MR. LOVAT'S ADVENTURE
Little did Mr. Lovat dream of the adventures he would pass through
that morning as he drove away from Kopje Farm in the direction of
Springbokfontein. Bessie was in good condition, and trotted swiftly
between the shafts of the Cape cart, and the crisp air exhilarated
man and beast.
When a couple of miles from home, he met an acquaintance riding a
Cape pony, and pulled up to pass the time of day.
"Well, Mr. Bassett," said the ostrich farmer, "any news of the Boers?"
Mr. Bassett--a sturdy, thick-set man of middle age, who during his
lifetime had tried his hand at nearly every kind of occupation, and
now combined the office of land valuer with that of gold
prospector--replied, "I've just come from Springbokfontein, Mr.
Lovat, and rumours are flying thick and fast about Christian Uys
being in the neighbourhood with a commando. This Uys is a very
daring fellow, and has proved himself to be a most capable leader.
Their stock of horses, I suppose, is getting low, and naturally
enough the Boers want to replenish their store."
"Certainly," observed Mr. Lovat. "I suppose the town guard at
Springbokfontein are on the alert?"
"Not half of them are to be trusted," replied Mr. Bassett grimly,
"for I am afraid several of them are rebels at heart. You have left
things all right up at the Kopje Farm, I hope?"
"Any Boers calling there will get a warm reception, I can assure
you," replied Mr. Lovat, with a laugh. "I think that my son and the
'boys' will be able to give a good account of themselves, if they are
interfered with. But I must be getting along, as I wish to be back
by noon. Good-morning, Mr. Bassett;" and the ostrich farmer flicked
Bessie with his whip.
The mare darted forward with a quick motion, and in a short time Mr.
Lovat came to Jagger's Farm, the ruined building half way between the
Kopje Farm and Springbokfontein.
The country was wild in the extreme. The road ran between a range of
kopjes, at the bases of which were watercourses, dry in summer, but
at times during the winter months raging torrents.
Jagger's Farm had an unenviable notoriety, several white men having
been murdered in its vicinity. The building was surrounded by a
roughly-built stone wall, which in many places was in a state of ruin.
The roadway was strewn with boulders of rock, and Mr. Lovat had to
descend from his perch in the cart for the purpose of leading Bessie
along the stony roadway.
The ostrich farmer was holding Bessie's head, for the mare made a
stumble, when a harsh voice called out in Dutch, "Halt!"
To Mr. Lovat's dismay, he perceived six unkempt and fierce-looking
men with heads and shoulders appearing above the farm wall, and the
more ominous sight of a row of rifles pointed at him.
A couple of the Boers, for such they were, leaped over the wall and
ran towards Mr. Lovat. The latter halted. The nature of the road
and the murderous-looking Mausers dispelled any idea of escape, so
grasping Bessie's reins tightly with his left hand, he faced the
strangers, and said, "What do you want?"
"Your mare," answered one of the Boers in English.
"I won't sell her," said Mr. Lovat decisively. "She is not to be
bought at any price. Allow me to pass, please."
A loud laugh burst from the Boers, the remaining three having joined
their fellows in the roadway.
"Commandant Christian Uys requires the service of your horse. You
will receive payment for it when the war is over," was the response
Mr. Lovat received.
A couple of Boers sprang to the mare's head, evidently with the
intention of unharnessing Bessie.
Grasping the handle of his whip, Mr. Lovat brought the butt end down
with force upon the head of the Boer who had just spoken, and the
Dutchman stumbled and fell in the roadway.
The next moment the ostrich farmer was lying senseless on the ground,
having been knocked down by a blow from a clubbed rifle.
First came a vision of many-coloured stars, then oblivion; and the
world for the time being was a blank to Mr. Lovat.
When he came to his senses, he found himself lying in the farmyard.
His arms and wrists had been securely fastened behind his back, while
his ankles were also tied. The Cape cart was standing close to where
he lay, but the mare was gone.
Then his thoughts turned to the bag of gold, and though dazed and
suffering from a violent headache, a remembrance of his encounter
with the Boers flashed through his mind, and he gave vent to a heavy
groan.
