Chapter V: Diamond Valley

Jack Lovat was warmly congratulated by the New Zealanders on their arrival at the Kopje Farm, and the ostrich farmer naturally felt proud of his son.

The return of Bessie was described by Jack, and Trooper Morton said he had no doubt whatever that the animal which had bolted when its Boer rider was shot by Trooper Morton and Mr. Lovat was none other than the gallant little mare.

As soon as daylight broke, the Colonials, headed by Mr. Lovat, Jack, and Pete, examined the country in front of the ostrich kraal to a distance of a thousand paces.

Three dead Boers and two horses were found stretched on the veldt, and Jack Lovat had no difficulty in identifying the body of Jan Van Donnop, one of the sons of the Dutch settler of that name.

Jan and his brothers, Piet and Stephanus, had mysteriously disappeared from the neighbourhood soon after the outbreak of hostilities, and their father had given it out that the lads had gone to reside at East London with a relative in order to learn the trade of milling.

Mr. Lovat made a more important discovery. Attached to the saddle of a dead horse was the cowhide bag which the previous morning had contained his five hundred sovereigns, but which, alas! was now empty.

The pockets of the dead Boers revealed no traces of the lost gold, and Morton remarked, "I'm afraid, Mr. Lovat, you have said good-bye to the coin. None of these men are leaders."

Mr. Lovat was examining the features of one of the dead men, and without heeding the Colonial's remark, he said, "This fellow is the man who commandeered Bessie."

With the aid of pickaxes and spades, a trench was made by the New Zealanders, and the stricken Boers and their horses were decently interred, Jack Lovat taking charge of several mementos belonging to Jan Van Donnop.

Jack was possessed of a humane nature, and being far from illiterate and possessing a cosmopolitan turn of mind, he had not the racial prejudices so largely predominant during the awful struggle in South Africa which commenced at the end of the nineteenth century.

Morton had taken intuitively to Jack, and after the interment he whispered in the lad's ear, "Why don't you join us? The war is not half over yet, and there is sure to be a lot of fighting. Ask your father to allow you to come with us."

"I'm afraid he won't," answered Jack. "I wanted to join Driscoll's Scouts, but he refused, and I believe I have learned the first duty of a soldier."

"And pray, what is that?" queried the trooper.

"Why, obedience," replied Jack. "I owe that duty to my father, who is most kind to me. Besides, I hardly think it would be right for me to leave mother and Mary just now. Mary is my sister. You saw her when your fellows came here."

"Well, all I can say, youngster, is that you are a brick and no mistake," said the trooper enthusiastically. "What did you feel like when the Boers came up? Timid?"

"Hardly," remarked Jack laconically. "I was only sorry that they didn't try to storm in broad daylight. I mean about noon, say."

The trooper laughed outright at Jack's bold statement, and said, "Well, I thought we New Zealanders were a cool set of fellows, but you ostrich people take the cake."

The pair were approaching the Kopje Farm, bringing up the rear-guard, when Jack turned and asked, "You have been a soldier all your life, haven't you?"

The trooper laughed as he replied, "Oh dear no; I'm a working jeweller by trade, and when at home am engaged by a large firm in Auckland. When the mother country called for men, I volunteered for service in South Africa. Why do you ask the question, my lad?"

"I thought you had always been a soldier, for you look so like one," answered Jack; and Morton felt a trifle elated, for what man or boy exists who does not inwardly relish a small modicum of flattery?

"You have nothing in the shape of diamonds, I suppose, in this part of the country?" queried the trooper. "I have examined the clay in several dongas as we came along, and from what I know of mineralogy, I should say that diamonds are to be found in this district."

"Crystals are common enough about here," answered Jack. "I have a collection which I will show you when we reach the farm. Among the pebbles are several fine garnets and amethysts. One of our 'boys,' Pete by name, picked up a stone, which he found embedded in a sort of bluish clay only a fortnight ago. It is too dull, however, for a diamond."

During the few minutes occupied in the return to the farm, Morton thought deeply about what Jack had told him. He was a thorough patriot, but since he had been in South Africa his mind had dwelt largely on diamonds, for exaggerated accounts of the mineral resources of the veldt had reached New Zealand.

