Chapter IX: The Rescue

We must now return to Trooper Morton, whom we left bound in a cave in Diamond Valley. His wound was a painful one, and having lost a quantity of blood, he naturally felt somewhat weak.

The Boers had taken good care to secure his ankles. The hide with which they were bound was tied and knotted while wet, and, quickly drying, caused great pain by its contraction.

He raised himself into a sitting posture and began fumbling with the hide rope. He might as well have tried to snap bands of wrought iron. He was hungry as well, so he turned to the strip of biltong which the Boers had thrown to him when they departed.

"I suppose they take me for a cannibal," he muttered, looking at the dried ox-flesh. "However, I'll see what it is made of. I daresay I shall need all the strength I can muster before I reach my troop--if ever I do. I really don't want to make another acquaintance, while alone, with these beggars."

The biltong proved palatable, and Morton, possessing a healthy digestion and not being fastidious, made a satisfying meal of the unaccustomed food.

His next action was to crawl out of the cave, and with some difficulty he made his way to a little rivulet that ran along the base of one of the sides of the donga. In the bed of the stream were pebbles of various sizes, and after assuaging his thirst, he began to search for a sharp-edged stone.

For some minutes he was unsuccessful, but at last perseverance brought its reward, and he discovered a triangular-shaped piece of quartz. With this he began sawing at the rope, but he found the hide tougher than he had bargained for.

He hacked at his fetters until darkness set in, and by that time had only succeeded in severing a single strand. Two more must be cut before he could regain his freedom.

He resolved to snatch a few hours' sleep, so he crawled to a depression, a couple of hundred yards distant from the cave, and lay down. The night was bitterly cold, and the Southern Cross gleamed brightly above him. At last he fell asleep, and when he awoke streaks of yellow light were shooting upwards into the sky from the eastern horizon.

He again set to work on the hide rope, and before the sun had reached the point midway between the zenith and horizon was a free man. His ankles were sore and swollen, and taking off his stockings, he bathed his feet in the clear water of the stream, after which he felt better.

Then his mind turned to the pebble hidden within the recesses of his breast pocket. He took it out and examined it with interest and more than ordinary care.

"A few more like this," he muttered, "and I shall be able to open the finest shop in Auckland."

His knowledge of precious stones, and more especially diamonds, told him that he had secured a magnificent specimen of crystallised carbon. He retraced his steps to the place where he had found the diamond, passing on his way the dead body of poor Pete, and although his only implement was the three-edged piece of quartz, he was fortunate enough to find four additional stones, not so large as his first discovery, but still of great value.

Sounds of distant rifle-firing fell upon his ears, desultory at first, then in volleys. Like Jack Lovat, Morton had a pair of keen eyes and ears, and was well able to find his way about, so he soon located the scene of fighting.

He knew that the firing proceeded from an opposite direction to that of the Kopje Farm, and came to the conclusion that warfare was going on in that particular quarter. He would make the best of his way to Mr. Lovat's farmstead, where, if his comrades had departed, he could obtain a mount, and possibly a pair of boots. After that, he would try to rejoin his troop.

Quick locomotion was out of the question, for his feet were already blistered and bleeding, from contact with camel-thorns and pieces of jagged rock.

He was making for the summit of the kopje overlooking the farm, when a couple of Kaffirs suddenly appeared, and came running towards him. The natives halted, but Morton beckoned to them, and after some display of hesitancy, they came up.

The trooper was instantly recognised by the Kaffirs. They proved to be two of Mr. Lovat's "boys," Simon and Daniel.

Simon, who was a little fellow of singularly grotesque appearance, called out, "Baas, don't go to de Kopje Farm. It is in de hands ob bad Boers. Dey hab killed all de oder 'boys' 'cept Dan'l an' myself."

"What!" exclaimed Morton, "have our men left the farm?"

"Dey went dis mornin', baas," answered Simon. "Dere be hundreds ob de Boers. Dan'l ah' me got away through de bush, or we would hab been murdered as well. If only Baas Jack had been at home, dis would not hab happened; but de old baas no show fight, and de Boers are now up at de Kopje, eatin' an' drinkin' eberyding in the place."

"Hold hard, my dear fellow! Not quite so fast," said Morton; "you talk too quickly. I want you to tell me what has happened."

"Well, baas," replied the Kaffir, "Moses an' Pete and Baas Jack hab been missin' sin' yesterday, an' the missis and little missis hab been crying all de night an' day too. I know your face, baas. I saw you yesterday before Baas Jack an' Pete went away, an' den Moses sneaked away; an' oh, baas, dings are in a bad way at de Kopje Farm. De Boers hab taken Bessie, an' Juno, an' Jess, an'----"

"Look here, Simon Peter, or whatever your name is, you are spinning too long a yarn for me. Just answer me one or two questions. First, when did the Boers arrive at Mr. Lovat's?"

