The Kopje Garrison. George Manville Fenn
rest of the night passed in the midst of a terrible suspense, for though the Boer firing gradually died out, as if the leaders had at last awakened to the fact of its being a mere waste of ammunition, the British detachment, scattered here and there about the captured gun, lay in momentary expectation of the enemy creeping up and then making a rush.
“But they will not,” said Lennox quietly. “They’ll wait till morning, and creep up from stone to stone and bush to bush, trying to pick us off.”
“You need not be so cock-sure about it,” growled Dickenson. “They are in force, and must have known from our fire how few we were. A rush would do it.”
“Yes; but they will not rush,” replied Lennox. “They understand too well the meaning of the word bayonet. Cock-sure or no, they’ll make no dash; but as soon as it begins to be light we shall have a hailstorm.”
“Nonsense!” said Dickenson tetchily; “there’s no sign of rain.”
“I did not say rain,” replied Lennox, “but hail—leaden hail from every bit of cover round.”
“Oh, I see,” said Dickenson. “Well, two sides can play at that game; and I fancy we have most cover here.”
Lennox was quite right; for as soon as the first pale grey of a lovely dawn began to make objects stand up in an indistinct way upon the level veldt around the kopje, the sharp cracks of rifle after rifle began at every object that displayed movement upon the eminence, and the pattering of bullets among the rocks often preceded the reports of the Boer rifles.
But by this time Captain Roby had communicated with the colonel in the village, and had taken his steps, sending his men well out in the enemy’s direction to take advantage of every scrap of cover to reply wherever it was necessary, which they did, their efforts, as the time went on, to some extent keeping the Boer fire down.
The colonel grasped the position at once and sent assistance, with the result that, in spite of terrible difficulties, by help of horse and mule to supplement the pulling powers of the ox-team, the big gun, limber, and an ammunition-wagon, which daylight showed lying deserted a quarter of a mile away among some bushes into which it had been dragged in the dark, were hauled to the flat top of the kopje, where they were surrounded with a rough but strong breastwork of the abundant stones, and by the men’s breakfast-time a shell was sent well into the midst of a clump of bush which the Boers had made the centre of their advance.
A better shot could not have been made, for as soon as the shell had burst, the defenders of the kopje had the satisfaction of seeing that the greater part of the Boers’ ponies had been gathered into shelter there, and a perfect stampede had begun, hundreds of horses, mounted and empty of saddle, streaming away in every direction except that in which the kopje lay.
There was no need for a second shell, for the sputtering rifle-fire ceased as if by magic, the Boers retiring, leaving the colonel’s force at liberty to go on at leisure strengthening the emplacement of the enemy’s heavy Creusot gun, and forming a magazine for the abundant supply of ammunition, also captured for its use.
The rest of the day was occupied, by as many of the men as could be spared, building up sangars (loose stone walls for breastworks) and contriving rifle-pits and cover to such an extent that already it would have taken a strong and determined force to make any impression; while, when the officers met at the mess that night and the matter was under discussion, the colonel smiled.
“Yes,” he said, “pretty well for one day’s work; but by the end of a week we shall have a little Gibraltar that will take all the men the Boers have in the field to capture—a regular stronghold, ready like a castle keep if we have to leave the village.”
“And may that never be, colonel,” said Captain Roby.
“Hear, hear!” cried every one present.
“So I say,” said the colonel; “but we may at any time be ordered to occupy some other position. By the way, though, I should not dislike to send the Boer leader a letter of thanks for sending us that gun and a supply of oxen. How many must be killed?”
“Killed?” cried Captain Roby.
“Yes; several were bayoneted in that charge.”
“Three only,” replied the captain, “and they don’t look much the worse for it. Their flesh seems to close up again like india-rubber. The vet says they will all heal up.”
“Good,” said the colonel. “Take it all together, I shall have a pleasant despatch to send to the general. The capture of the big gun; not a man killed, and only three wounded. How are they getting on, doctor?”
“Capitally. Nothing serious. But, by the way—” The doctor stopped and began to clean out his pipe.
“Yes, by the way?” said the colonel. “Nothing unpleasant to report, I hope?”
“Um—no,” drawled the doctor. “A fresh patient with a touch of fever; but it wasn’t that. I meant—that is, I wondered how you meant to send the despatch?”
“Ha! Yes,” said the colonel thoughtfully; “how? I don’t feel disposed to risk any more men, and I hear that the Kaffirs do not seem to be tempted by the pay offered them, although I have offered double what I gave before.”
“That’s bad,” said the doctor. “Well, I suppose you can hold this place?”
“Tight!” said the colonel laconically.
“So long as provisions and ammunition hold out?” said Captain Roby tentatively.
“Yes,” assented the colonel.
“And when they are ended,” cried Dickenson, who had sat listening in silence, “we can try a bit of sport. There are herds of antelopes and flocks of guinea-fowl about, sir.”
“I doubt it, Dickenson,” said the colonel, smiling; “and I fancy that the most profitable form of sport for us will be that followed out by our mounted men.”
“What’s that, sir?” asked Dickenson.
“Stalking the enemy’s convoys. These fellows have to be fed, hardy and self-supporting as they are. But there, we are pretty well supplied as yet, and the great thing is that our water-supply is never likely to fail.”
The next morning the Boers made a fresh attack for the purpose of recapturing the gun or seizing the kopje where it was mounted. But this advance, like several more which followed, only resulted in a severe repulse, and at last their attacks formed part of a long blockade in which they hoped to succeed by starving the little British force into subjection.
Chapter Five.
The Boer Prisoners.
It was to this village and kopje, turned after its long occupation into what proved to be an impregnable stronghold—one which so far, to the Boers’ cost, maintained its promise—that Drew Lennox and Bob Dickenson returned after their unfortunate fishing expedition, the colonel, a bluff, sun-burnt, stern-looking officer, meeting them with a frown as they came up. “How many men hurt, Roby?” he said.
“Only one, sir. Dickenson had his ear nicked by a bullet.”
“Humph! Might have been worse, my lad,” said the colonel. “Show it to the doctor.—Where are your fish, Lennox?”
“In the river, sir,” said the young officer, with a shrug of the shoulders. “How was that?”
The young man briefly explained, and the colonel nodded his head.
“Look here,” he said, “we want some change from our monotonous fare; but if you two had come back loaded