BESIEGED
The fence round the house was made of stone, and the Boers took
advantage of this as cover, whilst some of them sheltered behind the
trunks of the red gums. Even then the besieged had the advantage, for
they were protected by the walls of the farmhouse, and could shoot
without exposing themselves. To Van Zwieten, the disappointment of not
having succeeded in shooting Harold in the first dastardly attack was
very great. Had their leader been killed, he imagined that the
soldiers would have surrendered, quite forgetting that it was not the
custom of Englishmen to yield to anything but death. Now, however,
there was nothing for it but to take the place before relief could
arrive. By all his gods he swore that Brenda should be his.
Mrs. Burton herself remained in the sitting-room, revolver in hand.
Far from being afraid, the girl, much to her own surprise, was filled
with the terrible joy of battle; indeed, she was in the highest
spirits. The Boers fired at the windows and wherever they saw a puff
of smoke. As the bullets sang, and the smell of powder became
stronger, Brenda could hardly contain her excitement. The Boer woman
was on her knees in a back room praying with all her might that the
accursed _rooineks_ would be taken and killed. Her husband and sons
were with the armies of the Republic, and her whole heart was with her
countrymen outside. How gladly, had she dared, would she have opened
the door to them!
Harold ordered his men to reserve their fire. His aim was not so much
to score a victory as to hold the house until help arrived. On their
side the enemy were equally careful, and the fight progressed but
slowly. There were thirty Boers, more or less, and of these three were
already dead, while two were wounded. Of those in the house only the
man shot under the white flag was dead. Van Zwieten, looking anxiously
over the plain, fearing every moment to see some sign of the British
advance, cursed the slowness of the affair. At last he picked some men
and sent them round to try and get at the horses of the besieged; but
Harold had got them under shelter in a shed, with five men in front to
guard them. The Boers creeping round the corner were met by a volley
which killed four and wounded two. They fled swearing, and Captain
Burton rejoiced.
"Reserve your fire, men! We shall hold out after all!"
"By Heaven we will, sir!" one of the men answered. "We'll fight to the
last rather than an English lady should fall into the hands of these
dirty rascals. Ho! Give 'em beans, you beggars!"
And this the beggars in question proceeded to do.
Then Van Zwieten sent forward a dozen men on to the verandah with a
rush. Their advance was covered by a steady fire from the rear, though
not one of the besiegers showed himself. Simultaneously another body
attacked the back shed wherein the horses were housed, and in spite of
the British fire succeeded in effecting their entrance to the yard.
Then they rushed the shed, which was an open one. Two Englishmen fell,
and there was no one to fill their places, for their comrades were
fighting desperately on the verandah in front.
Van Zwieten, seeing his advantage, led the remainder of his force to
the other side of the house, where there was a wide window. It opened
into the room where the Boer woman was kneeling. She flung open the
shutters. Van Zwieten jumped in, followed by half-a-dozen of his men,
and the first those within knew of it was when they found themselves
attacked in the rear. They right about faced, put their backs to the
wall, and fought like men. Then, as a reward for her treachery, a
stray bullet pierced the brain of the Boer woman.
Meanwhile, the men who forced entrance into the yard were steadily
gaining ground. But hearing the firing within the house they turned
back by the front again, in order to come to the rescue of their
comrades. The party on the veranda broke through the door and hurled
themselves forward. Boer after Boer fell before the British fire, for
Harold had now concentrated his men--what there were left of them.
Gradually he was driven back to the sitting-room. A shout of triumph
from outside announced that those who had remained had succeeded in
capturing the horses.
Within, the whole place was dense with smoke. Brenda, in obedience to
her husband's orders, was lying flat on the floor beside the sofa. She
gave up all for lost, but determined she would not be taken alive. She
was only waiting until her husband fell. In the midst of it all she
could discern Van Zwieten. Rifles were useless now. It was hand to
hand work. The end was near.
