[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: "Sir! you are ambushed!"]
THE KOPJE FARM
By William Johnston
Author of "Tom Graham, V.C.," "With the Rhodesian Horse," etc.
With
Coloured Illustrations
by
Lancelot Speed
COLLINS' CLEAR-TYPE PRESS
LONDON, GLASGOW, AND NEW YORK
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. JACK LOVAT
II. A BOER LAAGER
III. FRINGED WITH FIRE
IV. MR. LOVAT'S ADVENTURE
V. DIAMOND VALLEY
VI. A CAPE REBEL
VII. A WEIRD ADVENTURE
VIII. THE AMBUSH
IX. THE RESCUE
X. THE FARM RECAPTURED
XI. DIAMONDS GALORE
THE KOPJE FARM
CHAPTER I
JACK LOVAT
Those stirring times are days of the past, and the unsheathed sword
has given place to the ploughshare, but weird pictures of bloodshed
among man and beast are indelibly impressed on Jack Lovat's brain,
and his dreams of to-day are often linked with the scenes enacted
during the "White Men's War" beneath the glittering Southern Cross.
Jack Lovat was not a Colonial bred and born, for his boyhood had been
passed amid the peaceful surroundings of a Highland sheep farm in
dear old Scotland. Mr. Lovat, Jack's father, had been a laird of
substantial means, and was descended from a line of ancestors in
whose veins coursed a strain of royal blood; but bad times came, and
Jack, instead of proceeding to Loretto, took passage as a member of
the Lovat family, in a Castle liner bound for Cape Town.
Jack was seventeen at the time our story opens. Rather above the
middle height, he was broad, and his bronzed features testified to
his three years' sojourn on the South African veldt.
The Kaffirs on his father's ostrich farm, near Orangefontein, had
dubbed him "The Strong-armed Baas," only a month later than his
advent to the holding locally known as "The Kopje Farm."
Pete, the Kaffir who acted as native foreman to Mr. Lovat, declared
that "Baas Jack" could fell the biggest ox ever inspanned in a Cape
waggon, which of course was an exaggeration of a very bad type, but
to which statement Pete and the other "boys" employed on the estate
pinned implicit faith.
The dogs of war had been let loose in South Africa, but Orangefontein
had not been troubled as yet. Ladysmith, Kimberley, and gallant
little tin-roofed Mafeking had been besieged and relieved, but round
the homes of the settlers near Ookiep and Orangefontein tranquillity
reigned.
On the outbreak of hostilities, Jack Lovat had begged his father to
allow him to join a Colonial mounted corps, but Mr. Lovat withheld
his permission.
"No, boy," said the ostrich farmer; "we will defend our home to the
last, and I can't spare you; so say no more about it. It will be
quite time for us to take up arms when the Boers come round here."
So Jack, with a somewhat bad grace, had to rest content, and busy
himself with attending to the ostriches and the big fruit farm on the
bank of the Zak River.
One afternoon during the African winter, Jack and Pete were engaged
in rounding up the ostriches. Mr. Lovat had left early in the
morning for Springbokfontein. He had driven over to the town in a
light Cape cart, in whose shafts was Bessie--a favourite mare, foaled
on the farm, and belonging to Mary Lovat, Jack's sister.
Bessie was known to be the fastest roadster in the district, and was
as playful as a kitten, and never was a horse better loved than was
Bessie by Mary Lovat.
The ostrich farmer had promised Mrs. Lovat that he would be home soon
after midday, and it was now four hours past that time; so Jack was
naturally anxious.
In a cowhide portmanteau Mr. Lovat had taken five hundred sovereigns,
intended for deposit in Springbokfontein Bank. The town guard in
Springbokfontein was exceptionally strong, and Mr. Lovat, after much
discussion with his wife and Jack, had decided to deposit the gold
for safe keeping in the bank, instead of, as Mrs. Lovat at first
suggested, hiding it in some carefully marked spot on the kopje, in
case of the advent of the Boers.
The ostriches having been penned up in Cromarty Kraal--so called from
his mother's maiden name--Jack turned to Pete and said, "My father is
late. I hope he is all right."