The farmyard was covered with rough veldt grass, which made his couch
a less painful one than it would have otherwise been. A bundle of
dirty, discarded Boer clothing lay beside him, and in the vehicle was
a roughly made hamper, which was not there when he left home.
He thought about his wife, Mary, and Jack, and imagined their anxiety
at his non-return. He tried to move, but was unable to do so, while
the pain in his head was almost insufferable.
The sun climbed higher in the heavens, and its fierce rays beat upon
his bare head. His physical pain grew greater, but the acuteness of
his mind-suffering lessened, and at last he again relapsed into
unconsciousness.
Then Mr. Lovat was brought to himself by some one shaking him.
The ostrich farmer looked up in a dazed sort of way, and the sight of
a bronzed and stalwart Colonial trooper clad in khaki, and wearing a
couple of bandoliers, met his gaze.
"What is the meaning of this?" asked the trooper. "Ah! I see you
are wounded. You are a Britisher, of course?"
In a few words, Mr. Lovat told the story of his capture, and the
Colonial drawing out a clasp knife, cut the cords with which Mr.
Lovat's arms and ankles were bound, after which the Irregular helped
the farmer to his feet.
A little pool of semi-coagulated blood lay where his head had rested,
and the trooper noticing the settler's pallid face, drew out a small
flask containing brandy, and insisted on his taking a drink. The
spirit revived Mr. Lovat, and he made a search for the bag containing
the gold, but, alas! it too was gone.
While he was engaged in ruefully surveying the cart, the trooper was
joined by half a dozen comrades, who had been busy searching the farm
premises.
"Hullo, Morton!" said one of the troopers, addressing the Irregular
who had released Mr. Lovat. "What is the matter?"
"This gentleman has evidently been held up by a party of Boers
belonging to Christian Uys's commando," replied Morton. "The rascals
have looted him of a bag containing five hundred sovereigns."
"Great Scot! that is what I call a haul," exclaimed a young trooper.
"I didn't think there was so much money to be found in this blessed
country. Give me New Zealand in preference to this wilderness."
"We're Auckland Rangers," explained Trooper Morton to Mr. Lovat, "and
are on the track of Christian Uys, one of the best leaders the Boers
possess. He is on the look-out for horses and stores, I think, and
although we have been dogging his commando for some days we have not
been able to come up with them. Ah! here come our other fellows."
A party of horsemen in files of four came clattering along the stony
road, and presently halted at the entrance to the farmyard. The
troopers were about thirty in number--hardy, stalwart young
Maorilanders--commanded by Major Salkeld, a Colonial who had done
splendid service during the siege of Wepener.
The troop had several spare horses with them, and after Morton had
explained the situation to his officer, Mr. Lovat was offered a
mount, which he gladly accepted.
The horses were given a feed, and the troopers snatched a hasty meal
of bully beef and biscuit. During the repast Mr. Lovat detailed a
few facts concerning his farm and the surrounding country to Major
Salkeld, and it was settled that the party should proceed in the
direction of the Kopje Farm. Possibly they might come across the
marauders and be able to restore Mr. Lovat's lost property to him.
The harness belonging to the Cape cart had been wantonly hacked, so
that the idea of the vehicle's removal had to be abandoned.
Kopje Farm lay a good distance up the valley, and before the little
force had proceeded a mile, Major Salkeld called a halt.
Trooper Morton's quick eye had detected a body of horsemen defiling
through a donga about a mile away on the New Zealander's left flank.
Morton, who was acting as scout, at once returned and reported the
fact to his officer, who instantly placed his field glass to his
eyes. The major looked long and earnestly, then handing his
binocular to Morton, said, "Just give a glance through these, and
tell me what you make of them."
The scout applied the glasses, after which he handed them back to the
major, saying, "They are Boers, sir, without doubt."
"And how many do you make of them?" inquired the officer.
"About forty, I should say, sir," answered the trooper. "They have a
couple of led horses with them as well."
Major Salkeld turned to Mr. Lovat, who had been riding by his side,
and pointing to the donga, asked, "Where does the bridle-path leading
to the donga terminate, Mr. Lovat?"
"It runs up to a settler's farm, some seven or eight miles from
here," replied Mr. Lovat. "The settler is a Dutchman named Van
Donnop, and it is said that his three sons are on commando with the
rebels."
