The Kopje Garrison. George Manville Fenn
The colonel turned away and walked back to his quarters, followed by a torrent of abuse, which was promptly checked by Captain Roby, who gave his orders sharply, and the prisoners were marched off in front of the sergeant’s guard with fixed bayonets.
But the incident was not quite at an end, for before a quarter of an hour had elapsed the crackling of rifle-fire was heard in the direction of the ford, towards which men were sent at once. The alarm soon died out on the cause being known, the sergeant reporting that he had approached the ford with the prisoners and displayed a flag of truce, which brought out a party of five or six dozen Boers upon the farther side of the river, into whose charge the prisoners were given. But no sooner were all across and seen to be talking to their friends than there was a rush for cover, and before the sergeant and the outposts stationed there could grasp what the movement meant the enemy’s fire was opened upon them.
“Any one hurt, sergeant?” said Captain Roby.
“No, sir, wonderful to relate. Our lads were too sharp for them, and dropped at once. My heart rose to my mouth, sir, for I thought three of ours were hit; but it was only their sharpness, for they were returning the fire the next moment, and we kept it up as hot as the enemy did till they fell back.”
“Quite time the Boers were taught the meaning of civilised war, Bob,” said Lennox as they returned to their quarters.
“Quite; but I’m out of heart with them,” replied Dickenson. “They’re bad pupils—such a one-sided lot.”
“What about the corn and sheep and beef those fellows are to bring to-morrow or next night?” said Lennox grimly.
“Well, what about it? I’m afraid they’ll be too much offended with the colonel’s treatment to come.”
“Yes,” said Lennox; “so am I.”
Chapter Six.
Pleasant Supplies.
Matters looked anything but hopeful at Groenfontein, though the men were full of spirits and eager to respond to any of the attacks made by the Boers, who, with three commandos, thoroughly shut them in, joining hands and completely cutting off all communication.
Time was gliding on without any sign of help from outside, and the beleaguered party would have concluded that they were quite forgotten by their friends if they had not felt certain that the different generals were fully engaged elsewhere.
“Let’s see,” said Lennox one evening; “we’ve been attacked every day since our fishing-trip.”
“That’s right; and the Boers have been beaten every day for a week.”
“And yet they are as impudent as over. They think that we shall surrender as soon as we grow a little more hungry.”
“Then they’ll be sold,” said Dickenson, “for the hungrier I grow the more savage and full of fight I get. You know about the old saying of some fellow, that when he had had a good dinner a child might play with him?”
“Oh yes, I know,” said Lennox. “Well, these children of the desert had better not try to play with me.”
“Ought to have a notice on you, ‘Take care; he bites’—eh?” said Lennox merrily.
“ ’M, yes; something of the kind. I say, I wish, though, I could sleep without dreaming.”
“Can’t you?”
“No; it’s horrible. I go to sleep directly I lie down, and then the game begins. I’m at Christmas dinners or banquets or parties, and the tables are covered with good things. Then either they’ve got no taste in them, or else as soon as I try to cut a slice or take up a mouthful in a spoon it’s either snatched or dragged away.”
“Oh, don’t talk about food,” said Lennox impatiently; “it makes me feel sick. There’s one comfort, though.”
“Is there?” cried Dickenson excitedly. “Where? Give us a bit.”
“Nonsense! I mean we have plenty of that beautiful spring water.”
“Ugh!” cried Dickenson, with a shudder. “Cold and clear, unsustaining. I saw some water once through a microscope, and it was full of live things twizzling about in all directions. That’s the sort of water we want now—something to eat in it as well as drink.”
Lennox made an irritable gesture.
“Talk about something else, man,” he cried. “You think of nothing but eating and drinking.”
“That’s true, old man. Well, I’ll say no more about drinking; but I wonder how cold roast prisoner would taste?”
“Bob!” shouted Lennox.
“Well, what shall I talk about?”
“Look about you. See how beautiful the kopjes and mountains look in the distance this evening; they seem to glow with orange and rose and gold.”
“There you go again! You’re always praising up this horrid place.”
“Well, isn’t it beautiful? See how clear the air is.”
“I dare say. But I don’t want clear air; I’d rather it was thick as soup if it tasted like it.”
“Soup! There you go again. Think of how lovely it is down by the river.”
“With the Boers popping at you? I say, this ear of mine doesn’t heal up.”
“You don’t mind the doctor’s orders.”
“So much fighting to do; haven’t time.”
“But you grant it is beautiful down by the river?”
“Yes, where only man is vile—very vile indeed; does nothing all day but try to commit murder. But there, it’s of no use for you to argue; I think South Africa is horrible. Look at the miles of wretched dusty desert and stony waste. I don’t know what we English want with it.”
“Room for our colonists, and to develop the mines. Look at the diamonds.”
“Look at our sparkling sea at home.”
“Look at the gold.”
“I like looking at a good golden furzy common in Surrey. It’s of no use, Drew, my lad; it’s a dismal, burning, freezing place.”
“Why don’t you throw it up and go home, then?”
“What! before we’ve beaten the Boers into a state of decency? No!”
Bob Dickenson’s “No!” was emphatic enough for anything, and brought the conversation between the two young men to an end; for it was close upon the time for the mess dinner, which, whatever its shortcomings, as Bob Dickenson said, was jolly punctual, even if there was no tablecloth.
So they descended from where they had perched themselves close up to the big gun, where their commanding position gave them the opportunity for making a wide sweep round over the karoo, taking in, too, the wooded course of the river and the open country beyond in the possession of the Boers.
But they had seen no sign of an enemy or grazing horse; though they well knew that if a company of their men set off in any direction, before they had gone a quarter of a mile they would be pelted with bullets by an unseen foe.
They had seen the walls and rifle-pits which guarded the great gun so often that they hardly took their attention. All the same, though, soldier-like, Drew Lennox could not help thinking how naturally strong the kopje was, how easy it would be for two or three companies of infantry to hold it against a force