Chapter Six.
Face to Face with President Kruger.
More than five minutes of unbroken silence elapsed after Mr Hunter had finished that portion of his narrative which dealt with the troubles of the Uitlanders. He had summed the whole position up, discussed every point, and had finally shown that the dispute between the Transvaal Government and its alien population was approaching vast proportions, which threatened to involve the English Government, who were now supporting the claims of their distant subjects. That a great conspiracy existed he had proved almost beyond a doubt, and now, like the patriotic man he was, he had prophesied how the sons of the great White Queen would meet their troubles, and how on every side and from every colony they would stretch forth their hands and join them in a cordial union, swearing that nothing should part them but death, till the country they loved had regained her paramountry.
Then, with flushed face and quickened breathing he had sprung from his chair, and was now striding up and down the verandah with a stem, determined look upon his face, while his cigar was firmly gripped between his teeth and his hands were thrust deeply into his trouser pockets.
Against the shady wall, lounging full-length in big cane chairs, Jack and Wilfred stared thoughtfully over the verandah rail, and away over the rolling veldt which stretched between Mr Hunter’s house and his neighbour’s. They had both listened without an interruption to the details of the rise and origin of the Boers, and of their subsequent fortunes, and now they sat moodily wondering whether the conspiracy spoken of could really be a fact, or whether, after all, it was not some delusion with which Mr Hunter was frightening himself.
“Don’t imagine I am romancing or inventing a tale with which to alarm you,” repeated Mr Hunter at this moment, with marked emphasis, stopping suddenly in front of the two lads, and fixing them with his eyes as though he had guessed their thoughts and was replying to them. “What I have said is strictly true. A day of trial and tribulation is fast coming for the British Empire, and you will see that her sons will answer the call ‘To arms!’ with the enthusiasm that I have predicted.
“Very soon, I fear, the Transvaal will be an unsafe country for Englishmen, and if we, together with the foreigners of all nationalities who make up the Uitlander population, are compelled to fly over the borders, it will mean ruin for us all. Take my own case, for example. When I had served my time with the British army I determined to settle out here, having heard rumours of the hidden wealth of the country. First I obtained employment at Kimberley. Then, when I had saved a little pile, I came up here and invested the money in an old shanty, built for the most part of biscuit-boxes, with a presentable plank here and there to hold them together. Fortunately I had a friend in Durban, a cousin as a matter of fact, and from him I obtained consignments of useful articles, food and other matters, of which spades and picks of best English manufacture formed a large proportion. There was a growing demand for all sorts of things. Prices ruled high, and in the first year I had more business to transact than I could manage single-handed, and had a large sum in hand after paying off all my accounts at Durban and the cost of transporting the goods. Next year my wife became my partner and helper in more ways than one. We carried on the store between us, and from that date we have prospered beyond our wildest hopes. I have built this house and the large buildings of the store. There are funds of mine invested in the diamond mines at Kimberley, not to mention the gold diggings here, and every year almost I and my partners in the mines industry buy up mining rights in other parts.
“Thus you will see that a war will mean practical ruin for all, unless, of course, we beat these Boers and annex their country. Even then we cannot fail to be heavy losers.
“If it does come to blows I shall stay here as long as possible, and then I shall enlist in some of the volunteer corps of Colonials, which are certain to be called for. Possibly I shall obtain a commission, and in any case, my boys, I can promise you you shall get some post which will give you a share in the campaign.
“And now to return to you, Jack. I strongly advise you to leave for England. Unfortunately you have quarrelled with Piet Maartens, who is a dangerous young fellow; and now, by no fault of your own, you have become a marked man. I tell you your life will be in real danger from this moment, and I strongly advise you to get away.”
“Yes, I realise that I shall be no special favourite of the Boers after this,” Jack replied quietly; “but, whatever happens, I am not going to clear out of the country for Piet Maartens or any of his class. There is a deep game being played, and I think the information I can give ought to be passed on to the British consul here, and so to the Government. Also, there is likely to be some kind of a row pretty soon, and by what you have told me, Mr Hunter, I expect it is going to be a precious big one. At any rate there is likely to be some kind of excitement, and I am going to stay to see the fun. Johnny’s Burg is likely to be too hot for me, and since I am not particularly anxious to get a bullet between my ribs, I think I will slip away at once for Kimberley, where I am certain to be safe.”
