THE FARM RECAPTURED
When the Boers advanced on the Kopje Farm, Mr. Lovat deemed the
policy of non-resistance to be the wisest course to pursue. Against
the overwhelming numbers of the Boers there would not have been the
slightest chance of a successful defence, although Pat O'Neill
counselled holding the place at all costs. Perhaps it was as well
that Jack Lovat was an absentee, as he certainly would have backed up
Pat's suggestion.
But Mr. Lovat, weakened in mind and body by his wound, yielded to his
wife's entreaties to allow the Boers to take what they pleased,
hoping that by so doing he would get rid of them the sooner.
The section of Christian Uys's commando, now split into several
parts, which had unceremoniously thrust itself upon the master of the
Kopje Farm, was under the command of a veldt-farmer named Maestral,
whose hatred against the British was of a very pronounced type.
He had entered the precincts of the Kopje Farm without encountering
the slightest resistance.
Simon and Daniel, as related before, had fortunately escaped.
Mr. Lovat's stores were ransacked, and articles of food and clothing
wantonly destroyed. The ostrich farmer had a plentiful supply of
spirits, mostly in the shape of Scotch whisky, and the marauders
helped themselves with willing hands, and before long, discipline
became hopelessly lost.
Maestral, the field-cornet, although possessing a cruel and
vindictive temperament, was an abstemious man, and argued, but in
vain, with his intemperate burghers.
"We shall have to pay dearly for this," he said, addressing a
rough-looking burgher named Wessels, who was one of the ringleaders
in the acts of destruction.
"Very likely," said Wesseis, with a brutal leer. "We have had a
rough time of it lately, so I for one mean to enjoy myself, whenever
the opportunity offers. The chance may not occur again."
Pat O'Neill could not conceal his anger and chagrin as he witnessed
the looting that went on, but a hint from a gray-whiskered Boer, that
flesh and bone are not proof against bullets, induced the Irishman to
keep a still tongue in his head. So all that Pat could do was to set
his teeth and bear it.
Several of the younger members of the commando had turned the
ostriches loose, but Field-cornet Maestral's threat of using his
sjambok had a salutary effect, and the birds were re-penned after
several exciting chases.
The rifles and ammunition found in the storehouse were confiscated by
the Boers, and the latter were on the point of resuming their wild
orgies when a couple of burghers dashed up on horseback and inquired
for the field-cornet. The bloodstains on their horses' flanks showed
that they had ridden hard.
"Well?" demanded Maestral. "You bring good news, Emil Behrens?"
The Boer thus spoken to dismounted from his panting steed, and
exclaimed, "We have finished off a lot of the rooineks, but"--this
was added in a whisper--"a big force of them is advancing on this
place. The commandant has ordered the other section of the commando
to scatter, and afterwards concentrate near Doom Spruit. Commandant
Uys has told us to acquaint you with the news, and also to ask you
not to hold the farm, as the Rangers will attempt to retake it, even
if it costs them many men."
Field-cornet Maestral was a man endowed with a large bump of
cautiousness, and after listening to the scout's statement, he with
some difficulty assembled his section of the commando and addressed a
few words to them. His quick eye noticed that the potent spirit
imbibed by nearly all his burghers had taken effect and that their
gait was unsteady.
The Boer officer told the burghers the news he had just received from
the scout Emil Behrens, who stood by his side, and informed them that
it was his intention to evacuate the farm. Loud cries of dissent
arose, and as Maestral did not possess the personality of a De Wet,
he naturally felt, and was, powerless in the hands of his burghers.
Meanwhile a strange action was being performed by Pat O'Neill. The
Dutch settler who built the Kopje Farm had during its erection
constructed several large cellars, the ramifications of which
extended under many of the rooms as well as the ostrich kraal.
The element of fear had no place in Pat's mental constitution, and
while the field-cornet was addressing his men, the Irishman
disappeared. Through a secret trap-door in a corner of the storeroom
floor, he descended into the enormous cellar. From his pocket he
took out a small lantern in which was a piece of tallow candle. He
carefully lighted the candle, and placed the lantern within a niche
in the wall.
Three large barrels stood in a corner of the cellar, and the barrel
lids were removed by Pat without any difficulty, for the simple
reason that the worthy Irishman had seen to a little necessary
"prising" process soon after Major Salkeld's men had left in the
morning.