"De baas will come in his own good time," observed Pete; "he will be
able to take good care ob himself. Dere be no Boers about here."
"I should like to see some of them come," said Jack, with a laugh.
"I think we could give a good account of them. Let me see," and the
young settler began to count on his fingers; "there's you, Pete, and
Saul, Moses, Jethro, Simon, Zacchary, Daniel, Obadiah, and I must not
forget Pat, besides my father and self. That makes eleven, doesn't
it? With the rifles and ammunition we got from Port Nolloth, and
inside our strong walls, we could keep a commando at bay."
Jack's enthusiasm began to rise, and he went on: "I hope some of the
beggars do come down upon us. I want to try my rifle upon something
better than springbok and hartebeeste. What say you, Pete?"
A broad grin spread over the Kaffir's face, as he replied, "I dunno,
Baas Jack. I no want a Mauser bullet through my skin. All de same,
baas, if de time eber comes, Pete will be found ready to lay down his
life for de baas, missis, little missie, an' you."
"Bravo, Pete! spoken like a man!" cried Jack, who nearly so far
forgot himself as to shake hands with the Kaffir. "And now, Pete,
let us go round and see what the boys are doing."
Kopje Farm well deserved its appellation, for it stood on the middle
spur of a high, flat-topped range of hills. The building had been
erected many years before by a Dutch settler, when trouble was rife
with the Bantus, and its thick stone walls, loopholed here and there,
gave it the appearance of a fort. Around the dwelling-house ran a
wall of stone, some six feet in height and correspondingly thick,
which had continuations to the ostrich kraal, where the birds were
penned at night.
Jack found that the "boys" had finished their task of fastening up
the ostriches committed to their charge, and were standing in a
group, chattering in their guttural Kaffir tongue. A few yards away
was Pat O'Neill, an Irishman hailing from the wilds of Connaught, who
had followed the fortunes of the Lovat family as general factotum
from the day the Scotch laird had landed in the colony.
Jack's quick eye glanced at the Kaffirs, after which he strode
towards the place where Pat was standing contemplatively smoking a
short black duddeen. Pat on seeing his young master approach, came
instantly to the salute; for the Connemara man, twenty years before,
had formed one of the glorious defenders of Rorke's Drift.
"Where is Saul?" inquired Jack of the Irishman.
"He has gone on an errand for the mistress, sorr," answered Pat.
"One of Master Butler's children down the valley is laid up wid
fever, an' the mistress, who is good to every one, has sent some
cooling medicine for the poor thing, which will do it good, please
God. Has the master returned from Springbokfontein?"
"He has not arrived yet, Pat," answered Jack.
"Then I shall be mighty glad when I see him," observed the Irishman.
"Things are all right, Pat," said Jack, forcing a laugh.
"They may be, and may not be, sorr," remarked Pat. "Zacchary has
just told me that a commando of Boers under the daring leader,
Christian Uys, is trekking this way. The last time the Boers were
heard of they were in the Upper Zak River district. How in the world
these niggers get news, sorr, is more than Pat O'Neill, late corporal
in the ould 24th Regiment, can understand. Shall I saddle up and go
to meet the master, sorr?"
"Not a bad idea, Pat. Just wait a moment until I see mother;" and
Jack went inside the farmhouse, where he found Mrs. Lovat peering
through a window at the long winding road leading down the valley
towards Springbokfontein.
Hearing footsteps, Mrs. Lovat turned round, and seeing Jack, said,
"I'm dreadfully anxious about your father, Jack. I cannot understand
why he has not returned. It is so unlike him to disappoint me."
"He'll be all right, mother," observed Jack cheerfully. "Very
probably he has met some one he has not seen for a time. He is sure
to be here before nightfall. Did he take any lamps? I was busy
branding an ostrich when he went away."
"Yes, he trimmed the lamps and put them on before he set out,"
answered Mrs. Lovat. "I was rather surprised, as I thought he would
not need them."
"These South African roads are not good, and people are delayed
sometimes," said Jack. "Pat is going down the road to meet him, so
cheer up, mother. Where is Mary?"