“Do so, Jack, and at once too,” said Mr Hunter earnestly. “Take my advice and go immediately. Call on Tom Salter when you reach the diamond mines, and he will give you something to do. If there is trouble here I will write you, and arrange where you are to meet us. As to the magazine, I will see that the consul hears all about it. Now let us go into the dining-room and have something to eat. There is a train for Bloemfontein in two hours’ time. It will be dark then, and you can easily slip away. When you arrive you must procure a pony and ride to Kimberley.”
Accordingly they left the verandah and joined Mrs Hunter in the dining-room, where dinner was already laid. About half an hour later, as they were in the middle of an animated conversation as to whether Paul Kruger would or would not grant concessions to the Uitlanders, Tom Thumb, the Kafir boy, entered the room hurriedly, and cried in a low voice, “Baas, de Zarps outside, and that angry man, Piet Maartens, him knock at door. De Zarps all round de house. I know ’cos I look through de window.”
“Then they are after you, Jack,” exclaimed Mr Hunter. “Go on eating for a moment, lads, while I think how we can escape those fellows.”
“I’ll tell you, Mr Hunter,” said Jack calmly. “They know you dine about this time. Go on with your dinner, and let Tom Thumb remove my glass and seat at once, and make it appear as though I was not here. I’ll slip out and get away somehow. When he comes you will not know where I am, and can honestly say so. Good-bye all! We shall meet again soon. Don’t forget to send my things on to Kimberley, Mr Hunter.”
A moment later he had slipped out of the room, and Tom Thumb had swept away his glass and plate, and had made it appear that he had never been there. Meanwhile there was loud knocking at the door.
Jack darted through the hall, seized a broad-brimmed and somewhat shabby hat which Mr Hunter sometimes wore about the country, so as to make himself look less like a foreigner, and ran up the stairs. As he got to the top the front door was flung open by another Kafir, just as Tom Thumb walked across from the kitchen to the dining-room with a steaming dish in his hand.
“Mr Hunter in?” asked Piet Maartens roughly, stepping into the hall and rudely staring into the dining-room. “Tell him I want him.”
“Baas at dinner; finish in half-hour,” said Tom Thumb, standing in his way.
At this moment Mr Hunter called out to the “boy” to show Piet in, and a moment later the latter had entered the dining-room.
“I’ve a warrant here for the expulsion of John Somerton, who has been living with you,” he said with a malicious smile. “Where is he? I call upon you to hand him over!”
Piet Maartens stared round rudely, and strutted up and down the room as he spoke, as if the house were his and not Mr Hunter’s.
“John Somerton?” asked Mr Hunter quietly. “Why, what can he have been doing? Surely there is some mistake?”
“Mistake or not, I have a warrant here,” repeated Piet, still with the same malicious smile, “and I call upon you once more to tell me where he is.”
“I don’t know where he is. You can see for yourself that he is not dining with us,” said Mr Hunter quietly.
“He was seen to enter this house three hours ago, and he is here now, and you know it too!” exclaimed Piet angrily. “Now, where is he?”
“I have told you he is not here. If you do not believe me, and still think he is in the house, go and find him,” said Mr Hunter calmly. “Tom Thumb will take you round. Perhaps, then, you will have no objection to our going on with the meal which you have so rudely interrupted?”
Piet Maartens was evidently put out, but he knew Mr Hunter to be a man who was not to be trifled with, and with a muttered oath he turned on his heel and strode out into the hall. Then he went to the door and gave a shrill whistle. Two Boer policemen, who are locally known as “Zarps”, joined him immediately, and at once commenced to search every corner of the house. Meanwhile Jack had not been idle. Once upstairs he had darted into Mr Hunter’s room and obtained possession of an old tweed suit and a muffler resembling in appearance those usually worn by the Boers. Then he hurried out and along a passage till he came to a ladder leading up through a trap-door into a large loft where the cisterns for the supply of water were kept, much as they are in England. A moment later he had scrambled up, passed into the loft, and dragged the ladder after him. As he did so he heard steps running upstairs, and lowered the trap gently just as Piet Maartens and one of the Zarps arrived at the end of the passage.
There was a moment’s silence, and then he heard an exclamation of vexation and a rapid conversation, in which he recognised a word here and there which showed him that his pursuers had already guessed his whereabouts.