There, in the little room, Harold stood with three of his men beside
him. The others were either dead or dying. But the Boers had got off
by no means cheaply. At least twenty of them had been done for. The
four Englishmen, with their backs to the wall, fought on, using
revolver, muzzle and butt-end, until at last their cartridges gave
out, and they threw down their weapons with a curse and surrendered.
There was nothing for it. Van Zwieten gave vent to a yell of triumph.
His men threw themselves on Burton. But the Englishman was too quick
for them. He stepped back quickly and levelled his revolver. He had
one chamber loaded.
"I have just one left," he said hoarsely "stand up to it, Van Zwieten,
for I am keeping it for you!"
"Finish him, men!" roared the Dutchman.
"No, no," cried Brenda, and before a man could move she had flung her
arms around her husband and stood between him and them. "The last
shot, dear, is for me!" she said.
There was a pause. They held back. Harold never flinched. His wife
clung to him desperately. His face was streaming with blood from the
graze of a bullet. But he was determined to make good use of that last
shot.
Beside Van Zwieten stood a huge man with a white, flowing beard. At
last the Dutchman made a dash forward and attempted to take Brenda
from her husband's arm.
"You are mine," he cried madly, "mine! You shall not die!"
"Coward!" hissed Burton, "take your lead like the dog you are!" He
fired. But she, struggling to free herself from the Dutchman's grasp,
fell heavily against his right arm and spoilt his aim. The bullet
whizzed overhead. He threw down his weapon and prepared for the worst.
He put her behind him. Sobbing, she fell on her knees and clasped her
arms around his legs. She felt for her revolver that she might be sure
of death when he died.
"Fire!" rang out from Van Zwieten. "Spare the woman, kill the man!"
Two Boers levelled. But the old man with the white beard rushed
forward and struck them aside. They fell wide. "Hold!" he cried, "let
no man fire!"
"Damn you, Piet Bok, what do you mean?" asked Van Zwieten, savagely.
"Ah! Piet Bok!" cried Harold, seeing a chance of life and of saving
his wife, "I am your prisoner again. I yield to you."
"Fire, men!" shouted Van Zwieten. "Fire, I tell you!" He was seething
with rage at the fear lest his prey was going to escape him. Then
turning to the old man he said, "Piet Bok! this is my business!"
"It is the business of the Republic," retorted Piet, coolly, and at
the same moment he struck down a Boer who was about to fire. "I'll
shoot the first man who disobeys my orders," he said. "Clear the room.
I am in command here!"
It was done. Then they set to work to drag out the bodies of the dead
and tend the wounded.
Soon Harold and his wife, Piet Bok and Van Zwieten, were left alone.
For the third time the Dutchman had been baffled. The man whom of all
others he would have had dead still lived.
Harold, knowing well that Piet Bok would stand his friend, said
nothing for the moment, but wrapped his arms round Brenda and faced
the two men. The issues of life and death were in their hands.
"Will you sit down, Englishman?" said Piet Bok. "I see you are
wounded."
"A mere scratch!" replied Harold; "but my wife will sit with your
permission!"
"Your wife!" echoed the Boer leader, who spoke English well enough.
"You never told me she was the _rooinek's_ wife!" he added, turning to
Van Zwieten.
"I did not think it was necessary," growled the other; "besides, I
thought that would have ceased to be by now!"
"Yes, I can well believe that!" cried Brenda, with sudden energy.
"Mynheer Bok, do not believe what this man says. He tried to carry me
off from my husband last night; and when I escaped to this place he
brought you and your men up with the sole object of having my husband
shot. He would shoot him now if he dared!"
"That he shall not do whilst I am here!" cried Piet Bok. "You are both
prisoners of the Republic, and as such you shall be treated."
"Nothing of the sort!" cried Van Zwieten, mad with rage. "I demand
that the man be shot and the woman be given to me!"
Piet Bok signed to Harold to remain silent. "On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that this woman was engaged to marry me with the
consent of her father, and that this man has married her against her
father's will."
