Chapter II: A Boer Laager

Eleven miles north-west of Orangefontein, and an almost equal distance from Springbokfontein, a party of Boers were laagered. They were Free Staters, with a sprinkling of Hollanders and renegade Britons--the latter, few in number, having at one time served with the English colours, and owing to their misdeeds, had deserted or been drummed out of the British army.

Nearly all were in rags, for that ubiquitous cavalry leader, General French, had not allowed them a minute's rest, but had hurried and harried them hither and thither, until the majority of the burghers had grown sick and tired of the guerilla warfare, and wished for the end to come.

Their portable possessions--and indeed the latter could not be otherwise than portable--were stowed away in a few light Cape carts.

Ammunition was scarce, and had to be husbanded with the greatest care, while food could only be procured with much difficulty from the scattered farmsteads among the mountains of the Langeberg Range.

A Boer of immense stature, holding in his right hand a formidable sjambok, was leaning against the wheel of one of the carts. He was a magnificent specimen of physical manhood, and the privations that for two long years he had uncomplainingly endured had only served to increase his tremendous muscular strength.

His bronzed and deeply marked features showed a strength of will and determination rare even in that race of obstinate men, the Boers of South Africa.

An immense beard swept his breast, the hair composing it being streaked with gray. When Christian Uys first shouldered his rifle on the outbreak of hostilities he was, comparatively speaking, a young man, but under the sombre folds of the flag of war he had grown prematurely aged and gray.

A young burgher passing with a led horse, with a limping gait, arrested his attention, and awoke him from the train of gloomy reveries he was indulging in.

"Ah, Van Donnop," said the commandant, "I wish to speak to you. What is the matter with your horse?"

The burgher whom he addressed was a sprightly young fellow of nineteen, strongly made, and as agile as the springbok he had hunted from youth upwards.

"It is lame, Commandant," answered the youth. "One of its pasterns is split. I do not think it will be able to travel farther. And my favourite horse, too. I am very sorry, for it has been mine since it was a foal."

"I too am sorry, Piet," said the officer in a sympathising tone of voice. "We are greatly in need of horses."

The commandant stooped down and examined the horse's hoofs, after which he looked up and remarked in a grave tone of voice, "A bad case, Piet. The poor brute must be killed."

A crimson flush surged up into the face of the young burgher, and he exclaimed excitedly, "Do not ask me to kill her, Commandant! She was my mother's gift to me when I was sixteen. I am hoping to leave her at my father's farm and obtain another mount in her place."

A look of pity crept into the commandant's face as he gazed at the boy.

"Ah, I forgot, Van Donnop," said the Boer leader; "you are now in your native parts. How long have you served in my commando?"

The young burgher thought for a moment, and then answered, "From three months before we beat the rooineks at Koorn Spruit, near the Waterworks. Let me see, that is now going on for two years. You will allow me to keep the mare, Commandant?" Van Donnop asked beseechingly.

"But how will you travel?" asked Uys.

"I am fleet of foot, and do not mind the hardship," pleaded the lad. "If I may only keep my horse, I shall be happy. She is part of myself;" and Piet's voice faltered as he went on, "She who gave me the mare is dead."

Piet stroked the finely arched neck of the mare, and the gentle creature rubbed its tawny muzzle against the young burgher's cheek.

"We shall see," said the commandant at last. "By the way, you and your brother Jan know this countryside well. If we are to reach Port Nolloth, we must have more mounts. Do you know any likely place where we can replenish our stock of horses?"

"There is one farm where many horses are kept--at least there used to be, when I was at home."

"And where is that?" asked the commandant. "To whom does the farm belong?"

"To a settler named Lovat," answered Piet.

"One of our race?" interrogated the commandant.

"He is opposed to us," replied Piet; "his name is a foreign one. He is a Scotch settler who breeds many horses and ostriches."

"Has he helped the rooineks?" queried Uys, and a frown passed over his face.

"He does not sympathise with us, Commandant," answered Piet, "but I do not think he has favoured one side or the other. I believe he is entirely taken up with looking after his ostriches."

"And you can guide us to this farm?" asked the commandant. "Possibly he may have some spare nags."

Piet Van Donnop evidently did not like the suggested commission, and the commandant, noting this, went on: "We must have some mounts, Piet, or the rooineks will catch us. If that happens, I'm afraid our fate will be a sorry one. A regiment of Lancers--the men who cut up the Transvaalers at Elandslaagte--as well as several troops of New Zealanders are on our track, and without fresh horses we shall stand an almost sure chance of capture."