With the peculiarity habitual to Kaffirs, Simon began counting his fingers in a rapid manner, after which he replied, "Dey came two hours after de captain an' his men saddled up an' went away."

"How many Boers are at the Kopje Farm?" queried Morton. "Try and tell me exactly."

Again the native's fingers began the counting process.

"Well?" demanded Morton.

"I should say one hundred an' half dat number, all men wid some led horses. Dey killed all de 'boys' 'cept Pete, Moses, Dan'l, an' myself. It was horrible; but de baas would not fight, an' we got away. But where are your boots, baas? Your feet dey are bleedin', too, an' you look bad. Wounded?"

"Yes, a trifle, 'boy'--not much," replied Morton. "Have you any arms with you--knives or anything of that kind?"

Daniel, who was a forbidding-looking Kaffir considerably over six feet in height, pulled out a revolver from his trousers' pocket, and handing it to the New Zealander, said, "Dis belongs to Baas Jack, but I spec he is dead."

Morton took the weapon in his hand and examined it carefully. The pistol was branded with the mark of the British Small Arms Company, and was new and of heavy calibre.

"Any cartridges?" queried Morton.

"Plenty ob dem, baas," answered Daniel, producing a box which the trooper found contained fifty rounds. The Kaffir took the cartridges from a shooting coat that had evidently belonged to Mr. Lovat.

"You keep dat, baas," said Daniel, "if you will let us go wid you. We dare not go back to de Kopje Farm. I will now make you a pair ob boots dat will be all right."

Before Morton could say a word, the Kaffir plucked a number of large leaves from a shrub of the plantain species, and within a very short time, with the aid of a little string, had manufactured a pair of presentable sandals--if somewhat unshapely, at least comfortable.

"Now, baas," said Daniel, after he had fitted on the foot-gear, "do de boots suit? Dey will not last long, but better dan nothin'."

The New Zealander burst into a loud laugh, despite the seriousness of his position, and assured the Kaffir that he was delighted with the boots.

"Will you 'boys' go with me to the Kopje Farm?" asked he, as he rose to his feet.

The eyes of both Kaffirs rolled in their sockets, showing an unusual proportion of white, and Simon, the loquacious one, said with a splutter, "No, baas, a thousand times, no. Dan'l an' me likes a good fight, but a sjambokking first, and shootin' de next minute, don't suit dese two boys at all."

The strangely assorted trio, after Morton had rested a few minutes, set off in the direction of Orangefontein; Daniel, who knew the country well, leading the way, while the trooper and Simon followed in the rear.

Again Morton tackled his Kaffir companion about the commando of Boers who had so unexpectedly arrived at the Kopje Farm soon after the departure of the New Zealanders.

"Do you mean to say there was not the slightest attempt to show fight when the Boers arrived, Moses?"

"Dat is not my name, baas," replied the Kaffir, with some heat. "My name Simon. Moses no good at all--always up at Van Donnop's over de veldt; worse dan a Boer."

"Never mind what your name is, my good fellow," observed the trooper. "The Boers could not come from the Kopje?"

"No, baas; no road dat way. Dere be three paths up to de farm--one straight from de valley, an' de oders on what you call de right an' left flanks. De Boers came up on de left flank, while your boys went away by de right. We first saw de Boers when dey were a long way off."

"But you said that the 'boys' with the exception of yourselves had been killed. What makes you think that, Simon?"

"I dink nothin' at all about it, baas; I am sure." Here the Kaffir's eyes dilated widely. "From our hiding-place in de bush, Dan'l an' me saw one ob de 'boys' run into de ostrich kraal. A Boer ran after him an' shot him down. Den several oder shots were fired, and we knows what dat means. Den we see de missis and de little missie wiping dere eyes wid aprons. Dis is a bad mornin' for us, baas."

"All right, 'boys,'" said Morton; "you go along with me. Have you any knives?"

Daniel produced an ugly-looking bowie knife from a sheath which he had concealed inside his somewhat scanty shirt, and held it up for the white man's inspection.

"That will do," said the New Zealander. "And now heigho! for Orangefontein and my comrades of the Auckland Rangers!"

"Baas, can you tell me where young Baas Jack is?" asked Daniel.

"He is a prisoner in the hands of the Boers, my lad," answered Morton; "but I trust that before long we shall come across him. I think I----"

The New Zealander halted, for the sound of heavy rifle-fire could again be heard proceeding from some place a few miles distant in the right front.