"Is this true?" asked the Boer leader.
"No!" cried Brenda, "it is not true. At one time my father, deceived
by this wicked Van Zwieten, did wish me to marry him. But when he
found out his true character he consented to my marriage with Captain
Burton. I never was engaged to him! I always hated him. This is my
husband!" She laid her hand on Harold's shoulder. "Give me to that man
and I will kill myself."
"She raves!" said Van Zwieten. "He has turned her against me."
"That is another lie," said Harold, fiercely. "You don't believe him,
Piet Bok?"
"No, I don't believe him," replied the big man, quietly. "I believe
the lady. My friend," he added, turning to Van Zwieten, "can you wish
to marry a woman who openly declares hatred for you? Besides, she is
already the wife of this English soldier, and she loves him."
The Dutchman winced. "I demand his death!" he cried.
"On what grounds?"
"He is a murderer."
"That is untrue," Brenda said quietly, "and you know it, Mr. van
Zwieten."
"Oh, I wish I could meet you face to face and fight it out!" Harold
said, between his teeth. "Only death will stop that cursed tongue of
yours."
"A murderer!" repeated Piet Bok, looking at Captain Burton. "That is a
serious matter. State your case, Van Zwieten."
Glibly enough he complied. He related the events which had taken place
at Chippingholt, the death of Mr. Malet, the finding of the revolver
belonging to Harold, and ended by stating his conviction that the
crime had been committed by Captain Burton. "And he killed Malet
because he was on our side, because he was supplying information about
the accursed English to me for the use of the Republic. He----
"It is wholly untrue, Piet Bok!" cried Harold, furious at the man's
audacious mendacity. "I did not kill Malet; I did not know at that
time that he was betraying his own country to Van Zwieten. This man's
one idea is to get me put out of the way that he may marry my wife,
who hates him; and he cares not how he achieves his desire so long as
he does achieve it."
"I hate him!--oh, how I hate him!" cried Brenda. "I will kill myself
rather than have anything to do with him. If my husband dies I will
die too. Oh, Mynheer Bok, save me; save my husband from that man!"
"If you do not shoot the murderer," Van Zwieten said in his turn, "you
are no friend to the Republic, Piet Bok!"
The big Boer turned round and cursed him for his words.
"I am a true burgher of the Transvaal," said Piet Bok, with vehemence,
"and you are an outlander; one of those rats who want to creep into
our corn rick and grow fat. The whole of the war is the doing of such
as you. What do you know about me in connection with my own country?
Nothing. And what you say about these people is untrue. The woman
hates you. You would kill her husband to marry her against her will.
As to the _rooinek_, he is not the kind of man to murder. With my own
eyes I saw him spare my boy, Hans. You shall harm neither of them."
"What will you do, then?" shouted Van Zwieten, furiously.
"Send them to Pretoria as prisoners. Yes; but not in your charge, mark
you. You would kill them on the road. I command here, Van Zwieten. Go
out, mynheer, and get your men together. The British are advancing and
I have no fancy for being trapped. Go!"
"But these two!" said the other.
"I will be responsible for these two," thundered Piet Bok. "Do you
want to be shot yourself? That you will be, unless you obey
instantly."
Very unwillingly Van Zwieten turned and went, and they heard his voice
outside shouting to his men. Brenda sprang forward and kissed Bok's
hand. "Thank you, mynheer, for your goodness. God bless you!"
"Piet Bok, you are a brick!" cried Harold, enthusiastically; "and
since it seems my fate to be a prisoner, I would rather be your
prisoner than anyone else's."
"You spared my boy's life, man," was the answer, "and I am not
ungrateful. I know Van Zwieten is a bad man, but he is powerful with
our Oom Paul. He will make trouble when you are sent to Pretoria." The
old man bent forward and whispered, "If I can help you to escape I
will. Hush! not a word, my children. I hate Van Zwieten. He is one of
those who have ruined our country. Come, now we must go."
