The Kopje Garrison: A Story of the Boer War. Fenn George Manville
The old man must be delighted. We’re all about starving, and you’re taking him about a score more mouths to feed.”
“Eh?” cried the captain, aghast. “Why, of course; I never thought of that.”
“Dickenson did,” said Lennox, laughing. “A thing like this touches him to the heart – I mean lower down.”
“You hold your tongue, my fine fellow,” growled Dickenson. “You’re as bad as I am. I don’t like the fighting, but I’m ready to do my share if you’ll only feed me well. I feel as if I’d been losing flesh for weeks.”
“And done you good,” said Lennox seriously. “You were much too fat.”
“Look here, Drew,” growled the young man addressed; “do you want to quarrel?”
“Certainly not,” was the reply. “I’ve had quite enough for one day.”
Further conversation was prevented by their approach to the village, which was built at the foot of a precipitous kopje, the spot having been chosen originally for its fertility consequent upon the fact that a copious spring of fresh water rose high up among the rocks to form the little stream and gully at whose mouth the young officers had met with their fishing experience.
This village, known as Groenfontein, had been held now for nearly two months by the little force, the idea being that it was to be occupied for a day at the most, and vacated after the Boers had been driven off. But though this had been done at once, the enemy had, as Drew Lennox said, a disgracefully unmilitary way of coming back after they had been thoroughly beaten. They had come back here after the driving; others had come to help them from east, west, north, and south, and as soon as they were strengthened they had set to work to drive the British force away or capture it en bloc; but that was quite another thing.
For, as Dickenson said, the colonel’s instructions were to drive and not be driven. So the Boers were driven as often as there was a chance; and then, as they kept on returning, the force had to stay, and did so, getting plenty of opportunities for making fresh drives, till the colonel felt that it was all labour in vain and waste of time.
Under these circumstances he sent messengers explaining the position and asking for instructions. But his despatches did not seem to have been delivered, for no orders came to him, and their bearers did not return. Consequently, like a sturdy British officer, he fell back upon his first command to hold the Boers in check at Groenfontein, soon finding that they held him in check as well, for even had he felt disposed to retire, it would have been impossible except at the cost of losing half his men; so he held on and waited for the relief which he felt would sooner or later come.
But it did not come sooner, and he relied on the later, making the best of things. Colonel Lindley’s way of making the best of things was to return a contemptuous reply to the demands made from time to time for his surrender.
The first time this demand was made was when the enemy had him in front and rear. The envoys who came informed him that his position was perfectly hopeless, for he could not cross the river in face of the strong body the Boers had lining the banks; and that they had him in front, and if his people did not give up their arms they would be shot down to a man.
The colonel’s answer to this was, “Very well, gentlemen; shoot away.”
His officers were present, and Drew Lennox and Bob Dickenson exchanged glances at the word “gentlemen,” for the embassy looked like anything but that; and they departed in an insolent, braggart way, and very soon after began to shoot, using up a great many cartridges, but doing very little harm. Then, growing weary, they gave up, and the colonel set one part of his men to work with the spade till dark, making rifle-pit and trench; while as soon as it was dark he despatched fully half of his force to occupy the precipitous mound at the back of the village, making a natural stronghold which he intended to connect with the camp by means of stone walls the next day, having a shrewd notion that if he did not the Boers would, for the mound commanded the place, and would soon make it untenable.
Captain Roby’s company and another were sent to this duty, and the men were carefully posted – Lennox and Dickenson on the highest part, which was naturally the most windy and cold. Their orders, which they conveyed to the men, were to keep the strictest lookout, though the enemy had retired far enough away; for the Boers had at that early period of the war already acquired the credit of being slim and clever at ambush and night attack.
But the night was well advanced, and the two friends, after visiting post after post, were sitting huddled up in their greatcoats, longing for hot coffee or cigarettes, and feeling obliged to rub their sleepy and tired eyes from time to time, weary as they were with straining to see danger creeping up over the black, dark veldt, but straining in vain.
“B-r-r-r! What humbug it is to call this Africa!” growled Dickenson.
“What do you mean?” replied Lennox.
“Mean? Why, it’s so cold. Where’s your blazing heat and your sand? One might be at the North Pole. Ow! don’t do that.”
He started violently, for Lennox had suddenly stolen out a hand and pinched his arm sharply.
“Quiet! Listen!”
Dickenson drew his breath hard and strained his ears instead of his eyes.
“Well? Can’t hear anything.”
“Hist! Listen again.”
There was a pause.
“Hear anything?”
“Yes; but I don’t know what it is,” said Dickenson, laying a hand behind one ear and leaning forward with his head on one side.
“What does it sound like?”
“Something like a heavy wagon coming along a road with its wheels muffled.”
“Heavy wagon drawn by oxen?”
“Yes,” replied Dickenson.
“Mightn’t it be a big gun?”
“It might,” said Dickenson dubiously; “but what, could a big gun be doing out there on the open veldt?”
“Lying still in its carriage, and letting itself be drawn to the place where it was to be mounted.”
“Yes, of course it might be; but it couldn’t.”
“Why not? Bob, old fellow,” whispered Lennox in an excited whisper, “I believe the Boers are stealing a march upon us.”
“Well, they won’t, because we’re on the watch. But out with it: what is it you think?”
“They don’t know that we are occupying the kopje to-night.”
“No; we came after it was dark.”
“Exactly. Well, they’re bringing up a big gun to mount up here and give us a surprise in the morning.”
“Phe-ew!” whistled Dickenson. “Oh, surely not!”
“I feel sure that they are.”
“Well, let’s send word on to the old man. Send one of the sergeants.”
“And by the time he got there with his news, and reinforcements could be sent, the enemy would have the gun here.”
“Let’s tell Roby, then.”
“Yes; come on.”
In another minute they had told their officer their suspicions, and he hummed and ha’d a little after listening.
“It hardly seems likely,” he said, “and I don’t want to raise a false alarm. Besides, the outposts have given no notice; and hark! I can hear nothing.”
“Now?”
They listened in the darkness, and it was as their captain suggested: all perfectly still.
“There,” he said. “It would be horrible to rouse up the colonel on account of a cock-and-bull story.”
“But it would be worse for