But Jack was not to be so easily caught. Above his head there was a small glass skylight, and this he pushed open with the end of his ladder, and was quickly out on the roof. Mr Hunter’s house was irregular in shape, and the roof was consequently not one of those sloping ones on which there is no cover. Where Jack was he was in a small hollow, with tiles rising steeply on either side of him; and here he determined to remain as long as possible. It was already dusk, and in a few moments it would be quite dark, so that his figure would not be seen as he climbed over the top of the roof.
Placing his ladder against the steeply-sloping tiles, in readiness for a hurried escape, Jack hastily dragged Mr Hunter’s old suit on over the clothes he was already wearing. There was no difficulty about it, for though Jack was somewhat taller than his friend, the latter was stouter and broader. Soon his rough disguise was completed, and with the slouch hat on his head he looked precisely like hundreds of Boers who were to be found in and around Johannesburg.
By now it was pitch dark, and he cautiously climbed up the ladder and stared down into the garden which surrounded the house. It was illuminated in patches where the lights from the windows fell upon it, and here the figures of half a dozen Zarps stood out prominently. Elsewhere all was darkness, but by watching carefully, Jack saw first one and then as many as four other widely-separated dots of fire, which now and again disappeared, to become more prominent a moment later, clearly showing them to be the glowing ashes of the pipes which Boers one and all indulge in from morning till night, whether acting as policemen or not.
There was at least ten yards between them, and Jack at once made up his mind to attempt to reach the ground and slip away. Sitting astride the top of the roof, he lifted his ladder with the greatest caution, and lowered it again on the other side till it rested in the gutter. Then he gently pressed upon it, and finding it secure put all his weight upon it and descended. Arrived at the bottom he fixed his heels in the iron gutter, and once more lifted his ladder and passed it down till it rested upon the roof of the verandah. This, like the one upon which he was sitting, was composed of corrugated iron, and at the slightest blow gave out a sound like a drum. But fear of capture, and what that might mean, made Jack cautious. His wits were sharply alert, and he handled the light ladder with such care that once more he managed to fix it in the gutter which edged the verandah, without so much as a sound.
Seated on the roof, he waited for a few moments, watching the little glowing spots below, and noticing that they had not moved. Then he heard shouts from inside the house, a loud bang, and the trampling of feet just beneath him, which told him that Piet Maartens and his companions had secured another ladder and were already in the loft.
There was not a moment to be lost. He scrambled on to the ladder and down to the verandah roof. Then he shifted his ladder and clambered down it to the ground, and was on the point of moving off when a rough hand forced something into his mouth, preventing him from crying out, a sack was thrown over his head, and he was carried away swiftly and bundled into a four-wheeled cart, which was driven off at a rapid pace.
For the moment Jack was bewildered. But he quickly realised that after all his caution the slim Boer had been too clever for him. One of the Zarps must have seen him climbing down the roof, and now he was in their hands, a prisoner, and with what fate before him? On his wrists a pair of handcuffs had been slipped, and at either side of him sat an armed Zarp. He could tell that, for each held him by the arm as though afraid that he would still contrive to get away, while one of them clicked the lock of his revolver in a very suggestive manner close to Jack’s head.
“Well, I suppose I had better sit still and wait,” he thought. “I must try to remember the various turnings, so that I shall know where they are taking me and how to return.”
But this proved unnecessary. The cart rattled along through the streets and then out into the veldt. About half a mile outside the town it slowed down, the sack was removed, and Jack found he was close to the railway.
A few minutes later there was the shriek of an engine, and a locomotive and one carriage steamed up and stopped close by them.
Jack was bundled unceremoniously and with many a brutal jeer out of the cart and into the train, which at once went ahead, carrying him in the direction of Pretoria with three rough-looking, shaggy Boers, one of whom was the identical man who had acted as sentry in the magazine when Jack made his escape. About a mile farther on they pulled up again, and this time Piet Maartens climbed in and joined them. Then they proceeded, and were soon racing along at a fast pace.
“We’ve got you at last, my fine, brave young Englishman, have we?” jeered Piet Maartens. “Let me give you some good advice. Make the most of the next few minutes, as they are the last you are ever likely to see. You will have to reckon with Oom Paul now. You will not find him so soft-hearted as that fool Oom Schalk, and even if you do, there is myself, not to mention fat Hans Schloss, who have to be considered. Altogether, you had best prepare for the end, and perhaps, now that you find we are in real earnest, you will not be quite so brave or cock-a-whoop as you were down in the magazine.”