Considerably cheered by the friendly spirit displayed by the old man,
Brenda and her husband went out on to the verandah. Here they found
the Boers--they had buried their dead and had secured the other
prisoners--ready to start. The English dead were left unburied, much
to Harold's wrath, and he begged Bok to let him and his surviving
fellows bury them before leaving. But the permission was refused.
"We must get away; there is not time. Your column will be upon us
immediately, I know. Mount, Englishmen. And you, lady--see, we have
found a saddle for you. Ah! you cannot say we burghers are not
civilised. No!"
There was no help for it. Brenda mounted, and found the saddle
comfortable enough. As it afterwards transpired, Van Zwieten had
brought it on a spare horse, so sure had he been of capturing Brenda.
How he had managed to procure it in the there Boer entrenchments it
was impossible to say, but it was, and Brenda on it now, but not--as
the Dutchman had no doubt fondly pictured to himself--_his_ captive.
With an expression black as thunder he was riding at the head of the
troop. Piet Bok remained in the rear between Brenda and her husband.
As they left the house, Harold looked in vain for any sign of General
Warren's division.
Prisoners they were, and prisoners they seemed likely to remain, with
every probability of being sent on to Pretoria, where they would be at
the mercy of the intrigues of Van Zwieten once again. But Piet Bok saw
the heavy glower of the Dutchman, and had his own views as to the
reason for it.
"You expected your column to come up?" he said in a low tone; "so did
we. Our spies have kept us correctly informed. But it seems there is
some delay in crossing the Tugela."
"Are you disputing the passage?"
"No, we are not. We intend to offer no resistance to your reaching the
mountains."
"Why? Surely you should dispute the river passage."
"No! We are about to--never mind. We know what we are doing. Your men
are very brave--oh, yes; but your generals--ah, well! the dear Lord
has shown them what they should do--for the benefit of the burghers."
Not another word would Piet Bok say; but Captain Burton gathered from
his looks and speech that the division was being led into a trap. The
Boers were past masters in the art of ensnaring their enemies; and on
this occasion they were quite capable of entrapping the whole of
Buller's army amongst the mountains. If Harold had only been alone he
would have made a dash for freedom and hastened to warn his commanding
officer. But as he was placed that was impossible. He could not risk
his wife's safety even for that of his division. He could only comfort
himself with the thought that the British generals had been rendered
more wary by their late reverses, and trust that they would succeed in
avoiding this especial trap.
For some hours the little troop trotted over the veldt and drew nearer
to the mountains in which the Boers had their entrenchments. Hitherto
Van Zwieten had kept away from Brenda, but now he ranged up beside her
while Harold was in front with Piet Bok. The man looked pale, while
his eyes burned like fire. Brenda shuddered as she glanced at him and
turned her horse away.
"You are not safe from me yet," he said, noting the action. "And
though you shrink from me now, you will come to me later. I have
finished with kindly methods. Now I will be your master. Your husband
shall die! yes, in spite of that old fool. And when he is dead I will
marry you. Don't think you have beaten me--or ever will!"
"I am not afraid of you, though you threaten me ever so often," she
replied calmly, "for I see that God is thwarting all your wicked
schemes. Twice before I escaped you: this is the third time. You are
strong, Mr. van Zwieten, but you are not so strong as God!"
"Bah! Why do you preach to me? I know what I am doing."
"You do not," she said steadily, "but I do. You are marching to your
death. Yes, it is true. I believe firmly that you will die in the
midst of your wickedness."
"You talk like a child," said he, uneasily, for he was inclined to be
superstitious, and her solemn tone of conviction made him uneasy.
"You can laugh at me if you please, but I am certain that what I say
is true. You will die--die in----"
But before she could finish her dismal prophecy Van Zwieten,
thoroughly dismayed by her words, had put spurs to his horse and
ridden away at full speed.