Mr. Lovat was a thoughtful man, and since the beginning of the war had laid up big supplies of eatables in the shape of hams, bacon, preserved meats, and tins of jam and marmalade.

It seemed as though the Kopje Farm had been designedly prepared for a siege, for in the big storeroom at the back of the house were provisions calculated by Mr. Lovat to last at least twelve months, and these were being added to.

The major determined to allow his men a few hours' rest, and the horses were off-saddled and given a good feed of corn, Jack Lovat paying particular attention to Morton's mare, which was a magnificent creature nearly seventeen hands high, and noted for its swiftness and sureness of foot.

Jack conducted his newly-made friend round the ostrich kraal, and explained the various operations connected with the hatching of eggs and the plucking of the birds' plumage, and the trooper evinced great interest in the young settler's narration.

The remains of poor Zacchary, the "boy" who was shot at the loophole, had been reverently interred, and Jack and his friend were standing alone beside the mound of freshly turned earth, when the latter observed, "Oh, by the way, Jack, I would very much like to have a look at that stone you spoke to me about."

"You mean the pebble Pete gave to me?" asked Jack.

"Yes, I think that is the nigger's name," replied Morton.

To the trooper's great surprise, Jack instantly fired up. "No, that won't do; we don't call our 'boys' niggers. They are our 'boys,' and faithful ones they are, too."

The New Zealander smiled at Jack's impetuosity, and remarked, "A very good trait in your character. Only we have seen so many Kaffirs since we have been in the country that all nice distinctions are washed out, and we call the blacks generally 'niggers,'--not a very gentlemanly expression, I admit."

"Our 'boys' maybe are above the general run," said Jack, "but they are tried and trusty ones. I shall never forget how they volunteered to a man to defend this place, when they might have slunk away. Their fate, too, if captured, they well knew, for they would have been brutally sjambokked and then shot. The boys stood up as good as the best of white men, and I admire them. Poor old Zacchary! Oh, you spoke about the stone my father's native foreman gave me; I will bring it;" and Jack walked across to the house, the New Zealander all the while admiring the stalwart figure of the ostrich farmer's son.

Jack presently returned, and handed the stone to Morton, who carefully examined it with the eye of an expert.

The pebble was about the size of a large hazel nut, with a straw-coloured tint, and Morton twirled it between his finger and thumb for quite a minute before speaking.

"Do you know what this pebble really is?" he asked. An unusual brightness shone in his eyes as he spoke, and he glanced keenly at Jack.

"A pebble, of course," answered our hero. "Pete said he saw several others of the same kind where he found this one."

"And where did Pete find the stone?" queried the trooper.

"In a donga about a couple of miles from here, just over the kopje," answered Jack.

"I'll tell you something later on," said Morton,--"a thing that will probably astonish you."

Jack Lovat's eyes opened rather wider than usual as he asked, "Is the pebble a diamond?"

"A genuine stone, my lad, and just as good in quality as the Kohinoor. If you can lay your fingers on a dozen more such stones, you can give up ostrich farming and go back to the old country."

"If you are staying here any length of time, perhaps you will go with me to the donga. Pete knows the spot to a nicety," said Jack.

"We'll see," remarked the trooper. "I must look up the major and learn his plans. I should like nothing better than to pay a visit to this wonderful donga. You will excuse me now;" and he strode off towards his troopers, who were engaged in rubbing down their horses.

A hardier lot of warriors than the men of C Troop Auckland Rangers, it would be difficult to find or even imagine. Their ages ranged from twenty to forty, every man of them standing six feet and over. Maoriland indeed had sent its best sons to do battle for the empire, the centre of which is the little sea-girt isle whose ensign is the Union Jack.

The New Zealanders were right royally treated by the owner of the Kopje Farm, and Major Salkeld determined to remain until evening, when the horses would be up-saddled and preparations made for the march to Springbokfontein.

This was just what Morton desired, and at noon, guided by Jack Lovat and Pete, the New Zealander set out for the donga where the Kaffir had found the crystal.

Each of the trio carried a rifle, with a supply of ammunition. The ascent of the kopje was made with considerable difficulty; for path there was none, and treacherous holes were abundant.

