DIAMOND VALLEY
Jack Lovat was warmly congratulated by the New Zealanders on their
arrival at the Kopje Farm, and the ostrich farmer naturally felt
proud of his son.
The return of Bessie was described by Jack, and Trooper Morton said
he had no doubt whatever that the animal which had bolted when its
Boer rider was shot by Trooper Morton and Mr. Lovat was none other
than the gallant little mare.
As soon as daylight broke, the Colonials, headed by Mr. Lovat, Jack,
and Pete, examined the country in front of the ostrich kraal to a
distance of a thousand paces.
Three dead Boers and two horses were found stretched on the veldt,
and Jack Lovat had no difficulty in identifying the body of Jan Van
Donnop, one of the sons of the Dutch settler of that name.
Jan and his brothers, Piet and Stephanus, had mysteriously
disappeared from the neighbourhood soon after the outbreak of
hostilities, and their father had given it out that the lads had gone
to reside at East London with a relative in order to learn the trade
of milling.
Mr. Lovat made a more important discovery. Attached to the saddle of
a dead horse was the cowhide bag which the previous morning had
contained his five hundred sovereigns, but which, alas! was now empty.
The pockets of the dead Boers revealed no traces of the lost gold,
and Morton remarked, "I'm afraid, Mr. Lovat, you have said good-bye
to the coin. None of these men are leaders."
Mr. Lovat was examining the features of one of the dead men, and
without heeding the Colonial's remark, he said, "This fellow is the
man who commandeered Bessie."
With the aid of pickaxes and spades, a trench was made by the New
Zealanders, and the stricken Boers and their horses were decently
interred, Jack Lovat taking charge of several mementos belonging to
Jan Van Donnop.
Jack was possessed of a humane nature, and being far from illiterate
and possessing a cosmopolitan turn of mind, he had not the racial
prejudices so largely predominant during the awful struggle in South
Africa which commenced at the end of the nineteenth century.
Morton had taken intuitively to Jack, and after the interment he
whispered in the lad's ear, "Why don't you join us? The war is not
half over yet, and there is sure to be a lot of fighting. Ask your
father to allow you to come with us."
"I'm afraid he won't," answered Jack. "I wanted to join Driscoll's
Scouts, but he refused, and I believe I have learned the first duty
of a soldier."
"And pray, what is that?" queried the trooper.
"Why, obedience," replied Jack. "I owe that duty to my father, who
is most kind to me. Besides, I hardly think it would be right for me
to leave mother and Mary just now. Mary is my sister. You saw her
when your fellows came here."
"Well, all I can say, youngster, is that you are a brick and no
mistake," said the trooper enthusiastically. "What did you feel like
when the Boers came up? Timid?"
"Hardly," remarked Jack laconically. "I was only sorry that they
didn't try to storm in broad daylight. I mean about noon, say."
The trooper laughed outright at Jack's bold statement, and said,
"Well, I thought we New Zealanders were a cool set of fellows, but
you ostrich people take the cake."
The pair were approaching the Kopje Farm, bringing up the rear-guard,
when Jack turned and asked, "You have been a soldier all your life,
haven't you?"
The trooper laughed as he replied, "Oh dear no; I'm a working
jeweller by trade, and when at home am engaged by a large firm in
Auckland. When the mother country called for men, I volunteered for
service in South Africa. Why do you ask the question, my lad?"
"I thought you had always been a soldier, for you look so like one,"
answered Jack; and Morton felt a trifle elated, for what man or boy
exists who does not inwardly relish a small modicum of flattery?
"You have nothing in the shape of diamonds, I suppose, in this part
of the country?" queried the trooper. "I have examined the clay in
several dongas as we came along, and from what I know of mineralogy,
I should say that diamonds are to be found in this district."
"Crystals are common enough about here," answered Jack. "I have a
collection which I will show you when we reach the farm. Among the
pebbles are several fine garnets and amethysts. One of our 'boys,'
Pete by name, picked up a stone, which he found embedded in a sort of
bluish clay only a fortnight ago. It is too dull, however, for a
diamond."
During the few minutes occupied in the return to the farm, Morton
thought deeply about what Jack had told him. He was a thorough
patriot, but since he had been in South Africa his mind had dwelt
largely on diamonds, for exaggerated accounts of the mineral
resources of the veldt had reached New Zealand.