"She has a bad headache, Jack, and is lying down on the couch in the
dining-room," replied Mrs. Lovat. "I do wish this time of dreadful
uncertainty was over. It seems to be wearing my life out."
"I should like to take part in the war, mother," said Jack. "I
sometimes get tired of the humdrum life we lead. Why didn't dad
allow me to join the Scouts Mr. Driscoll raised when the war broke
out? I can fight as well as any man, and I know I can shoot
straight."
"Jack!"
"I did not mean to hurt your feelings, mother; but if any Boers come
here to harm you or Mary, they will have a bad time of it, so long as
I can stand on my feet or hold a rifle."
Tears came into gentle Mrs. Lovat's eyes, as she replied, "The war
spirit is a dreadful thing, Jack. It seems a crime in this twentieth
century for men to be so anxious to imbrue their hands in their
fellow-creatures' blood. I am always saying, 'Lord! how long?'"
"Well, all I can say, mother, is that if any Boers try to take Kopje
Farm, while I can handle my rifle, they will stand a chance of being
winged for their pains," observed Jack. "No Boers come here unless I
am disabled and can't stop them. I am going now to tell Pat to
saddle up and give a look-out for dad;" and saying this, he strode
out of the apartment and walked to where Pat was still standing
staring at the road leading to Springbokfontein.
"Pat!"
"Yes, sorr," answered the Irishman, coming to attention; "I'm at your
service, sorr."
"Put the saddle on Cawdor and gallop down the road. If you should
happen to meet father, you need not say that I sent you. You
understand?"
"I know your meaning perfectly well, sorr," replied Pat; and the
honest fellow walked to the stables, where he saddled Cawdor, a
beautiful Arab, which Mr. Lovat had purchased at Worcester a year
before, while on his ostrich-selling peregrinations.
Jack looked attentively at Pat's preparations. The Irishman spent
some time in examining the saddlery, paying special attention to the
girths, and being apparently satisfied with his inspection, he
mounted.
"You have forgotten your rifle," said Jack. "You had better take it
with you."
"I've got a barker, sorr," observed Pat, with a laugh, tapping his
hip-pocket. "An officer of the ould corps gave it me many years ago,
an' we've not parted company yet."
"Wait here till I return," said Jack authoritatively; and the
settler's son went back to the house.
Jack proceeded straight to a storeroom where Mr. Lovat was in the
habit of keeping his rifles and ammunition. He selected a weapon of
the Lee-Enfield pattern, and took down a bandolier which was hanging
on a peg. The bandolier was empty, but Jack broke open an ammunition
box and filled the pockets of the belt with cartridges, after which
he returned to Pat.
"Here, take these, Pat," said Jack, handing up the rifle and
bandolier, which the Irishman took. The latter slung the belt over
his shoulder, and, at Jack's suggestion, filled the magazine of the
rifle.
"Well, good-bye, sorr," said Pat, and the next moment Cawdor was
proceeding at a canter down the mountain road.
An hour passed, still no signs of Mr. Lovat or Pat, and Jack's
anxiety increased. The ostrich farmer was a man of his word, and
Jack began to fear that something was wrong, but he kept a cheerful
face in front of his mother and Mary.
They were sitting in the dining-room, partaking of tea, when a tap
was heard on the half-open door. Jack instantly rose to his feet and
went outside. In the hall stood Pete. The Kaffir did not speak, but
beckoned with his forefinger, and then passed through a door leading
to a back yard.
Jack followed, and when outside, said, "Well, Pete, what is it?"
"Baas Jack," exclaimed Pete, "I dunno, but something is wrong.
Come!" and the native walked rapidly round to the front of the house,
Jack following in wonderment.
"Look, baas," said the Kaffir, "what does that mean?" and he pointed
to what appeared to be a moving spot on the veldt.
Jack gazed long and earnestly. "Why, it is a horse without a rider!"
he exclaimed at last.
Kaffirs are noted for their keenness of vision, and shading his eyes
with his right hand, Pete observed, "The horse is coming dis way,
Baas Jack."
Pete was right. Nearer and nearer came the flying quadruped, until
at last the stirrups from an empty saddle could be seen swaying
backwards and forwards.