"Be careful," said Jack, turning round to the Colonial. "A broken leg, or maybe two, won't be very nice."

"All right, my lad; I'm on the look-out for possible squalls," answered the trooper. "I wonder if we shall come across any Boers."

"That is hardly likely," observed Jack. "There are no roads beyond the top of the kopje, and no farms for a dozen miles."

The summit of the kopje was reached, when a grand panorama spread out in front of Jack Lovat and his two companions. Rheni Kop, a rugged kopje with a part of its summit shaped like the tower of a castle, loomed some half-dozen miles away. Leading to the kopje were two deep dongas, and it was to the one on the right that the trio were bound. For many years the donga had been known as Diamond Valley.

"Tell the 'boy' to lie down," said Morton, as soon as they arrived at the top of the kopje; "and you as well, Jack," he went on. "I want to have a peep round the country with my glasses. People don't look well sometimes on the skyline."

Jack and Pete at once obeyed instructions; and Morton, taking out his glasses, for a few moments peered through them.

"All's correct," he said, after replacing the glasses in their leather case. "I don't think any doppers are about here. And now, Jack, kindly instruct your 'boy' to show us the place where he found the pebble."

Jack said something to Pete in a low tone of voice, to which the Kaffir replied, "All right, Baas Jack. Come along;" and leading the way, Pete with careful steps made tracks towards the donga on the right.

Progress was necessarily slow, for boulders of rock, and little gullies are not conducive to rapid locomotion.

Onward the three tramped for a distance of half a mile, when Pete halted at a part of the donga where its side rose almost perpendicularly to a height of ten or twelve feet.

The rock was composed of gneiss, along which bands of bluish-coloured clay ran in horizontal layers.

"Dis was de place where I found de glass pebble, Baas Jack," said the Kaffir, pointing to a ledge of rock through which a small stream of water trickled.

Morton by this time had pulled out a large clasp knife and was engaged in chipping off portions of the blue clay, which yielded readily to the impact of the knife.

The weapon struck something hard, and withdrawing the knife, Morton cut away the clay surrounding it. After all, the object might only be a fragment of rock, but the New Zealander's heart began to beat faster than was its wont.

"By heavens," he muttered, "if this turns out to be a klip (diamond)!"

Presently the stone was in his hand, and he anxiously pared off the fragments of blue clay adhering to it.

"A crystallised stone, at any rate," he ejaculated, placing the find in the breast pocket of his tunic. He again proceeded to excavate more clay, when he was arrested by a cry from the Kaffir. "Look, Baas Jack," exclaimed Pete. "De Boers! de Boers!"

Morton's knife dropped out of his hand, and hastily picking up his rifle, he queried, "Where are they, Pete?"

"Down dere, baas," answered the Kaffir. "I saw de heads ob two Boers peep ober, about five hundred yards away. I am sure dey must----"

Pete's answer was prematurely finished, for the "pip-pop" of half a dozen Mausers rang out, and the next moment Jack Lovat, with blanched face, was lying on the ground, and a stream of blood trickled down the left sleeve of his jacket. Jack's rifle slipped from his grasp, and but for the safety catch, a bullet would probably have whizzed near Morton; for the barrel rested on a fragment of rock, and the New Zealander was directly in the line of fire.

The latter bent over Jack, who was writhing with pain. It was only the work of a moment for Morton to pick up his clasp knife and rip open a seam of the garment.

Jack, although a brave lad, winced, while the trooper examined the wound.

"Only a flesh hurt," said Morton; "lucky, though!" and swiftly applying the field dressing, he bound up the injured limb.

Another peculiar whistle heralded the approach of a shower of bullets fired by unseen marksmen.

"I guess we are in a tight hole now," soliloquised Morton. "We'll have to get a place of shelter somehow. Can you manage to walk, my lad?" addressing Jack. But our hero was already on his feet.

"I'm all right now," answered Jack, although he looked far from being in that desirable state.

"We must get down to the donga as quickly as possible; there will be more shelter. I'll carry you, Jack."

"No, no!" said Jack. "I can manage to walk. You might take my rifle, please, for my arm seems paralysed."