Mr. Lovat was a thoughtful man, and since the beginning of the war
had laid up big supplies of eatables in the shape of hams, bacon,
preserved meats, and tins of jam and marmalade.
It seemed as though the Kopje Farm had been designedly prepared for a
siege, for in the big storeroom at the back of the house were
provisions calculated by Mr. Lovat to last at least twelve months,
and these were being added to.
The major determined to allow his men a few hours' rest, and the
horses were off-saddled and given a good feed of corn, Jack Lovat
paying particular attention to Morton's mare, which was a magnificent
creature nearly seventeen hands high, and noted for its swiftness and
sureness of foot.
Jack conducted his newly-made friend round the ostrich kraal, and
explained the various operations connected with the hatching of eggs
and the plucking of the birds' plumage, and the trooper evinced great
interest in the young settler's narration.
The remains of poor Zacchary, the "boy" who was shot at the loophole,
had been reverently interred, and Jack and his friend were standing
alone beside the mound of freshly turned earth, when the latter
observed, "Oh, by the way, Jack, I would very much like to have a
look at that stone you spoke to me about."
"You mean the pebble Pete gave to me?" asked Jack.
"Yes, I think that is the nigger's name," replied Morton.
To the trooper's great surprise, Jack instantly fired up. "No, that
won't do; we don't call our 'boys' niggers. They are our 'boys,' and
faithful ones they are, too."
The New Zealander smiled at Jack's impetuosity, and remarked, "A very
good trait in your character. Only we have seen so many Kaffirs
since we have been in the country that all nice distinctions are
washed out, and we call the blacks generally 'niggers,'--not a very
gentlemanly expression, I admit."
"Our 'boys' maybe are above the general run," said Jack, "but they
are tried and trusty ones. I shall never forget how they volunteered
to a man to defend this place, when they might have slunk away.
Their fate, too, if captured, they well knew, for they would have
been brutally sjambokked and then shot. The boys stood up as good as
the best of white men, and I admire them. Poor old Zacchary! Oh,
you spoke about the stone my father's native foreman gave me; I will
bring it;" and Jack walked across to the house, the New Zealander all
the while admiring the stalwart figure of the ostrich farmer's son.
Jack presently returned, and handed the stone to Morton, who
carefully examined it with the eye of an expert.
The pebble was about the size of a large hazel nut, with a
straw-coloured tint, and Morton twirled it between his finger and
thumb for quite a minute before speaking.
[Illustration: "The Colonial cut the cords."]
"Do you know what this pebble really is?" he asked. An unusual
brightness shone in his eyes as he spoke, and he glanced keenly at
Jack.
"A pebble, of course," answered our hero. "Pete said he saw several
others of the same kind where he found this one."
"And where did Pete find the stone?" queried the trooper.
"In a donga about a couple of miles from here, just over the kopje,"
answered Jack.
"I'll tell you something later on," said Morton,--"a thing that will
probably astonish you."
Jack Lovat's eyes opened rather wider than usual as he asked, "Is the
pebble a diamond?"
"A genuine stone, my lad, and just as good in quality as the
Kohinoor. If you can lay your fingers on a dozen more such stones,
you can give up ostrich farming and go back to the old country."
"If you are staying here any length of time, perhaps you will go with
me to the donga. Pete knows the spot to a nicety," said Jack.
"We'll see," remarked the trooper. "I must look up the major and
learn his plans. I should like nothing better than to pay a visit to
this wonderful donga. You will excuse me now;" and he strode off
towards his troopers, who were engaged in rubbing down their horses.
A hardier lot of warriors than the men of C Troop Auckland Rangers,
it would be difficult to find or even imagine. Their ages ranged
from twenty to forty, every man of them standing six feet and over.
Maoriland indeed had sent its best sons to do battle for the empire,
the centre of which is the little sea-girt isle whose ensign is the
Union Jack.
The New Zealanders were right royally treated by the owner of the
Kopje Farm, and Major Salkeld determined to remain until evening,
when the horses would be up-saddled and preparations made for the
march to Springbokfontein.
This was just what Morton desired, and at noon, guided by Jack Lovat
and Pete, the New Zealander set out for the donga where the Kaffir
had found the crystal.
Each of the trio carried a rifle, with a supply of ammunition. The
ascent of the kopje was made with considerable difficulty; for path
there was none, and treacherous holes were abundant.