Jack made no answer, for to do so would only have been to wrangle, and he felt as though he would like to think in peace, for even without Piet’s malicious advice it was sufficiently certain that he could expect little mercy from the rough men into whose hands he had fallen.
Instead, therefore, of replying, he smiled disdainfully and remained silent, watching the lights which now and again flew past the window.
Half an hour later, the train drew up on the open veldt, and he was bundled out and into another cart drawn by a couple of horses, which at once set off at a gallop. Jack was placed on a seat between his two guards, and in this position was driven through Pretoria and up to the Government Buildings, his slouch hat and general appearance attracting no attention. He was now forced to descend and enter the building, where he was ushered into a small room, unlighted save for one electric lamp, which swung from the ceiling just above a leather-covered desk, littered with maps and papers, and behind which, leaning back in an arm-chair, sat President Kruger himself, seemingly half-asleep, and with his fat hands clasped together in his lap.
On one side of the president sat a big, burly man with a rugged, white-bearded, and not unpleasing face, whom Jack at once recognised as General Joubert, commandant of all the Boer forces, and, next to the president, the most powerful man in the Transvaal. Jack was placed in front of the table and remained silent, glaring defiantly and boldly at the man who, if report spoke true, was at once the most artful diplomat and the most consummate conspirator in the world.
There was some conversation in the Boer tongue, which Jack could not follow, as he had only picked up a few words as yet. Then Joubert addressed him in English, acting as interpreter between him and Paul Kruger, as the latter had such an intense dislike for anything British that he even pretended to be ignorant of the language.
“The president desires to know who you are, and for whom you were acting as spy two nights ago,” he said courteously. “Who employed you? Was it the British Government?”
“No one employed me,” answered Jack, looking Joubert straight in the face. “It was purely by accident that I discovered the magazine down by Volksrust, and since the men there were positive that I was a spy and talked of shooting me, I was forced to escape for my life. That is all I know about the matter; and now I will ask you by what right I am removed in this manner from Johannesburg and brought here as a prisoner. I am a British subject, come here for my health, and if I have done anything wrong I am willing to stand my trial in the courts.”
“Tush, boy!” Joubert replied harshly. “What do we care about subjects of England here? You have acted as a spy, and that is why you are a prisoner.”
“Ask him on his honour whether he was a spy and whether he is telling the truth,” President Kruger broke in at this moment, using the English tongue in his eagerness to put the question. “Ask him on his honour,” he repeated. “All of his country pride themselves on that, and when they are put upon it they will tell the truth.”
“I am no spy,” Jack said calmly. “I have told you the truth, and will swear to it on my honour.”
“Will you make use of the secret you have obtained, if I let you go and send you outside the Transvaal?” asked the president, now fully awake, leaning forward and favouring Jack with a piercing gaze.
“I cannot promise not to,” replied Jack, after a moment’s pause. “If that magazine is a menace to England, as seems most probable, it will be my duty to inform the Governor of Cape Colony of it, and I shall do so.”
“Ah, you will!” growled Oom Paul angrily. Then he turned to General Joubert, and the two conversed volubly for a few minutes, the president hammering on the table with his hand in the most emphatic manner, and evidently laying down the law.
“Bah!” he exclaimed at last. “What does it matter? It would do more harm to us to injure this lad than for our secret to be known. The British are already aware that we are purchasing arms. Let them know it all. It will not harm us; though to act so as to cause the prisoner’s friends to make active enquiries for him might precipitate matters. Let him go! Release him! He is a brave lad, which is unusual amongst these hated Rooineks, and he deserves to go free as a reward for his boldness. See to it, Joubert!”
Jack was overjoyed, for he had quite expected that the rash avowal of his intention to divulge his secret would make matters even more unpleasant. And now he was free. He was on the point of thanking the president and of retiring when his eyes lit upon Piet Maarten’s angry scowling face, and he at once remembered the young Boer’s threat that he and Hans Schloss together would have to be reckoned with.
“Your honour,” he said, facing Oom Paul again, “I have a request to make. You have commanded that I shall have my liberty. I ask for protection. That man there, together with a German whom I had the misfortune to wound when escaping from the magazine, have threatened to deal with me should I receive my freedom at your hands. I ask you now to grant me some kind of an escort to the frontier.”
