was no lock, but it was bolted top and bottom.

He at once commenced to draw the bolts back, and had almost succeeded in opening the door when the sentry woke at the noise, saw his prisoner escaping, and shouted at the top of his voice.

“Stand!” cried Jack sternly, pointing his pistol at the man, as he was in the act of leaning over to reach his rifle.

Quick as lightning he pulled back the last bolt and flung the door open, covering the six men in front of him all the time. Three of these still lay on the ground in their blankets, half-sitting up on their elbows, and as yet scarcely understanding what had happened. Piet Maartens, however, and Hans Schloss the German, had at once jumped to their feet, and as Jack was turning to fly the latter stooped and picked up his rifle. Before he could bring it to his shoulder there was a sharp report, Jack’s weapon flashed vengefully, and the fat little German fell with a scream on the floor, with a Mauser bullet through the calf of his leg. Next moment Jack had darted through the doorway, banged the door to, and hurled a wheel-barrow, which happened to be just outside, across it. Then he turned sharp to the right and ran round the corner of the shed, for common sense told him that to attempt an escape across the open veldt which stretched away in front would be to run the almost certain risk of capture.

As it was, he crouched round the corner of the shed, and, Mauser in hand, watched to see what would happen next.

From the inside he could still hear a succession of piercing shrieks uttered by Hans Schloss, but these were quickly drowned by angry shouts and oaths. There was a loud shuffling of feet, and a moment later the door through which he had just escaped was flung open with a bang, and all the Boers rushed out pell-mell, leaving the German to his own devices.

But the wheel-barrow was yet to be a lesson to them, to teach them that even an English lad must be reckoned with at times. They were all men who had been used to sneering at the “Rooineks” (English) from the time when they were boys, when their fathers had detailed to them how some thousands of Boers had lain in ambush behind the stones on Laing’s Nek, and had destroyed a handful of British soldiers exposed out in the open. But here was a mere lad who had dared to spy upon their movements, and who, after capture, had listened bravely and calmly to the speedy death proposed for him. He had not even whined, or begged for mercy, but had as good as defied them. And now, to add to it all, he had in some manner, totally inexplicable to themselves, severed his bonds and escaped from the vault, wounding one of their number in the process; and had laid, as a kind of parting shot, a trap for them all, which brought the five men suddenly and with a violent crash to the ground, sending their rifles flying in all directions.

It was a bitter lesson, and goaded them to madness. With muttered curses and fierce shouts of rage they leapt to their feet, and, without pausing to think, rushed out into the open veldt, where the sharp reports from their rifles showed that they were firing at imaginary objects which they took to be the fugitive.

Had Jack wished it he could have planted more than one of the bullets from his pistol in the bodies of the Boers as they lay on the ground in the full glare of the lamps from the inside of the shed, but as yet he was by no means proficient with his weapon, and besides, he had no wish to take the life of any one of them, or to injure them in the slightest. All he aimed at was to make good his escape, and no sooner were they out of sight than he darted back towards the steep kopje in the side of which the vault was evidently constructed, and climbed up it, taking care to stoop low, and dodge from boulder to boulder. Soon he was at the top, and here, sheltered behind a breastwork of rock, he stopped and listened.

He could still hear shouting down on the veldt below, and an occasional rifle shot, but these soon ceased, and about half an hour later the five Boers returned and entered the shed, the light from the lamps throwing their figures into strong relief.

“Ah, now I can make a move!” thought Jack, “and the sooner I get away from here the better. After what has happened those fellows would shoot me if they got hold of me.”

At this moment he suddenly remembered that at Newcastle he had stowed his bag of buns away in his pocket. Pulling it out, he finished what was left, for he had an excellent appetite which no amount of adventure could disturb. Then, feeling better, he picked his way down the opposite side of the hill, and, having made a wide détour, turned towards the railway, and walked on till he came to it. Then he trudged along by the side of the metals, and in due course reached a small station midway between Volksrust and Standerton.