"Fighting is going on," muttered Morton. "Hang my ill-luck! I am always out of the show,"--a statement which was by no means a correct one, seeing that Major Salkeld's favourite scout had been in more skirmishes probably than any other Irregular in the army.

Morton directed the two Kaffirs to look in the direction whence the reports came; but the keen vision of Simon and Daniel could detect no flashes of flame, and in these days of smokeless powder no haze hangs over scenes of fight.

The country was wild in the extreme--granite-peaked kopjes interlaced with innumerable little dongas met the vision, gaze where you would. The kopjes, whose sides and bases were clad with geraniums and heath of various kinds, formed a glorious mosaic against the steel-tinted blue of the African sky. Everything in Nature was sublime, and stood out in relief against the awful passions of men, who were striving might and main to imbrue their hands in their fellow-creatures' blood. War has its romance, its temporary glitter, but also its awful, black shadows in the shape of untold physical and mental suffering, endured by those who are compelled to serve under its sombre flag.

The firing continued, and Trooper Morton, irresistibly impelled by the sheer love of fighting innate within him, veered out of the track which Simon vehemently declared led to Orangefontein.

The New Zealander's temporary foot-gear had given way, and the two Kaffirs, while the Irregular rested, went in search of fresh leaves, taken from a bush of the plantain species, in order to patch up the old or manufacture a new pair of shoes.

The Kaffirs as a race are endowed with an extraordinary range and quickness of vision, and before Simon and Daniel had completed their self-imposed task, the latter's keen eye noted something on the horizon away to the right, which for the moment disturbed his peace of mind.

"Aasvogel, baas; dead people somewhere near!" said the unsophisticated Kaffir, as he advanced towards Morton, who was examining his still swollen ankles.

The vulture of South Africa, like the steed mentioned in Holy Writ, can smell the battle from afar, and little did Morton imagine that the hideous birds of prey were even now hovering above the bodies of his late comrades, proved friends in many a fight.

Farther away to the right still edged Morton. His adventurous spirit was yearning to be in the middle of the fray, but his Kaffir companions were not imbued with the same enthusiasm.

Presently the trio struck the Orangefontein road leading from Land Drift, and Morton called a halt. The biltong had given out, and the Kaffirs were empty-handed. Daniel, however, was equal to the emergency. His keen eyes detected some white flowers growing on the veldt, and his bowie knife was out in an instant.

"Somethin' good to eat, baas," he said, as he knelt down and began digging the ground round the flower roots. Presently he unearthed what appeared to be ground nuts. These he handed to Morton, saying, "You try dese, baas; dey are not bad eatin', an' you neber get tired after you hab made a meal ob dem."

The trooper responded to Daniel's invitation, and although the roots possessed a stronger pungent odour than he liked, he assuaged his hunger with them, and felt decidedly better after his meal.

Simon and Daniel squatted themselves down a few paces distant, for a Kaffir never partakes of food with a white man, and Morton threw himself on the veldt, on which at this part heath grew very plentifully, and stretched himself out.

Like the long continued rolling of thunder, rifle-firing had been heard by the three refugees, but all at once there was a fierce crackle, followed by a few intermittent shots--then silence.

"Baas!" cried Simon, running towards Morton, "some horsemen are comin' dis way. Dey be five." The Kaffir held up his hand, and continued, "Dey belong to you, baas. Kaffirs can see a long way."

Morton's heart seemed to leap into his mouth as he listened to Simon. The news seemed too good to be true.

"I can see nothing, Simon," said the trooper, shading his eyes and looking down the valley, in the direction pointed out by the Kaffir.

"Dere, baas, dere!" exclaimed Simon excitedly. "Dey be comin' straight for us;" and at last the New Zealander was able to distinguish five moving figures, advancing at a rapid trot towards them.

Morton was not exactly a religious man, but he felt devoutly thankful when five minutes later he found himself shaking hands with men belonging to his regiment whom he had not seen for a week.

They were scouts belonging to the B Troop of the Rangers. Rumours of a disaster to Major Salkeld's troop had reached headquarters, and instead of proceeding to Springbokfontein, Colonel Malcolmson, the commandant of the Rangers, with two Maxim guns and four hundred men, was even now in search of the missing troop.

Luckily the scouts had with them two led horses, so that Morton was enabled to obtain a mount. Simon and Daniel declined the offer made to them by Morton and backed up by the scouts. They would take their chance on the veldt. Morton knew that the blacks could fight well when in laager, but they had very little stomach for warfare when waged in the open field.