“Have I not ordered that you shall have your freedom?” answered Paul Kruger brusquely. “That is enough. Should anyone attempt to molest you he shall account for it.”
Satisfied with his answer, Jack murmured his thanks and retired. He was at once placed in charge of two Boers whom he had never seen before, and was driven off into the veldt again. About an hour later an engine and a single carriage steamed up and he was told to get in. Then they were whirled away to Johannesburg just in time to catch a train starting on the long run to Port Elizabeth.
One of the guards remained behind, but the other stayed on with Jack, making himself most pleasant, and chatting with him constantly.
Many hours later he shook hands with him, and wished him good-bye.
“Don’t come back to us,” he said shortly, as the train ran into Norval’s Pont, the southern border of the Orange Free State. “You have escaped with your life, but you would not do so a second time. Here is money which the president told me to hand to you. It is just sufficient to pay for your journey and comfort to Port Elizabeth, and here also is your ticket.”
Jack thanked him, pressed his hand, and then watched him depart. A few moments later the train was in motion again. At Naauwpoort, the next stopping point, there is a junction, with a connecting line running westward to De Aar to join the Cape Town line to Kimberley and Mafeking, and here Jack left the carriage and boarded another train. Late the next evening he had reached the diamond city, and had called on Tom Salter, an old friend of Mr Hunter’s.
“Hallo, Jack!” exclaimed the latter, who had met him before. “What brings you here? Your place should be alongside of the Hunters, for they are likely to want every man they can lay hands on soon.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that,” Jack answered, “but unfortunately I have got into hot water in Johnny’s Burg, and have consequently come here for the good of my health.”
“Ha, ha! That’s queer, my lad,” laughed Tom Salter, a typical, red-faced, and robust-looking colonist. “You’ve been punching that fellow’s head again, I suppose? What’s his name? Piet Maartens, or something of that sort, isn’t it? Ah, it’s you quiet, harmless-looking lads who are always getting into a warm corner!”
“Well, no, it’s not quite that,” Jack replied, with a smile. “Piet Maartens, though, had a hand in it all the same. I’ll tell you all about it if you like. Mr Hunter told me to come here, and said you would be able to give me something to do.”
“Of course I will, Jack,” said Tom Salter heartily. “And you will take up your quarters with me. There’s plenty of room in the house, and the wife will be glad to see you. Now tell me the yarn.”
“That was a close shave, old boy,” he said, when he had heard Jack’s adventures. “Phew! You were within an ace of being shot by those fellows in the magazine. Ah, they are rough customers, and we’re going to have an ugly trouble with them! That’s why we here and our boys up at Mafeking are getting ready. Special-service officers have come to us from England, and though you’d scarcely think it, ammunition and stores are quietly pouring in. Ah! we’ve one of them here as slim as old Oom Paul himself, and another lad up at Mafeking, by name Baden-Powell, who would even give that old crafty schemer a start, and lick him easily. Well, we shall see, but if there is to be a row I’m going to be in it.”
“Everything seems to point to war; at least so I have gathered from Mr Hunter,” remarked Jack, “and I, too, mean to take a share in it.”
“Well done! You’re the right sort of lad!” exclaimed Tom Salter, slapping him on the back. “And mind you, if you want to be in the thick of it, you must stay over here. Kimberley and Mafeking will be besieged, and there will be stirring times. There will be work, too, for everyone. Every lad here will give a hand; all the civilians will join in with our soldiers, and will show our friends the Boers that we mean business.”
“If there is trouble, and the Uitlanders have to leave the Transvaal, I shall return to Johnny’s Burg, Tom. I arranged it all with Wilfred before I left; in fact, weeks ago. You see, Mr Hunter means to stay on and look after his property, so someone will be wanted to take Mrs Hunter down to the frontier, for, by all accounts, once the Boers are let loose there are likely to be unpleasant times for the refugees. After that I shall come over here and lend a hand if I can, though I don’t know about staying for good. There will be little fun if the siege lasts for months, as seems likely by the amount of stores which you say are coming in.”
