Chapter X: 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.

"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.