"Ah!" muttered the major, "just so; and these fellows doubtless are
making tracks for this farm to re-equip and get a fresh supply of
ammunition and stores. I am sorry that we cannot see you home, but
duty is always duty, and the exigencies of the service demand that
when we get on the track of the Boers we must follow them up."
"I am going with you, if I may," said Mr. Lovat. "Possibly these
fellows have my five hundred pounds, and I can hardly afford to lose
that."
"I am afraid, my dear sir, that you have said good-bye to your gold,"
said the major. "However, if you care to accompany us, you can do
so. You are looking better now than when I saw you first. I suppose
you can shoot?"
"There are not many settlers who can't," answered Mr. Lovat, with a
touch of dignity in the tones of his voice.
"I mean no offence," said the major. "Do you feel strong enough to
go with us?"
"I'm all right now," replied the settler. "My head is somewhat sore,
and the muscles of my neck a little stiff, but I would rather go on
with you, sir."
"Very good, you shall," said the officer. Turning to Morton, he
continued, "We have a spare rifle?"
"Half a dozen, sir," answered the trooper. "I have an extra one with
me, which Mr. Lovat can have, if he understands the mechanism."
"Then kindly hand it over," said the major.
Turning again to the settler, the officer continued, "Luckily you
have not been much troubled in these parts, but I'm afraid you soon
will be. The Boers are getting short of ammunition, and these roving
bands of burghers are merely the advanced guard of a bigger force of
Boers. The supply of ammunition has been stopped through Lorenzo
Marquess, and the burghers are making their way to Port Nolloth, and
other places on the west coast, where contraband stuff in the shape
of rifles and cartridges are to be had in plenty. I suppose the
majority of the settlers about here are loyal?"
"I'm afraid I can't answer that question entirely in the affirmative.
I know that I am, and all living in the Kopje Farm are loyal subjects
of the King. Many young men have disappeared from the district, and
I saw signs of the coming storm long before it burst."
"What! even in this remote part?" asked the Colonial officer.
"A couple of years before the war broke out, Boer emissaries went
about from place to place, ostensibly as pedlars, but I am certain
they were secret agents of the Transvaal Republic," answered Mr.
Lovat.
The major addressed a few words to his men. They were brief and to
the point:--
"Boys," he began, "I have no doubt that we are on the track of
Christian Uys, and I sincerely trust we shall be able to lay him by
the heels. Perhaps this is part of his commando in front of us. Be
careful with your ammunition, for we have none to spare. Don't waste
it. I hope to be in Springbokfontein to-morrow when the regiment
arrives; but in the evening we must harry the enemy, who I am pleased
to say have on the whole proved honourable men. The day after
to-morrow I promise you a couple of days' rest. Then we move on to
Port Nolloth. Now, boys, a fairly good pace, but don't blow your
horses."
The road, however, was so difficult that there was no prospect of the
latter occurrence happening. The troopers could only proceed in
double file, and the men were compelled to assume an oblong
formation, which would have formed a splendid target for an enemy
armed with Mausers or light field guns.
Morton, the most daring man in the Auckland Rangers, was well in
front when a "Phit!" "Phit!" followed by a fusillade, caused him to
halt.
The New Zealanders had been discovered by the enemy, who by this time
had passed out of view. The bullets went whistling over the heads of
the Colonials, who, on the order of Major Salkeld, retired to the
shelter of a small donga, some two hundred yards in their rear.
Every fourth man was detailed to lead his own and three comrades'
horses to a watercourse naturally protected by immense boulders of
quartz.
Ten dismounted troopers were next ordered by the major to creep
forward to the position they had just left, while the rest of the
unencumbered advanced one hundred yards and flung themselves on the
ground.
Mr. Lovat, savage at the loss of his gold, begged the officer to
allow him to form one of the advanced party, and the major readily
acceded to his request.
The ostrich farmer declared that he was all right,--the pain in his
head had left him,--and Morton having glanced approval, Major Salkeld
consented, and the eleven Imperialists crept forward on hands and
knees towards the spot they had just vacated.
The sun was on the point of dropping below the western horizon, and
in half an hour's time darkness would cover the veldt, so there was
no time to be lost if the Boers were to be captured.