There was no one about, but the night was beautifully warm, and Jack therefore lay down on the veldt outside the station. Early next morning he walked on to the platform and knocked at the station-master’s door.

“Hallo! Who are you?” the latter asked in sleepy surprise, appearing in a half-dressed state, which showed that he had only just got out of bed.

“Oh, I’m one of the English from Johnny’s Burg!” Jack answered easily. “I’ve been staying with some people this way, and started last night to catch the train. But you people don’t trouble about sign-posts in these parts, and so I lost my way. Instead of finding my road to Standerton I got out of my reckoning and came down here, where I’ve spent the last few hours asleep on the veldt. Can you give me something to eat?”

“It’s a precious funny story,” the station-master, who was a Cape Dutchman, grumbled in reply. “But, then, you Englishmen, fresh from home, do all manner of strange things. Come in, and we’ll see what the Tanta has for you. But mind, I can’t afford to give you a meal; you must pay for it.”

Jack readily agreed, and ate ravenously when at last a dish of smoking biltong was placed before him, for his long march across the veldt had given him a keen appetite again, which his sleep in the open had in no way diminished. Big cups of smoking coffee were also provided, so that altogether he fared very well.

Then he lit a cigarette, paid the amount demanded, and went outside on to the platform, where he and the Dutch station-master walked up and down in friendly converse till the train for Johannesburg arrived.

Four and a half hours later he stepped on to the platform at the big mining city, the Golden City of South Africa, and walked to Mr Hunter’s store.

“Back again, Jack! Why, we did not expect you till to-morrow morning!” exclaimed Mr Hunter, shaking him by the hand. “Your bag and the leather goods turned up early this morning, and as you didn’t arrive we naturally thought you had decided to stay a day longer and would return by to-night’s mail.”

“No; I ought to have been back early this morning with the baggage, Mr Hunter,” Jack answered; “but as it was, I was delayed just on this side of the Transvaal border, and have had to come on by a local train. I’m afraid it’s likely to be rather a serious matter, and as soon as possible I should like you to give me some advice.”

“My dear Jack, whatever are you talking about?” exclaimed Mr Hunter in astonishment. “Was there an accident at Volksrust? But no, I know there was not, for I went to meet the train this morning. Whatever made you break your journey? You have no friends in that part of the country that I have heard of.”

“I’ll tell you all about it if you’ll come out on the verandah, Mr Hunter,” Jack answered. “I’ve been on my legs, tramping over the veldt, all night, and I’m feeling a bit done-up and tired. Let us get a couple of chairs out there, and then you can hear all I’ve got to tell.”

A few minutes later Wilfred joined them, and the three settled themselves comfortably on the verandah, where Tom Thumb, Mr Hunter’s Zulu “boy”, who was the biggest native ever seen in Johannesburg, supplied them with long glasses of deliciously cold lemon-squash.

Chapter Five.
Rise of the Boer Power

“And so you’ve discovered a secret magazine of our friend Paul Kruger, have you, Jack?” exclaimed Mr Hunter when the adventure of the previous night had been narrated to him. “Well, the existence of arms in that part of the country is more than I or any one of us had guessed. That ammunition and guns of all description are pouring into the Transvaal, and have been pouring in for the past three years, there is no doubt. They come openly from Delagoa Bay, and from the south under cover of some other name. Yes, we all know what is going on; but now the fact of there being a big magazine close to the Natal border opens my eyes. I have often heard it said that the Boers are ready to fight for their independence, but would not attack their neighbours till they were compelled to do so. Then I have heard it rumoured, and very often too, that the government at Pretoria has bigger schemes in view.

“Cecil Rhodes has, as is well-known, a strong desire to see a United South Africa under the British flag; and if I make no mistake, Kruger and his underlings are scheming to trample that spotless banner under foot and replace it with the vierkleur. In my opinion they are capable of anything, and I feel positive that a United South Africa under the Boers, with Kruger president of all, and with a population solely composed of Dutch, is aimed at. To oust the British is what they have in view, and for that purpose they are hatching a gigantic conspiracy, the result of which will be a terrible war.”