With a large scoop, Pat began to bale out a black substance on the
floor. The substance was gunpowder! Quite coolly the Rorke's Drift
man laid a train leading from the barrels to the foot of the ladder,
and with grim satisfaction viewed his work in the dim light.
"Bedad!" he muttered, "this will give the spalpeens a shock worse
than King James av ancient memory might av got." Then taking out a
long piece of gutta-percha fuse, he inserted one end in the train of
powder, and ascended the ladder steps carrying the other end of the
fuse with him. This end he fixed between the interstice formed by
the floor and the trap-door.
Pat was just in time to see a little of the fun going on between the
field-cornet and his burghers, and chuckled gleefully to himself.
Several gray-haired doppers were backing up their leader's proposal
that the farm should be evacuated, but the fumes of the whisky were
seething in the noddles of the majority of the Boers, and their only
longing was to get more of the potent spirit, regardless of
consequences.
If Commandant Uys had been present, things might have happened
differently; but discipline had altogether fled, and the only answer
to the field-cornet's command was the demolition of several
additional bottles of the fiery fluid. After this, the burghers got
completely out of hand.
Pat O'Neill made his way to the dining-room, where he found his
master, Mrs. Lovat, and Mary.
"This is a bad day for us all, sorr," said Pat respectfully. "These
heathens are clearing out all we have on the place. They are
drinkin' harder now, sorr, than anything I've ever seen in the dear
ould counthry across the sea. I've got the ould barker wid me, sorr,
an' if they insult Pat O'Neill, they'll have to look out. You are
not well, sorr; remain here until I return, for you can do no good
among the murtherin' rascals. Oh, yes, sorr, I will take due care av
myself."
Pat, like the majority of his versatile countrymen, was eloquent in
speech, and he added, "The first man, sorr, who dares to lay his
dirthy fingers on you or the missis or Miss Mary, I'll----"
Pat's sentence was left unfinished, for the sharp crackle from rifles
broke out seemingly in all directions, followed by loud yells and
shouts in the Dutch tongue.
"Begorra!" ejaculated honest Pat, "it's our bhoys, sorr. Maybe
Master Jack, the darlint av my eye, is wid them. No, sorr, you must
not move from here. You are not well enough. The saints be praised!
afther all, Pat O'Neill is about to see a good fight once more before
he shuffles off this mortal coil, as the poet says."
Saying this, Pat walked to the door of the dining-room, took out the
key, and after closing the door, locked it, making temporary
prisoners of Mr. Lovat and his little family. The ostrich farmer was
a captive in his own house.
Wild confusion now reigned in the farmyard. Bullets were whistling
all around, and a dozen Boers lay stretched on the ground, dead or
mortally wounded.
In a wild stampede, the Boers climbed over the walls, only to receive
a heavy fire which dropped several more burghers. Several of the
Boers were hopelessly intoxicated, and made no show of resistance.
[Illustration: "The Boers climbed over the walls."]
"Hands up, you scoundrels!" yelled a stentorian voice. "At them,
boys! Down with the rascals! Hurrah!"
The speaker was Trooper Morton, who carrying his rifle in his left
hand, dashed forward in pursuit of the flying burghers. Close behind
him was Jack Lovat, full of courage, and several troopers of the
corps of Rangers, all eager to engage the enemy in a hand-to-hand
conflict.
The Boers showed little fight, and the excellent disposition of his
men by Colonel Malcolmson, which was largely due to information given
by Jack Lovat, led to the surrender of several burghers, without a
single casualty on the British side.
Among the captured was Piet Van Donnop, who along with Emil Behrens
had been sent by Christian Uys to warn Field-cornet Maestral.
Pat O'Neill was almost beside himself with delight at again meeting
his young master. Jack's first salutation was, "Where are my father,
mother, and Mary, Pat? I trust they are all right?"
"I saw to that, Master Jack," answered Pat. "I locked them for
safety in the dining-room;" and the Irishman conducted Jack to the
apartment.
The meeting between our hero and his parents was an affecting one,
for the latter believed that their son was dead.
The captured Boers were at once disarmed by Colonel Malcolmson's
troopers, and the Free Staters placed under a strong guard.
Jack had an interview with Piet Donnop. The young Dutchman told our
hero that much of Commandant Uys's information had been derived from
Moses, who had met his just deserts. The renegade Kaffir had been
shot, with several others in the service of the Boers, during the
attack on Major Salkeld's men in the donga.