“Ah, I never thought of that, Jack! My property and money are here, and naturally I shall stick by it and defend it as long as I can; but for you it is a different matter. But there will be lots of despatches to be carried south, for our telegraph wires and communications are certain to be cut. You could volunteer after a little while as a messenger. It would be rough and dangerous work, but I dare say all the more to your taste, and after the few weeks you will work here with me you will have the advantage of knowing the country. You have arrived just in time to join me in a prospecting tour. Mr Hunter and I, with two others, have been in partnership for many years, and just now we have agents travelling from place to place searching for possible gold reefs. They report their finds to me, and I ride or drive over and inspect. Then, if it is likely to prove of any value, we buy the property and secure the mining rights.
“I intend starting north to-morrow, and expect to be away for a month. You may come if you care, and I need not say I shall be glad to have you.”
Jack gladly jumped at the offer, and next morning, after a visit to a local store, where he purchased some clothing, he set out with Tom Salter, looking every inch a young colonist, dressed in riding-breeches and gaiters and a dark-blue shirt. On his head he wore a slouch hat, and over his shoulder was a bandolier filled with cartridges which fitted the Lee-Metford rifle which Tom had lent him. At his hip he carried his Mauser pistol, now no longer concealed, and thus equipped he and Tom rode out, and turning north-west, made for a country which was noted for its wildness.
More than six weeks passed, and during that time he and Tom Salter made many expeditions, sometimes to the west into an almost unknown country, and at other times into the Orange Free State or the Transvaal. After each one they would return to Kimberley, and Tom would write reports on the properties he approved of, and leave Mr Hunter and the other partners to purchase them and secure the rights. In this way Jack quickly became hardened to the saddle, acclimatised and weather-beaten, and moreover was a rider who by constant practice could have held his own now in an American ranche out west by the Rockies. He was, as even Piet Maartens would have been compelled to admit, a strapping, well-set-up young fellow, whose laughing lips and open face almost belied the bull-dog squareness of his chin, and the daring, unflinching look in his eyes. The sun had tanned his cheeks and arms, and as he sat his native pony, his left hand well down, while his right grasped his rifle and leant the butt against his thigh, the natural, upright pose of his body and set of his head, together with a certain jauntiness, don’t-care-who-comes-along sort of style, imparted by an artful bend in the brim of his hat, made Jack Somerton look just what he really was, a plucky young Englishman, who had come out to rough it in this far-away country, and had done exactly what he had intended.
But Jack was not only a fine-looking young fellow. His rough life and his contact with the Boer had made him quick and slim. He looked even-tempered and easy-going, and appeared to take little heed of what he heard or saw; but he was wide-awake, very wide-awake. He missed nothing, and he put all he saw away to be remembered. Thus his various rides had not only made him acquainted with many people, but by now he knew the surrounding country, and could have found his way over it in the darkest of nights.
In addition, he had had many opportunities of practising with his weapon.
“You’ve got a gun there, Jack, my lad,” Tom Salter had said when they first started out prospecting, “and it’s not for appearances only. You want to learn to use it. I never miss a chance even now, and I’m a pretty good shot, I can tell you, without the slightest wish to boast. Still, I am always practising, because I know there is nothing one gets out of so easily. You must be at it constantly to be a good shot. If you’ve got good eyes, and can spare the time to shoot, you’re bound to turn out a marksman. Look at the Boers! Every one of them living outside the towns is a crack shot, simply because he starts when he’s young and sticks to it. Now what you want to do is to take a pot shot at any likely object we come across out in some of these deserted places. The trunk of a tree, a white stone on the side of a distant kopje, or even a vulture, of which there are numbers hereabouts. They are brutes, and the more you hit the better. You’ve got a Mauser pistol too, and had better make use of it. If this war comes, you’ll find your time has not been wasted.”
Jack followed this advice. During their long, and generally lonely, rides, he would often fire as many as twenty cartridges in an afternoon, galloping up to the object afterwards to see what success he had had. As a rule, he fired from the saddle, but sometimes he would jump to the ground and aim whilst standing; at other times, at Tom’s suggestion, he would slip from his saddle, scuttle hurriedly across a piece of open ground, taking advantage of every boulder or ant-hill, and firing at an imaginary enemy from behind each one. Then, when he had reached a ridge, or a piece of better cover, a glance from his trained eye would pick out the best spot to fire from, and he would lie prone on the ground, without so much as the brim of his hat showing, while the muzzle of his rifle projected between two boulders and hurled forth a stream of bullets as he used the magazine.