“But surely, Mr Hunter, they would not dare to attack the English,” Jack interposed. “We are the strongest nation on the face of the earth; so strong, indeed, that no other European race would declare war upon us if an honourable settlement were possible.”

“Ah, Jack! you have learnt a deal since you came to Johnny’s Burg, but not enough yet of Boer ambitions and Boer cunning to be able to say exactly what they would be capable of. For my own part, I believe what I have said. England is face to face with a vast and dangerous conspiracy, and these hardy and resolute Boers will yet prove a thorn in her side. But to return to your adventure. You have certainly escaped from a difficult position, and I congratulate you, my lad, on the pluck and coolness you evidently showed. Had they put you against a wall and shot you immediately you were discovered it would have been only what might have been expected, for you undoubtedly possess a secret of theirs which they have been jealously guarding. Supposing my theory of a war with England is correct, that huge accumulation of war material close to the border would enable them to despatch a force of Boers by train, and post them and the guns on the passes, and upon the mountains which separate us from Natal, within a few hours of the declaration of hostilities. We could not possibly be ready, and instead of our manning every rock and stone, and so preventing their passage into the country, they would pour through the passes in their thousands, and the colony of Natal would be invaded and in the hands of the enemy before our countrymen had had time to recover from the surprise.

“Yes, it is a most important secret, and I fear you will be a marked man. You have already made an enemy of Piet Maartens, and Hans Schloss bears no better reputation than he. And you have wounded him, a fact which he will never forget. But there are the others too. They will have a score against you. Altogether, Jack, I think you will be wise to leave us and get back to England as quickly as you can.”

“You say there will be trouble soon, Mr Hunter?” Jack asked, after a few moments’ silence, during which he considered what he should do in the circumstances.

“Yes, I firmly believe there will be an awful struggle between England and the Boers before many weeks are past,” replied Mr Hunter earnestly.

“Then, if that is the case,” said Jack decisively, “we are likely to get the worst of it for a time, and every man in South Africa will be wanted.”

“That is precisely what I think, Jack. Some, no doubt, would scoff at me as a pessimist. But I speak from some experience and many years’ knowledge of the Boers. England, it is my firm belief, will be aghast at the huge armaments and the large force opposed to her, and she will require every man that can be found able and willing to shoulder a rifle.”

“Then I shall stay, Mr Hunter,” Jack said quietly. “I’ve no great wish to get back to a crammer’s at present. A few months later will do just as well, so I shall wait and see what happens. There is nothing I should like better than to take part in a campaign. Not necessarily against the Boers, for some of them seem good fellows, but in some war alongside of British troops. Meanwhile, if the Transvaal has become too dangerous a place for me to stay in, I can easily run down to Kimberley. A few weeks amongst the mines would be excellent fun.”

“Well, Jack, you must do just as you wish,” answered Mr Hunter. “If you stay in the country, you will do well to go to Kimberley, or one dark night you will be having a bullet flying after you, for the Boers are not apt to stick at trifles. They are men whom it is not well to play with, and the code of honour is not so high amongst them as to prevent their murdering one who possesses a secret likely to endanger their future plans.”

“I should think not, indeed, Father,” chimed in Wilfred. “Look at the mean tricks they played in the last war – firing on white flags and ambulances, and saving their own skins by running away. You have often told me how they treated our soldiers, and everyone here knows how they bully the natives.”

“They are a curious and, I believe, unique race,” replied Mr Hunter; “and if you two lads care to listen I will tell you what little I know about them, and what are the precise difficulties which have led to such friction here between the Boer Government and the Uitlander population.”

“Do, by all means!” both lads cried.

