Most of the men serving in the ranks of the Rangers were gentlemen by birth, and many had had a university education. Sheer love of adventure had drawn them from the Antipodes to South Africa, and certainly during the whole of the unfortunate campaign no corps serving under the Union Jack did more yeoman service than the lads from Maoriland.
True, they had their failings. Never expecting quarter themselves, in the hot rush of fight, their warlike instincts caused a few, but very few, regrettable incidents. The conflict over, they were the most generous of opponents, treating the wounded and captured Boers with the utmost kindness.
Peace reigned at the Kopje Farm. All outward traces of the late conflict had been removed before sunset, and Mrs. Lovat had so far recovered her spirits that she ventured to walk across to the kraal where the captives were confined.
To the wounded Boers, Mary Lovat was the model of kindness. With her deft fingers she applied linen bandages to their wounds, brought them beef-tea made by her own hands, and was most assiduous and tender in her attentions.
War is an awful thing. The colours that depict it must always be of a sombre, if not ebon hue, and Mary Lovat that night earned the gratitude, often audibly expressed, of the burghers, smitten, though not mortally, by the fire from the rifles of the Auckland Rangers.
Pat O'Neill, war-seasoned old veteran that he was, acted as Mary's trusted adjutant. He was here, there, and everywhere; at one moment giving a wounded Boer a drink of lemon water, at another listening to the whisperings of a delirious burgher uttered in strange tongue, about his late home on the Modder River.
All that was possible under the circumstances was done. Colonel Malcolmson, with generous forethought and self-denial, left his assistant surgeon at the Kopje Farm. His principal medico, Dr. Rennie, had elected to remain behind with the few surviving wounded at Langeman's Nek.
As the sun was setting, Jack Lovat and his friend Sergeant Morton took a stroll round the farm, and their conversation turned to the subject uppermost in the New Zealander's mind—diamonds.
"The place you call Diamond Valley is teeming with stones, I am positive," said Morton decisively. "I'm going to explore the place to-morrow, if nothing turns up to prevent me."
"With not the same results as before, I hope," observed Jack, with a laugh.