CHAPTER III
FRINGED WITH FIRE
Kopje was singularly well situated for defence. From the rising ground behind the house, no attack could be made by mounted men, as it was strewn with big boulders of rock, and interlaced with dongas, which though not deep, presented insuperable difficulties to an enemy manoeuvring on horseback.
The ostrich kraals—which were in reality one long rambling building—commanded the country from which the only attack by mounted men could be made, and the ground in front was open.
On receipt of Pat's intelligence, Jack went to his mother and told her the news brought by the Irishman. He insisted upon her as well as Mary remaining inside the house, and would not listen to her suggestion that if the Boers were really advancing upon the farmstead, they should be allowed to take whatever they pleased, on condition they harmed none of its inmates.
"No, mother," said Jack firmly; "I have always been obedient, but any Boer who dares to enter Kopje Farm without an invitation from me will have a bullet from my rifle through him before he can say 'Jack Robinson'! Please say no more, mother. Father is not here, and may be dead, but if he is all right I could never look him in the face again if I did not show fight. Stay inside with Mary, and do not venture out until I come for you. I must go to the 'boys' now, as time is precious;" and saying this, Jack went across to the ostrich kraal, where the Kaffir servants were assembled.
The sun was within half an hour of setting, and the light was good enough to enable our hero—for such Jack Lovat will prove to be before we bid him adieu—to distinguish a body of horsemen moving in an oblique direction across the veldt. Pat had stabled Cawdor, and stood awaiting orders from Jack.
"We must have the rifles and ammunition from the storeroom, Pat," said Jack, "and quick must be the word. Kindly look after the boys, Pat. Zacchary, Pete, and the lot of you, go and bring the rifles; and don't forget, Pete, to bring a hammer. One moment, Pat; a couple of lanterns will be needed, as well as some matches."
Strange it is that fighting blood is transmitted from generation to generation, but so it proved in Jack Lovat's case. An ancestor of his had suffered death on Culloden field for what he considered his duty towards the unfortunate race of Stuarts, and Jack was prepared to lay down his life in the defence of the Kopje Farm.
In the excitement of the moment he forgot about his father's possible peril. His thoughts were concentrated on the question, "Can I strike a blow for the honour of the old country?" Jack had not gone through a course of metaphysics or logic. He was simply a lad, made a man before his time perhaps, and yearning for an outlet through which a vast flood of pent-up patriotism could be poured.
Pat and the "boys," in almost less time than it takes to relate, transferred the arms to the ostrich kraal. The weapons were in splendid order. Jack Lovat had seen to that. Many hours he had spent in cleaning the rifles, always hoping, boylike, that some day they would come in handy, when the Boers put in an appearance.