“Well, I will; but first we’ll have another glass of this cool stuff. Tom Thumb!” he shouted. “Here, I want you.”

A moment later the big Zulu appeared, clad in light check trousers and a striped flannel shirt.

“Bring more ‘squashes’ and a cigar,” said Mr Hunter.

“Alright, Baas! I bring him plenty quick,” Tom Thumb replied, turning on his bare heels, and striding noiselessly into the pantry close by, where soon the sound of popping soda-water-bottles told that he was carrying out his master’s orders.

A few minutes later the drink was placed on the arm of each chair, Mr Hunter had lit his cigar, and was leaning back, puffing clouds of smoke from his lips, and staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.

“Light up, boys!” he said at last. “It’s a bit of a yarn, and wants to be followed closely. Now, to start the ball rolling, as it were, I must tell you who and what our neighbours are, and from what race they derive their origin. You must know that the first whites to visit this vast continent of Africa in its southern parts were of Dutch nationality. They were servants of the Dutch East India Company, who placed a colony of their countrymen at Table Bay to form a depot, where vessels could put in and replenish their provisions and water with some degree of safety. They were joined many years after by a band of French Protestants who had been driven from their own country.

“In 1795 the Colony was taken over by the British by request of the Stadtholder of Holland, who had been dethroned. But in seven years’ time we handed the country back again.

“Later on, however, our forces returned once more and ousted the Dutch, setting up a government on the site which is now occupied by Cape Town. Naturally, many of the Dutch and French immigrants had become possessed of property, and had commenced to farm the land; and these stayed on under the new rule. In process of time they intermarried, and by the commencement of this century numbered about 75,000 souls all told. That is the origin of the present Boer nation. They are sprung from the union between Dutch and French settlers, who were the pioneers of Africa.

“Then the British immigrant arrived and sat down by the side of the Boers, and together, in perfect unity and good fellowship, they pushed farther into the country, fighting one long continuous fight against hordes of natives and against lions and other savage beasts. Every step they advanced had to be fought for; for, just as the Bed Indians in America have persistently resisted the onflow of strangers into their hunting-grounds, so have the natives of South Africa fought to resist the onward progress and invasion of the white settlers into the land which they considered theirs by right of birth.

“But now – to hark back for one moment to that time when England stepped in and took possession of the colony – a factor arose to upset the peace and general agreement of Boer and Briton. The fact that they had been handed over by their own government to the British, like so many sheep, had roused the fiercest anger amongst the Boers. And now this resentment was inflamed by the restraining hand which our government laid upon them with regard to the natives.

“Years before, the Boer settlers had become accustomed to slave labour, and as they pushed on into the country, natives were pressed into their service. And these they had punished as each man considered the case deserved. Probably because there was a plentiful supply of Kafirs and Hottentots our Boer friends had not stopped at whipping the poor fellows. They treated them with absolute brutality, even going to the length of taking their lives.

“Such barbarous doings awoke in England a storm of anger, for, thank God, our country has long been opposed to slavery. Freedom and equality has been our motto for many years, and we have sustained it at no small cost to ourselves.

“When the tales of Boer brutality became known to the folks at home, the indignation it caused resulted in the emancipation of all slaves, and from that date the ‘Baas’, as the master is called, and the native ‘boy’ had equal rights; and to injure one of them was a crime punishable by the same laws as hold good in England.

“You can imagine, my lads, what rage this new arrangement caused in the hearts of the Boers. For years they had been free to do as they chose, and now their slaves were theirs no longer, and the natives, who had been in their masters’ eyes like mere cattle, were now their equals in point of law, and were not to be ill-treated with impunity.

“This was too much for the Dutchmen. The very sight of an Englishman roused their anger and hate, and rather than be forced to live side by side with them and be governed by their laws, they struck out a line for themselves and trekked away north into the unexplored wilds. Taking their wives and children with them, and driving their flocks, they set out for the unknown, seeking isolation from the British, and a country they could call their own.