“That’s it, my lad,” Tom would say encouragingly. “That’s just how our Boer friends fight, and it’s the only method nowadays, when bullets carry so far, and everyone is armed with a modern weapon of precision. It’ll be ticklish work, I can tell you, if our fellows have to attack from the open, and that’s what it will have to come to, for you won’t find these Dutchmen exposing themselves if they can help it. They’ll sit tight behind their boulders, and we shall have to turn them out at the point of the bayonet. Yes, it will be ticklish work, and will require real grit, but I’ll bet anything our boys will tackle it. There’s another thing too. Every youngster armed with one of these magazine rifles is inclined to blaze off all his ammunition at the first alarm. It’s wasting cartridges, which cannot always be spared; and what is more, it is apt to demoralise the others. That’s what you must guard against. Never use the magazine unless there are lots of beggars coming pell-mell at you. If there’s a rush, then is the time to pump in the lead as fast as you possibly can.
“Then, too, you must learn to train your pony, and whilst I’m teaching you to use your rifle, I may as well instruct you in the other matter also.”
Jack was naturally only too willing to learn. Riding all day long across the open veldt was somewhat monotonous at times, and his rifle practice and other manoeuvres helped to make the journeys pass more pleasantly.
Thanks to the allowance which his father had left him, and which was regularly transmitted from England, he was always supplied with an ample sum, and this, when supplemented with the wages paid him at Johannesburg, had given him sufficient for all his wants. Something to ride was one of the most pressing of them, and with Tom’s help he had, soon after his arrival at Kimberley, become possessed of two Basuto ponies, noted for their hardiness and agility. They were about the size of an English cob, mouse-coloured, and somewhat scraggy looking. But for all that they were wiry little animals, with plenty of spirit, but not vicious. Jack named one Victoria and the other Prince, and had no need to complain of his purchases. They turned out to be fast and sturdy little animals, who could easily thrive on the veldt when stable-fed horses would have starved. In addition, they were absolutely sure-footed, so that one could trust them to gallop down the side of a rough kopje, with the reins on their neck, without fear of an accident, for they were used to the work, and could be left to themselves to leap the boulders which came in their path, and steer clear of the ant-bear holes and nullahs which cut up the ground in every direction.
A few weeks’ training was sufficient, and before the prospecting tour came to an end they would stand stock-still while Jack fired above their heads, or at a touch from his heel would canter on, and turn swiftly with the merest pressure of a knee. A jerk of the reins across their necks, and down they would drop on the ground, the rider standing in his stirrups and easily freeing himself, and there they would lie while Jack fired his rifle over them. Sometimes, too, he would knee-halter them and leave them to graze unattended. This knee-haltering was rapidly effected. A long thong of untanned hide was passed over the neck, close up to the head, and one end put through a slit in the other. The free end was then taken round the leg just above the knee and secured with a clove hitch. The animal could then hobble about over a limited area in search of grass, but could not get far, and the halter could be thrown off at a moment’s notice.
But by this time other and more important matters began to engage his attention. There was an ominous cloud of unrest hovering over South Africa. It affected all, and filled them with anxious thoughts, for none knew when it would burst and let loose the thunder and lightning of a terrible war.
Already negotiations between the Boers and the British Government were at a deadlock. Both sides were arming, the former with the absolute certainty and wish for war, and the latter slowly and with evident sorrow. Suspicion was in the air, and hatred between the two races unconcealed. A conference at Bloemfontein had been held between Sir Alfred Milner, the Governor of Cape Colony, and President Kruger, but had led to no result, save a further deadlock. Kruger would make no satisfactory proposals. He was firmly determined that the Transvaal should be for Boers alone, and that no Englishman should have a voice in the country. England asked for equal rights, and was laughed at—defied. Yes, this small state, with a history which could only record some two hundred years of peasant existence, and a total population less than that of one of our big northern towns, had as good as cast down the glove at the British Lion’s feet. And the Lion still sat half-crouched, silently waiting, and hoping that matters might be arranged for peace.
Opposed to England’s forces was a minor state, which was snapping its fingers at her and practically daring her to retaliate. Once before the Transvaal had acted in a similar manner, and then, because there was some doubt as to the justice of our cause, and because we have ever been magnanimous, we made peace with her.
But, like a little dog, the South African Republic had continued yapping at us, distracting our attention while she grew and thrived, and armed herself to the teeth. And now that she had attained to full proportions, the conceit of youth and the impetuous desire to play with her new guns had led her to seek a quarrel, the result of which she hoped would for ever free her from the hated British suzerainty, and give her that independence for which she longed.