"You will not harm Mr. Lovat or his family?" asked Piet.

A smile played for a moment on the commandant's stern features, then he said, "Not at all, Piet. Why should we? I'm afraid your heart is concerned in the matter. But of course we must have what we require, and very few questions asked into the bargain."

"I will guide you, then," said the young burgher. "I may keep my horse, Commandant?"

"We shall see in the morning, boy," was the only reply vouchsafed by the Boer leader; and Piet moved on, leading his lame horse.

Taking out an immense pipe from one of his pockets, Christian Uys filled it with leaf tobacco, lit up, and began to smoke.

The commandant was evidently in a tender mood, for his thoughts were in distant Winburg, where his wife and the children left to him were being sheltered in a concentration camp, created by his arch-enemies, the British.

His was a strange compound of human nature. At times generous and kind, at others he was fierce, implacable, and relentless. Like his famous leader, General Joubert, at the outset he had realised that the struggle in which his country had engaged was a hopeless one, but with the obstinacy characteristic of his race, when once his hand was put to the plough, there was no turning back.

Christian Uys had already lost three sons in the war. His youngest, a boy of fifteen, and the flower of the commandant's family, had been shot in the stomach at Senekal. The brave boy hid his wound and continued on the march, although a trail of blood marked the path along which he rode, until he fell exhausted from his saddle, and with his dying breath, and a look of intense love in his eyes, said, "Father, I can fight no more, I am done." These were the brave lad's last words, and like others on both sides, yielded up his spirit for the cause in which he thought he was righteously fighting.

An older brother had been with the fierce Cronje in the honeycombed banks of the Modder, amidst the brown sulphurous smoke of bursting lyddite shells, and while bringing water for a wounded comrade from the polluted stream, had been struck squarely in the chest by a Lee-Enfield bullet, and had fallen on his face, never to rise again.

The last to die was the oldest boy of the family. A delicate youth at the best, he had gone on commando with his father when the vierkeleur was first hoisted in the field. For several months he had fought and roughed it with the rest, until foul enteric seized him, and the ranks of the Boer army knew him no more. He found a last resting-place in a shallow grave on the veldt, not many miles from his birthplace.

Christian Uys woke up from his reverie and took a stroll round the laager. Here was Jan Steen, once a well-to-do jeweller of Winburg, who before war broke out was always immaculately dressed, with ample starched shirt front and bejewelled fingers; there Van Sterck, the learned medico of the same town. Neither had had a change of raiment for months, and both looked correspondingly miserable. Yonder stood Louis Bredon, the dandy of Harrismith, now a veritable scarecrow in trousers made of sacking on which the address of a large milling concern in Johannesburg was branded in staring black letters. Bredon, like the rest of the commando, was weary of the daily trekking, discomfort, and misery incidental to warfare, and his mind was wandering back to the time when he used to walk down the shady side of Harrismith's main street, the cynosure of the belles of the Free State town.

"You look discontented, Bredon," said Uys. "I am afraid you are like most of my burghers. We cannot give in now, after we have endured so much. There has not been sufficient fighting of late to keep up your martial spirit. We want horses, Bredon, and they must be obtained, if we are to reach Port Nolloth. Otherwise we had better surrender."

"I have no objection, Commandant," replied Bredon somewhat brusquely. "I've had enough of the war. We ought never to have been drawn into it."

"You speak like a patriot," observed Uys sarcastically. "I undergo the same hardships as other burghers. You have suffered nothing as yet. In what respect have you endured more than the rest of us?"

Bredon hung down his head in a sheepish manner and remained silent.

"I am finding a cure for your melancholy and dissatisfaction, Bredon. I am detaching a portion of the commando for the duty of securing a fresh supply of horses. Van Donnop is acting as guide to the farmstead of a settler named Lovat. You will form one of the commandeering party;" and Uys passed on.

"To think," muttered the commandant, "fellows such as Bredon were the most eager at the outset, and now they begin to whine when a little hardship has to be borne! My poor Christian, Louis, and Wilhelm were formed of different stuff."

Christian Uys came up to a man who was busily engaged in cleaning his Mauser. The burgher laid down his rifle as the commandant approached.

"Eloff," began Uys, "I want you to pick a dozen good men of the commando. Before morning I must have half a score of horses. Piet Van Donnop knows a farm where they can be obtained, and will guide you to it."

Paul Eloff was a man built in the same herculean mould as his leader, Christian Uys, and he looked at the commandant keenly.