Before parting with the Kaffirs, the horsemen gave the two "boys" a supply of biscuit, after which they left them.

The six New Zealanders proceeded towards the spot where the firing had been heard. Everything was now quiet, and as they proceeded Morton detailed in a few words his experiences since Major Salkeld had left the main body.

"We are encamped in a valley about two miles from here," said the sergeant of the scouts, in answer to an interrogation by Morton. "Everything is in light order, and we got word an hour ago that Major Salkeld is in a tight corner, so we have been sent round here to find out what we can, and report at once. I never in all my life saw such country for manoeuvring in. A fight may be taking place not half a mile away, and you can see nothing. After what you have told us, I'm afraid the major has not only lost the number of his mess, but also that of his troop. Hullo! here comes a fellow. What does it mean?"

A few seconds later, a New Zealander, whose horse was foam-flecked and panting with exertion, rode up.

"Retire at once!" cried the new-comer. "Ah, Morton! is it really you? Glad to see you, I'm sure."

The speaker was a young lieutenant temporarily attached to the New Zealanders from the South African Light Horse.

"We have located the enemy, Sergeant," said the officer. "Now, right about!" and omitting the red tape, "trot! canter!" the seven Britishers rode hard for the Colonials' camp.

Morton, handicapped though he was with his plantain-leaf slipper--for by this time he had only one left--was not the last man to reach the camp of the New Zealanders.

The baggage and Maxims were left behind under a strong guard, and Morton, who had no difficulty in securing a pair of boots many sizes too large for him, which of course was a necessity, and a Lee-Enfield with its accompanying complement in a fully loaded bandolier, found himself once more on the warpath.

The scouts, who undiscovered, had located the Boers, led the way, and the force, nearly three hundred strong, approached the valley where Major Salkeld and his little band of heroes for hours had fought against an infuriated and stubborn foe.

An ominous silence reigned, but ahead on the several kopjes, isolated bodies of horsemen, few in number, could be seen retreating westward.

"Is this to be a repetition of the Gordon case?" asked Colonel Malcolmson of Captain Bryan, a young Irish soldier of fortune, who had served in Ladysmith during the early stages of the war. "Are we always to be too late? I pray that we may not be so now. Major Salkeld and his men are worth a king's ransom."

"I hope the present tense will hold good, sir," said the Irishman grimly. "The enemy have evacuated their positions, which looks bad."

Things did look dark, for when the colonel and his men arrived at the mouth of the donga where Major Salkeld had been trapped, thousands of empty cartridge-cases were found strewing the ground. The cases took the form of five-chambered Mauser clips.

In the middle of the donga, the relieving force found the remnant of Major Salkeld's troop, and tears came into the eyes of the bronzed warriors as they gazed upon the inanimate forms of the gallant lads from Maoriland, stretched behind the little breastworks formed by nature.

Some of the men still clutched their rifles, fingers on triggers, with foreheads wrinkled and savage-set lips. These lay on their stomachs, and had been hit while in the act of taking aim.

Others had rolled over in their last dying agony, and in their hands were clutched pieces of veldt grass and gravel.

Were there any survivors? Yes! A boyish form struggled to its feet and saluted the colonel, as he stood gazing in awe and wonderment at the little field of carnage. The form belonged to Jack Lovat, who merely said, "I'm pleased you have come, sir. We have done the best we could."

With the exception of the solitary wound he had received on the previous day, Jack Lovat amidst the continuous whistling storms of bullets, had not received a scratch. Major Salkeld was not killed, but had received a severe wound in the leg which floored him. Sergeant Oliphant had succumbed to a bullet through the brain not long after the commencement of the fight.

Nineteen troopers had been slain outright, four wounded mortally, while six more had been incapacitated. Jack Lovat was the only fighting survivor of the so-called little affair at Langeman's Drift.

The wounds of the living were at once attended to, and the dead reverently buried, Colonel Malcolmson officiating as chaplain and chief mourner.

In a consultation with Major Salkeld, the colonel said, "And you think, Major, that this commando will concentrate at the Kopje Farm?"

"I have no doubt about it, sir. I believe that even now the farm may be occupied by rebels," answered the major. "You have a splendid guide in young Lovut, the son of the owner. He is a young hero, and deserves a thousand Victoria Crosses. Take him with you, sir, and attack at once."

"Your advice is good, Major," said Colonel Malcolmson. "I am so sorry you can't come with us."

That was a physical impossibility, and no one felt more chagrined than the gallant Major Salkeld.

In our next chapter we shall describe the attack on Kopje Farm, and its results.