Jack's breath came thick and fast. The horse in a mad gallop was
approaching them.
"Baas Jack," cried Pete, "it is Bessie!"
And so it proved. A few moments later, Mary's pet, the beautiful
creature Mr. Lovat had driven to Springbokfontein that morning in the
Cape cart, galloped up, covered with foam and blood!
Bessie was trembling in every limb, but she whinnied gently as Jack
patted her neck. On Bessie's back was a Boer saddle. A sudden fear
descended on Jack Lovat, and mentally he asked the question, "What
has happened to father?"
The mare was bleeding from a wound in the right shoulder, evidently
caused by a bullet.
"Take her round to the stables, Pete," said Jack. "I will join you
presently." Saying this, he went into the house. He met Mrs. Lovat
coming out of the dining-room, and she at once accosted him.
"What is the matter, Jack? I heard the noise of hoofs just now. Is
it your father who has returned?"
"No, he has not come yet, mother," answered Jack. "You must finish
your tea. Pete wants me round at the stables. I shall be back
presently;" and he went out again, but Mrs. Lovat followed him.
Pete was busily engaged in rubbing down the mare, and when Mrs. Lovat
caught a glimpse of the blood on the poor creature's hide, she cried
out, "Why, Jack, it is Bessie! Where is your father?" and the
settler's wife burst into a flood of tears.
"You are in the way just now, mother," said Jack gently. "Go inside,
until I have seen to Bessie. Something, I am afraid, has happened.
The poor thing is in great pain, and I must do what I can to relieve
it. Do go inside, please, mother. I will come to you presently."'
Mrs. Lovat, whose vivid imagination had conjured up all kinds of
evils, obeyed Jack, and returned to the house.
Now Jack Lovat's sterling qualities of coolness and resource began to
be displayed. With the skill of an experienced veterinary surgeon,
he examined Bessie's wound, and then carefully washed away the
coagulated blood. A gaping orifice an inch in diameter in the
animal's shoulder told Jack that it was a gunshot wound and that it
had been caused by a Mauser expanding bullet.
The "boys" had gathered round, all anxious to help; but Jack would
allow no other hands than those of himself and Pete to touch the
mare, so the Kaffirs drew back, and stood whispering among themselves.
Suddenly a clattering noise was heard, and before the "boys" could
get out of the way, Pat O'Neill, mounted on Cawdor, whose chest and
flanks were foam-flecked, was on the top of them, sending Zacchary
and Moses tumbling to the ground.
The Irishman was bareheaded, and the arteries in his temples stood
out like whipcord. He pulled Cawdor up, and dismounted. Jack, with
wildly dilated eyes, queried, "What is the matter, Pat? Have you
seen father?"
"No, sorr," gasped the faithful Irishman, "I haven't seen the master;
but a Boer commando--bad luck to them!--is making straight for us.
And I'm afraid, sorr, it will be a bad job for all of us. Their
scouts are close at hand even now. You'll fight, sorr?"
"Yes, we will all fight, Pat," answered Jack proudly. "Boys, all at
once to the storeroom. Pete, take Bessie into the stable and give
her some water and a feed of corn. I'm sorry for mother and Mary,
but it can't be helped. No surrender to the Boers!"
And Jack Lovat, although only a lad, and suffering under dire
apprehension, began his preparations for the defence of the Kopje
Farm.
His worthy henchman, Pat O'Neill, had often detailed to him the story
of the glorious defence of Rorke's Drift, where a few Britishers,
many of whom were sick and wounded, for hours, amid flames and
death-dealing bullets, had held at bay the flower of savage
Tshingwayo's command.
"Master Jack," said Pat, as Mr. Lovat's son stopped for a moment in
his work, "we will hould the place for the sake of the missis an'
Miss Mary, an' please the Almighty, I hope wid the same results as we
had at the Drift on the Buffalo River, when eight Victoria Crosses
were won in one night."
"We will hold it to the last, Pat," responded Jack quietly. "My
father has had to work hard for all he has, and the Boers shan't take
it from him while my finger can pull a trigger;" and Jack Lovat meant
every word he said.