With Rifle and Bayonet: A Story of the Boer War

by F. S. Brereton

Then he rose to his feet and strode over to the man who had just tumbled from his pony. He was quite dead, and as Jack had no means of burying him he left him there in the bush, and, taking his pony, which had, like all well-trained animals, remained close by his master’s side, he walked across to look at the other Boer. He found the poor fellow in the centre of a dense thorn bush, groaning feebly, while a thin stream of blood ran from his lips.

But a minute before he had been an enemy, and had, indeed, very nearly been the death of Jack; but for all that he was now a fellow-being in distress, and Jack determined to do what he could for him. He was a big, bearded man of thirty-five, and no light weight to lift. But Jack’s strong arms soon carried him on to an open patch of grass. Then he gave him a drink from his water-bottle, and proceeded to look to his wound. There was little to be seen, merely a small puncture in front of the chest and a slightly larger one behind. Searching in the man’s pocket, Jack produced a scarf and tied it tightly round the chest. Then he gave him another drink, and five minutes later had the satisfaction of finding him stronger and able to speak. “Where are your friends?” he asked. “If they are near, and you will promise that I shall not be taken prisoner, I will carry you to them.”

“They are at Vryburg,” the wounded man answered in a whisper; “but I cannot promise that they would not take you prisoner. Elof Vuurren is no lover of the English. It would be better for you to leave me to die alone.”

Jack thought the matter over for a few moments. If he left the poor fellow in the bush he knew that his fate was sealed, for he would never be found. Why should he not risk it, and show these Boers that the English could be kind and good to them, and not, as the field-cornets and leaders were always telling the burghers, cowards and brutes. Jack looked again at the wounded man, and the sight of his helpless and pitiable condition at once decided him. Unwinding the puggaree from the Boer’s hat, he brought one of the ponies close alongside him, and putting out all his strength, lifted him into the saddle. Then he lashed his ankles together beneath the pony’s body, and, leading the spare animal by the reins, set off for Vryburg through the bush.

It was a long and tedious march, but in three hours’ time he was opposite the town, and, leaving the belt of scrub in which he had been walking, he turned into the open. A mile farther on thirty Boers came cantering towards them, and, taking a hurried farewell of the wounded man, Jack vaulted on to the other pony and cantered off.

A few minutes later the wounded Boer was amongst his comrades, and, looking back, Jack saw him feebly moving his arms as though explaining the manner in which the Englishman had brought him in, and begging them not to follow him. But the sight of one of the hated Rooineks proved too much for the Boers, and with a shout they left their comrade, and, putting their animals into a mad gallop, came thundering after Jack.

In a moment he had dug his spurs into the wiry little animal upon whose back he rode, and, turning towards the bush again, galloped directly towards it at his fastest pace. When within 300 yards of the mimosa scrub another body of horsemen appeared directly in front of him, riding amongst the thorn bushes, and as soon as they caught sight of him, and of the men who were pursuing him, they scattered to right and left and rode off, leaping the rocks and bushes in their way, and evidently intending to surround him.

It was a desperate predicament, but Jack’s coolness never deserted him, and he instantly decided how to act. Turning sharply to the right, he galloped on at the same headlong pace parallel to the belt of bush, but drawing closer to it. Suddenly he turned to the left again, and, applying his spurs, set his pony straight for the centre of the Boers who had appeared in front of him.

It was a smart manoeuvre, for the horsemen had already separated, so that by the time Jack reached the line of bush there were only two in front of him. His rifle was already in his hand and his bayonet fixed. Holding the weapon ready to strike, he charged straight at the two Boers, who levelled their rifles at him and fired. One of the bullets flew close by his head, and the other actually struck and severed his stirrup leather without touching him. In an instant Jack dropped his reins and raising his rifle, took a hasty aim, and pulled the trigger. It was a lucky shot, for one of the ponies pitched forward, throwing its rider violently over its head.