And on every side the world looked on and laughed in its sleeve at our difficulties, while it openly upbraided us for having ulterior designs on so small a state.
Matters could not remain as they were. Business was at a standstill, and crowds of refugees were fleeing from the Transvaal. Then the Orange Free State intimated that in the event of hostilities it would cast in its lot with the Transvaal, while there was open disloyalty amongst a portion of the Dutch Cape Colonists, which proved the existence of a wide-spread conspiracy.
England awoke sorrowfully to the fact that hostilities were not to be put off, and, calmly making the best of a bad matter, set to work to prepare for the struggle. Already she had despatched special officers for the defence of certain parts, and now she sent sufficient men to raise the garrisons of Cape Colony and Natal to 20,000, and that done, set to work to mobilise a complete army corps and call up 25,000 of her reserves.
The Boers, too, showed that they meant business. Every male of a certain age was bound to serve, and by October let had been called upon. From Pretoria and Bloemfontein the call to arms was passed on by the telegraph wire, and then by the field-cornets, or local magistrates, and within a few hours, bringing their rifles, horses, food, and ammunition with them, the burghers mustered to their several commandoes. The Orange Free State men manned the passes in the Drakenberg range of mountains looking into Natal, and also sent other commandoes (a large force of men) to watch the southern border along the Orange River, and the Basuto border, where trouble from their old enemies might be expected.
The Transvaallers for the most part went south by train through Volksrust to Laing’s Nek, the scene of the former struggle, while others went north to Komati Poort, where the railway from Delagoa Bay entered the country, and to the northern border near Tuli. A large commando was also despatched to threaten Mafeking, and another marched south towards Kimberley.
Thus, armed to the teeth, the Boers awaited the coming war, and now that they were fully prepared, with all their burghers on the borders and within striking distance, they despatched an ultimatum to the British Government, the more audacity of which set the world agasp, and made our countrymen shut their teeth with rage. It was addressed by President Kruger on October 9th, and declared that forty-eight hours’ grace would be allowed for our forces to be withdrawn from the Cape, our war preparations to be suspended, and our grievances submitted to arbitration. If we refused to do as demanded, war should commence on October the 11th, in the afternoon.
Never before had such an audacious message been addressed to us. There was no answer to be made. Its despatch made war unavoidable. We were forced into it, and accepted the inevitable with a sigh. But had we known all that was in store for us, had we as a nation realised that this was no tribal war, such as we were accustomed to, but a stern struggle against a race of born soldiers armed to the teeth, and favoured by a rough country suited to their tactics, that sigh would have been replaced by a start and by an anxious foreboding which would have led us to throw all our available forces into Africa without a moment’s delay.
But to return to Jack Somerton.
Early in October he and Tom Salter found themselves back in Kimberley again discussing the news, and on the 9th of the month, the very date upon which President Kruger despatched his ultimatum, a letter reached Jack from Mr Hunter, earnestly begging him to come to his help, and aid Wilfred in escorting Mrs Hunter to the frontier.
I know it is asking a lot of you, he wrote, for it would be awkward if you were found in the Transvaal after the warning you have had. But I know you and Tom have often been prospecting in this country during the past few weeks, and really, my boy, I should be grateful if you could come. Wilfred is a good lad, but scarcely capable of the work which will be required, for I can tell you the refugees are likely to meet with trying times.
Jack naturally determined to go at once, and communicated his intentions to Tom. “I’ll risk it,” he said. “An old tweed suit and a slouch hat ought to disguise me, and if I carry a rifle all the better. I shall ride through on Vic and Prince. It would take longer by rail, and all the stations are certain to be watched. I know the way, and ought to get through in about three days.”
Accordingly he saddled up his ponies, jumped into the old suit in which he had left Mr Hunter’s house, and with a hearty shake of the hand from Tom and his wife, set out towards the north, carrying sufficient water and provisions with him to last for a week.
“Good-bye, old boy!” Tom shouted after him. “We shall expect to see you here in a week or so, but we shall be closely shut up, and you will have to find a way in. Ta, ta! you’ll manage it, I’m sure.”
Jack waved his hand, shouted back that they might expect him in about a fortnight, and, shaking up his ponies, cantered away out of sight.