With some difficulty, Jack Lovat and his two companions made tracks for the kopje overlooking his father's farm, but long before the summit over which they meant to pass on their hands and knees was reached, Morton was bowled over by a bullet, and but for the friendly protection of a shoulder-strap buckle, would undoubtedly have been killed. As it was, the missile, after being deflected by the buckle, lodged in the muscles of his upper right arm, and rendered that member useless.

Although in great pain, with blood trickling from the unstanched wound, the New Zealander, forming the rear-guard, turned his face in the direction of the Kopje Farm, and with tightened lips moved forward towards the summit.

They had not proceeded more than a hundred paces when the scout stumbled and fell.

The hardy frame of the New Zealander, stricken as he was, could not stand the strain, and he tumbled over in a dead faint.

"This is a predicament, Pete," said Jack, as he bent over the prostrate figure. "We must, however, get to some place of shelter;" and the brave lad looked around him.

A natural cave opened its yawning mouth about fifty yards away, and towards its friendly shelter Pete and Jack managed to drag their still unconscious ally.

The firing had ceased, but Jack had the conviction they were still being watched by the enemy.

The cave was the mouth of a depression such as is commonly seen among the kopjes of South Africa, and with some difficulty, for Jack's arm was powerless, the wounded trooper was carried inside. Morton soon regained consciousness, but his mind was clouded, and he talked somewhat incoherently.

"Keep the beggars off, my lad," he said to Jack. "This confounded wound has disabled me."

Our hero asked for the loan of Morton's glasses, and creeping to the mouth of the cave, glanced along the donga.

He thought he saw objects above the rocks at a distance of some five hundred paces, and came to the conclusion that what he saw were slouch-hats worn by invading Boers.

The slouch-hats seemed to advance. He glanced again, but boulders of rock only met his gaze. Soon the hats grew larger in size and number, and a mist spread before Jack's vision. Rheni Kop with its castellated tower became a blurred image, even through the clear atmosphere of the veldt.

"Pete!"

"Yes, Baas Jack," answered the Kaffir.

"Come here, and tell me what you make of these things."

The Kaffir crept to Jack's side, but refused the glasses which Jack had handed to him.

"My eyes are good, baas. I can see well widout dese," said Pete. "We are done for, Baas Jack. More dan fifty ob de rascals are coming. Shall I fire, baas?"

"No, certainly not, Pete," replied Jack, whose wound had infused in the lad's mind a certain amount of wholesome discretion.

"Dey have de white flag up, baas," said Pete. "Dere be five comin' dis way. Shall I fire?" and the eyes of the Kaffir sparkled. Pete went on: "De foremost one is Piet Van Donnop, de brute who once sjambokked me for nuthing. May I fire, baas? I can bring him down like an aasvogel (vulture)."

"Nothing of the sort, Pete," replied Jack. "We are powerless. Let them come on."

"All right, baas," said Pete. "If you say dat, they might as well see me;" and the Kaffir slipped outside the cave, carrying his rifle with him.

"Come back, you fool!" cried Jack; but he was powerless to prevent his father's native foreman from disobeying his command.

Pete gazed with an air of nonchalance at the approaching figures, who were now only three hundred yards away. The Kaffir stood leaning on his rifle. His brows were knitted, and all the wild savagery of his nature was aroused.

The Boers halted, and presently two of their number, one of them carrying a white handkerchief affixed to the barrel of his rifle, advanced towards Pete.

The latter glanced at the breech of his rifle, opened it, after which his eyes enlarged in wonderment. The breech and magazine were empty. Jack Lovat, who was peering over the edge of the cave, cried, "Drop your rifle, Pete!" but the command was not obeyed.

"Dey shall see no hands ob mine go up," muttered the Kaffir; "an' if de Boer is Piet Van Donnop, he can look out."

The strangers advanced, and the next moment Jack Lovat heard the cry, "Hands up, 'boy,' or we'll fire!"

Pete clutched his rifle, and advancing a few paces, delivered a stroke with the butt of his weapon on the head of the foremost Boer, and the latter tumbled over.

A moment later, brave Pete, the Kaffir "boy," fell, pierced through the brain by a bullet. He expired almost instantly, leaving his young master and the wounded New Zealander helpless in the hands of the Boers.