"Be careful," said Jack, turning round to the Colonial. "A broken
leg, or maybe two, won't be very nice."
"All right, my lad; I'm on the look-out for possible squalls,"
answered the trooper. "I wonder if we shall come across any Boers."
"That is hardly likely," observed Jack. "There are no roads beyond
the top of the kopje, and no farms for a dozen miles."
The summit of the kopje was reached, when a grand panorama spread out
in front of Jack Lovat and his two companions. Rheni Kop, a rugged
kopje with a part of its summit shaped like the tower of a castle,
loomed some half-dozen miles away. Leading to the kopje were two
deep dongas, and it was to the one on the right that the trio were
bound. For many years the donga had been known as Diamond Valley.
"Tell the 'boy' to lie down," said Morton, as soon as they arrived at
the top of the kopje; "and you as well, Jack," he went on. "I want
to have a peep round the country with my glasses. People don't look
well sometimes on the skyline."
Jack and Pete at once obeyed instructions; and Morton, taking out his
glasses, for a few moments peered through them.
"All's correct," he said, after replacing the glasses in their
leather case. "I don't think any doppers are about here. And now,
Jack, kindly instruct your 'boy' to show us the place where he found
the pebble."
Jack said something to Pete in a low tone of voice, to which the
Kaffir replied, "All right, Baas Jack. Come along;" and leading the
way, Pete with careful steps made tracks towards the donga on the
right.
Progress was necessarily slow, for boulders of rock, and little
gullies are not conducive to rapid locomotion.
Onward the three tramped for a distance of half a mile, when Pete
halted at a part of the donga where its side rose almost
perpendicularly to a height of ten or twelve feet.
The rock was composed of gneiss, along which bands of bluish-coloured
clay ran in horizontal layers.
"Dis was de place where I found de glass pebble, Baas Jack," said the
Kaffir, pointing to a ledge of rock through which a small stream of
water trickled.
Morton by this time had pulled out a large clasp knife and was
engaged in chipping off portions of the blue clay, which yielded
readily to the impact of the knife.
The weapon struck something hard, and withdrawing the knife, Morton
cut away the clay surrounding it. After all, the object might only
be a fragment of rock, but the New Zealander's heart began to beat
faster than was its wont.
"By heavens," he muttered, "if this turns out to be a klip (diamond)!"
Presently the stone was in his hand, and he anxiously pared off the
fragments of blue clay adhering to it.
"A crystallised stone, at any rate," he ejaculated, placing the find
in the breast pocket of his tunic. He again proceeded to excavate
more clay, when he was arrested by a cry from the Kaffir. "Look,
Baas Jack," exclaimed Pete. "De Boers! de Boers!"
Morton's knife dropped out of his hand, and hastily picking up his
rifle, he queried, "Where are they, Pete?"
"Down dere, baas," answered the Kaffir. "I saw de heads ob two Boers
peep ober, about five hundred yards away. I am sure dey must----"
Pete's answer was prematurely finished, for the "pip-pop" of half a
dozen Mausers rang out, and the next moment Jack Lovat, with blanched
face, was lying on the ground, and a stream of blood trickled down
the left sleeve of his jacket. Jack's rifle slipped from his grasp,
and but for the safety catch, a bullet would probably have whizzed
near Morton; for the barrel rested on a fragment of rock, and the New
Zealander was directly in the line of fire.
The latter bent over Jack, who was writhing with pain. It was only
the work of a moment for Morton to pick up his clasp knife and rip
open a seam of the garment.
Jack, although a brave lad, winced, while the trooper examined the
wound.
"Only a flesh hurt," said Morton; "lucky, though!" and swiftly
applying the field dressing, he bound up the injured limb.
Another peculiar whistle heralded the approach of a shower of bullets
fired by unseen marksmen.
"I guess we are in a tight hole now," soliloquised Morton. "We'll
have to get a place of shelter somehow. Can you manage to walk, my
lad?" addressing Jack. But our hero was already on his feet.
"I'm all right now," answered Jack, although he looked far from being
in that desirable state.
"We must get down to the donga as quickly as possible; there will be
more shelter. I'll carry you, Jack."
"No, no!" said Jack. "I can manage to walk. You might take my
rifle, please, for my arm seems paralysed."