The long, low buildings which constituted Van Donnop's farmstead
could be plainly seen, but the Boers had disappeared within a donga.
Their approach to the farm, however, would be covered by the
troopers' fire, and Morton and his fellow-Colonials waited
impatiently for the enemy to emerge from the donga.
Presently a couple of Boers dashed across the space intervening
between the donga and the farm.
Two shots rang out, and thin wreaths of bluish-tinted vapour hung
round the muzzles of the rifles wielded by Mr. Lovat and Trooper
Morton.
"Got him!" ejaculated the latter, as one of the Boers threw up his
arms and fell from the horse. The animal, relieved of its burden,
galloped wildly towards the farmstead.
The second Boer, on seeing his fellow-burgher fall, wheeled his horse
quickly round and dashed furiously for the shelter of the donga.
A dozen leaden messengers of death whistled around him, but he and
his steed passed through them unharmed.
With the exception of a solitary shot, no fire came in reply to the
troopers' fusillade, and Morton waved to the remainder of the troop
to come up, which the latter did.
A consultation was held between Major Salkeld and Morton, and it was
eventually decided to await the darkness which would descend on the
veldt. Under its cover an advance would be made on the farm.
Just as the last streaks of yellow light were fading into a mass of
purplish gray, Morton begged his major to allow him to creep forward
in the direction of the farm for the purpose of reconnoitring, and
the officer assented.
Slinging his rifle behind his back, the scout slowly edged his way to
where the stricken Boer lay on the veldt. The Free Stater was dead,
for a couple of bullets had pierced his brain.
He was a rough-looking man with unkempt hair and beard, and the
daring trooper, still prostrate, turned him over and coolly began to
search his pockets.
Morton abstracted several documents, which he thrust into an inner
pocket of his khaki tunic, after which he retraced his way to his
comrades, still crawling on his hands and knees.
He handed the papers to Major Salkeld, who determined to advance at
once on Van Donnop's farmstead. In answer to an interrogation from
his superior, Morton explained that he had not seen any Boers except
the dead one, and that the Dutch settler's farm betrayed no sign of
life.
Ten minutes later, the New Zealanders were drawn up in front of the
farm buildings, and Morton, always the first to volunteer for any
hazardous duty, went straight to the front door of the house and
began hammering with the butt of his rifle upon its stout panels.
Footsteps could be heard in the passage, and a voice called out in
Dutch, "Who is there?"
"Open the door instantly," commanded Morton brusquely, "or I'll blow
it in."
The door was unfastened by a man of immense girth of chest. His
physiognomy showed his Dutch extraction.
"What do you want?" demanded the farmer gruffly. This time he spoke
in English.
Morton in reply gave a shrill whistle, and the next moment a dozen
troopers crowded into the wide passage, Major Salkeld being at their
head.
"Now, then, Mynheer--whatever your name is, we want to have a look at
the stores you have concealed in this building," began the major. "I
shall also be glad to learn something about the whereabouts of
Christian Uys and his commando."
"I know nothing about them," answered Van Donnop, for such he was.
"You can tell some other person that tale," observed Major Salkeld,
with a laugh. "You have some food in the house, I suppose?"
Van Donnop looked at the speaker with a surly expression on his face.
"Oh, we shall pay for everything we consume," continued the officer.
"Look sharp, my man;" and Van Donnop with bad grace led the way to a
large kitchen, in which half a dozen Kaffirs, evidently farm hands,
were seated round a log fire.
Food was supplied to the troopers, as well as forage for their
horses, after which the premises were thoroughly searched for
concealed arms; but the hunt proved fruitless. After paying for the
supplies, the major and his troopers rested for a couple of hours.
Sounds of rifle-firing away to the west were heard, and soon after
midnight the New Zealanders, accompanied by Mr. Lovat, set out for
the Kopje Farm, and all earnestly hoped they would come across their
brave and stubborn enemy.
And so they did; but with the exception of a few desultory shots
fired at an uncertain range, and without any casualties on their
side, Major Salkeld and his troopers, as related in the last chapter,
arrived on the scene where Jack Lovat and his handful of Kaffirs had
so bravely defended his father's farmstead.