After the dead had been buried, Morton and Jack took a stroll through
the storeroom, and Pat O'Neill came up to them.
Respectfully saluting, the Irishman said, "Sorr, you see that,"
pointing to a thin black tube protruding from the trap-door. "Do you
know what that manes?"
The two friends glanced at the fuse, and Pat seeing that the New
Zealander was smoking, added, "Plase put out your pipe, sorr. It is
rather dangerous."
Wondering greatly what the ex-soldier meant, Morton obeyed; and Pat
raising the trap-door, said, "If things had gone wrong at the Kopje
Farm, I would have blown the place to smithereens, an' meself into
the bargain. By the Rock av Cashel, not one av the spalpeens would
have escaped! Now, most likely, we shall have peace."
"You're a good fellow, Pat," observed Jack, with a smile. "I think,
however, the sooner you get things squared up, the better it will be
for all of us."
"I know what ye mane, Masther Jack. I'll put the stuff all right;"
and shouldering a spade, the Irishman began to ladle the
deadly-looking powder into the barrel.
"That is better," said Jack, as after having finished his task, Pat
replaced the trap-door.
A few minutes later, Colonel Malcolmson held a hurried council of war
in Mrs. Lovat's drawing-room, and the gallant colonel invited the
intrepid Morton and our friend Jack to be present and take part in
the proceedings.
It was determined to go in pursuit of the scattered remnants of
Christian Uys's commando; but before this was done, Piet Van Donnop
was brought before the colonel for examination.
Piet had a somewhat crestfallen air, as he surveyed the group of
Britishers.
"You are a burgher of the Free State, I presume?" interrogated the
colonel.
Van Donnop glanced at Jack Lovat, and a red glow suffused his bronzed
features.
"I am waiting for your reply, burgher," said Colonel Malcolmson
brusquely. "I trust that my Dutch is good enough for you to
understand?"
"I am a Cape Colonist, sir," answered Piet sheepishly.
"A Cape rebel, you mean," observed the colonel sternly. "How comes
it that you are caught in the act of bearing arms against His
Majesty's Government?"
"I am fighting for my own side, sir," answered Piet boldly. "I took
up arms because I was asked, and thought I was doing what was right."
"And you know what may be your fate--yes, your possible or rather
probable fate?" was the next interrogation.
"I do not," replied Van Donnop, "and I care very little."
"I scarcely wonder at that," said the colonel. "You certainly seem
to have been undergoing a bad time of it lately. Have you been here
before? I mean before the war commenced."
"I know him well, sir," put in Jack Lovat, anticipating Piet's reply.
"He was kind to me when I was captured by the Boers. You will be
lenient with him, sir?"
Invited by Colonel Malcolmson to say what he knew about the prisoner,
Jack told the officers of the friendship that had existed between the
two families before hostilities began, and begged the colonel to be
lenient with Piet. He urged that the young Dutchman, like many other
settlers in Cape Colony, had been led astray by Boer emissaries.
Before being dismissed by the council, Piet felt that his life would
be safe. He knew that by the rules of civilised warfare, he, as a
rebel, had no claim to clemency, and noted with gratitude Jack
Lovat's appeal on his behalf.
The Boer prisoners had been temporarily imprisoned in the largest
ostrich kraal, and a guard of twenty troopers with loaded rifles
placed over them. Several of the burghers were sleeping off the
effects of their late carouse, so that the task of guarding them was
a comparatively easy one.
Pat O'Neill now assumed full authority as foreman of the Kopje Farm,
and with more swagger than was perhaps absolutely necessary, chaffed
the Boers about their inability to hold a little ostrich farm. Nor
were his eyes and hands idle.
"The dirthy beggars!" muttered Pat. "They're fond av loot, an' why
should not Pat O'Neill, late av the ould 24th, not follow suit?" And
to Pat's credit be it said, he proved a competent detective.
Towards evening, Colonel Malcolmson set off in pursuit of Commandant
Uys's scattered commando, and to his great satisfaction, our friend
Morton, now a full-blown sergeant--a rank conferred by Colonel
Malcolmson on the field--was left in command of the guard, entrusted
with the defence of the Kopje Farm, and the due supervision of the
Boer prisoners recently captured.