With some difficulty, Jack Lovat and his two companions made tracks
for the kopje overlooking his father's farm, but long before the
summit over which they meant to pass on their hands and knees was
reached, Morton was bowled over by a bullet, and but for the friendly
protection of a shoulder-strap buckle, would undoubtedly have been
killed. As it was, the missile, after being deflected by the buckle,
lodged in the muscles of his upper right arm, and rendered that
member useless.
Although in great pain, with blood trickling from the unstanched
wound, the New Zealander, forming the rear-guard, turned his face in
the direction of the Kopje Farm, and with tightened lips moved
forward towards the summit.
They had not proceeded more than a hundred paces when the scout
stumbled and fell.
The hardy frame of the New Zealander, stricken as he was, could not
stand the strain, and he tumbled over in a dead faint.
"This is a predicament, Pete," said Jack, as he bent over the
prostrate figure. "We must, however, get to some place of shelter;"
and the brave lad looked around him.
A natural cave opened its yawning mouth about fifty yards away, and
towards its friendly shelter Pete and Jack managed to drag their
still unconscious ally.
The firing had ceased, but Jack had the conviction they were still
being watched by the enemy.
The cave was the mouth of a depression such as is commonly seen among
the kopjes of South Africa, and with some difficulty, for Jack's arm
was powerless, the wounded trooper was carried inside. Morton soon
regained consciousness, but his mind was clouded, and he talked
somewhat incoherently.
"Keep the beggars off, my lad," he said to Jack. "This confounded
wound has disabled me."
Our hero asked for the loan of Morton's glasses, and creeping to the
mouth of the cave, glanced along the donga.
He thought he saw objects above the rocks at a distance of some five
hundred paces, and came to the conclusion that what he saw were
slouch-hats worn by invading Boers.
The slouch-hats seemed to advance. He glanced again, but boulders of
rock only met his gaze. Soon the hats grew larger in size and
number, and a mist spread before Jack's vision. Rheni Kop with its
castellated tower became a blurred image, even through the clear
atmosphere of the veldt.
"Pete!"
"Yes, Baas Jack," answered the Kaffir.
"Come here, and tell me what you make of these things."
The Kaffir crept to Jack's side, but refused the glasses which Jack
had handed to him.
"My eyes are good, baas. I can see well widout dese," said Pete.
"We are done for, Baas Jack. More dan fifty ob de rascals are
coming. Shall I fire, baas?"
"No, certainly not, Pete," replied Jack, whose wound had infused in
the lad's mind a certain amount of wholesome discretion.
"Dey have de white flag up, baas," said Pete. "Dere be five comin'
dis way. Shall I fire?" and the eyes of the Kaffir sparkled. Pete
went on: "De foremost one is Piet Van Donnop, de brute who once
sjambokked me for nuthing. May I fire, baas? I can bring him down
like an aasvogel (vulture)."
"Nothing of the sort, Pete," replied Jack. "We are powerless. Let
them come on."
"All right, baas," said Pete. "If you say dat, they might as well
see me;" and the Kaffir slipped outside the cave, carrying his rifle
with him.
"Come back, you fool!" cried Jack; but he was powerless to prevent
his father's native foreman from disobeying his command.
Pete gazed with an air of nonchalance at the approaching figures, who
were now only three hundred yards away. The Kaffir stood leaning on
his rifle. His brows were knitted, and all the wild savagery of his
nature was aroused.
The Boers halted, and presently two of their number, one of them
carrying a white handkerchief affixed to the barrel of his rifle,
advanced towards Pete.
The latter glanced at the breech of his rifle, opened it, after which
his eyes enlarged in wonderment. The breech and magazine were empty.
Jack Lovat, who was peering over the edge of the cave, cried, "Drop
your rifle, Pete!" but the command was not obeyed.
"Dey shall see no hands ob mine go up," muttered the Kaffir; "an' if
de Boer is Piet Van Donnop, he can look out."
The strangers advanced, and the next moment Jack Lovat heard the cry,
"Hands up, 'boy,' or we'll fire!"
Pete clutched his rifle, and advancing a few paces, delivered a
stroke with the butt of his weapon on the head of the foremost Boer,
and the latter tumbled over.
A moment later, brave Pete, the Kaffir "boy," fell, pierced through
the brain by a bullet. He expired almost instantly, leaving his
young master and the wounded New Zealander helpless in the hands of
the Boers.