"We shall want more, Commandant," said Eloff; "a dozen will scarcely suffice. Let me see," and the Boer began counting rapidly on his fingers, after which he added, "Yes, quite a dozen, Commandant. The spare led horses were taken as mounts yesterday. We must reach Port Nolloth, or we shall be cut off by the rooineks."

"You will muster the burghers, then, Eloff," said Uys. "Bring them round to the commissariat waggon within half an hour, and do not forget Van Donnop. Although a boy, his heart is good."

"I will not fail, Commandant," replied Eloff, picking up his rifle and recommencing the cleansing process.

In less than the stipulated time, Eloff with his picked burghers stood before the commandant, each man at his horse's head.

Christian Uys called Eloff aside and whispered, "Do you think you are sufficiently strong for the purpose in hand?"

"I should make the patrol fifty strong, Commandant," answered Eloff. "You are remaining in laager, I suppose, until we return?"

"That is my intention, Eloff," answered Uys. "Van Donnop informed me that the Kopje Farm--this Scotch settler's residence--is some eight miles from here. You will keep a sharp look-out for the rooineks, Eloff, and not be caught napping?"

A smile spread over Eloff's face as he answered, "When I am found asleep, Commandant, I shall not return to tell the tale. We have got to the end of our tether, and I am longing to have one more go at the rooineks. After that, well--oblivion."

"It is a bad cause we have started on, Eloff," said Uys. "It is as General Joubert foretold at the beginning, we are fighting in a lost cause. How can we hope to stand against a mighty Power like England, which has millions of gold and men without number? Bah! we were a race of fools to be led by the nose. President Kruger, who commenced the war, basely deserted us. But I must not speak of this. It is horses we want, and horses we must have."

Paul Eloff quickly mustered the additional burghers required, and in sections of fours the motley cavalcade trekked towards the Kopje Farm.

Eloff and Van Donnop rode at the head of the slender force, and the former turning to the young Dutchman, said, "This is a rough country, Van Donnop. You spent most of your life here?"

"Until I went on commando," answered Piet. "I shall be glad when I can get back to my father's farm. Those were happy days, Eloff."

"You know the farmstead whither we are bound," inquired Eloff, "and the people as well, I suppose?"

"Perfectly," answered Piet.

"And what about the owner? Is he a fighting man? Shall we have much trouble?"

"Mr. Lovat is quiet enough," replied Piet. "He has a son named Jack, a dare-devil sort of boy, who will show fight, I think, but possibly he may be on commando with the rooineks."

"Any Kaffirs kept on the farm?" queried Eloff.

"There used to be many," answered Van Donnop. "I do not wish any harshness to be used towards Mr. Lovat. He used to be very kind to me before I went on commando. The horses will be paid for, I suppose?"

Eloff laughed outright as he replied, "Van Donnop, I don't think a single gold piece can be found in the pockets of the whole commando. My instructions are to take what we require--as civilly, of course, as possible. The account will be paid when the vierkeleur flies not over the Transvaal and Orange Free State only, but over the whole of the Cape. A receipt for the horses, of course, will be given."

The Boers, who had been travelling through a series of dongas, now debouched into a fairly open country.

Eloff halted his men, and after looking ahead, turned to Van Donnop.

"You have a pair of field glasses, Van Donnop, allow me to look through them."

Piet handed the glasses to Eloff, who placed them to his eyes.

"There is a farmhouse, Van Donnop, on a kopje some four miles ahead," said Eloff; "is it the home of this Mr. Lovat?"

"That is where Mr. Lovat used to live," replied Piet; "things have changed much lately."

"A big place for a farmstead," observed Eloff. "This Mr. Lovat must be rich."

"He is said to be fairly wealthy," answered Piet. "He was a nobleman in his own country, so I have heard it said."

"And the house lower down the valley, to whom does that belong?" queried Eloff. "Take the glasses, Van Donnop, then you will see what I mean. Over there;" and the Boer pointed with his index finger in a certain direction.

"That is Jagger's Farm," said Piet, after a glance through the glasses. "No horses can be obtained there. The farm has not been occupied for years."

"We will march straight on the place, Van Donnop, rest a while, and then move on to--what is the name of the place, Piet?"

"The Kopje Farm," replied the young Dutchman. "Someone is driving a Cape cart towards Jagger's Farm, Eloff."

"Right you are, Van Donnop. Give me the glasses again," said Eloff.

Eloff peered through the instrument for a moment, after which he ordered half a dozen burghers to gallop rapidly towards Jagger's Farm, in order to intercept the solitary passenger in the Cape cart, while he and his remaining fellow-countrymen dismounted and awaited events.