The Kopje Garrison: A Story of the Boer War
“I was thinking of the cattle, sir,” replied the sergeant gloomily. “Hungry and low as the poor lads are with the want of meat, it seems a sin to forsake all that raw roast-beef. It’s enough to make the men mutiny.”
“Not quite, sergeant,” replied his officer as he tramped steadily on. “But look forward; it doesn’t seem to make any difference. The baggage-guard has halted, but the oxen are marching on, following the wagons steadily enough.”
“Yes, sir; as the old lines used to say that I learnt at school, ‘It is their nature too.’”
“I suppose the enemy will divide, take a long reach round, and get ahead of the convoy.”
“Yes, sir, that’ll be their game. They’ll make for that patch of wood and rocks in front, occupy it, and force us to make a what-you-may-call-it.”
“Détour?” said Dickenson.
“That’s it, sir.”
“Yes,” said Dickenson thoughtfully; “they’ll be able – mounted – to make it before we can.”
But the major seemed to think differently, for he sent fresh men on to hurry the convoy, his intention being to occupy the rough patch of a few acres in extent, hoping to keep the enemy at bay from there till the promised help came from Groenfontein.
“Yes, I know,” he said impatiently when Dickenson joined him for a few minutes to receive fresh orders. “It’s distant, and we shall be without water; but it must be done. They must not even stampede the cattle.”
“The major says the cattle must be saved, sergeant,” said Dickenson as he doubled and rejoined his little company.
“Does he, sir?” said the sergeant cheerfully. “Very well, sir, then we must do it. Beg pardon, sir; might be as well for you to go on and say a few words to the lads to cheer them up.”
“They’re doing wonderfully well, sergeant.”
“That’s true, sir; but we want ’em to do better. They don’t see the worst of it. It’s all very well to appeal to a soldier’s heart and his honour, and that sort of thing; but this is a special time.”
“What do you mean? This is no time for making speeches to the brave fellows.”
“Of course not, sir. But just you say in your merry, laughing way something about the beggars wanting to get our beef, and you’ll see what the lads can do. Taking a bone from a hungry dog’ll be nothing to it. The lads’ll shoot as they never shot before, for there isn’t one of them that isn’t thinking of roast and boiled.”
Dickenson laughed, and went on at once along the little column, saying his few words somewhat on the plan the sergeant had suggested, and it sent a thrill through the little force. They had just come up with the convoy guard, who heard what he said, and somehow or other – how, it is as well not to inquire – several of the great lumbering beasts began to bellow angrily and broke into a trot, which probably being comprehended by the drove in front, they too broke into a trot, which in turn was taken up by the spans in the wagons, and the whole line was in motion.
The drivers and forelopers who led the way made for the cover, and at the word of order that passed along the line the men doubled, cheering loudly the while, and sending the bullocks blundering along in a cloud of dust.
“Steady, there! Steady!” shouted the major. “Never mind the cattle. The lads will be winded, and unable to shoot.”
“Yes,” panted Captain Edwards; for while this had been going on, the enemy, now tripled in number, were repeating their former evolution, and two clouds of them taking a wide sweep round were nearly abreast of the little force, evidently on their way to seize the patch of bush as a shelter for their horses while they dismounted, occupied the cover, and dealt destruction to those who came on.
The major saw the uselessness of his manoeuvre now, and was almost ready to give it up; but still he had hopes.
“The cattle will screen our advance,” he said, “and the enemy are bound to ride right round on account of cover for their horses. I believe even now that we can get to this side as soon as the Boers get to the other, and we must clear the bush at the point of the bayonet.”
The men soon knew what was required of them, and they kept on steadily at the double. But minute by minute it grew more evident that the fast, strong ponies of the enemy, long as the sweep being taken on either side proved to be, must get to the cover first; and, to the despair of the officers, while they were still far distant in the deceiving, clear air, they saw the two big clouds of the enemy, as if moved by one order like a well-trained brigade of cavalry, swing round right and left and dash for the thick patch of dwarf trees dotted with rocks.
“We’re done, sergeant,” said Dickenson breathlessly.
“Yes, sir,” said the man coolly; “they’ve six legs to our two. I’m sorry about that beef, for I’d set my mind on a good meal at last.”
At that moment the bugle rang out, for it was madness to press on, and the men, disappointed of their bayonet-charge to clear the little open wood, began to draw breath ready for their next order to turn off right or left and continue the retreat out of rifle-fire as soon as they could.
“Oh, it’s maddening!” cried Dickenson passionately as he unfastened the cover of his revolver holster.
“Oh no, sir,” said Sergeant James. “Case for a cool head. You’ll see now how neatly the major will get us out of fire and take us round. I wish, though, that our covering party had been within reach.”
An order rang out directly for the party to advance left incline, which meant the giving up of their loot, and the men went on with set teeth as they saw the two great clouds of Boers growing darker as they pressed in for the patch of trees; and then there was a cheer bursting from every throat – a cheer that was more like a hoarse yell, for from both ends of the little wood, still some five hundred yards away, there was a puff of smoke, followed by the rattle of a Maxim-gun on the right, a small field-piece, shrapnel charged, on the left, and directly after a couple of volleys given by well-concealed men.
The effect was instantaneous: riders and fallen horses and men were struggling in wild confusion, falling and being trampled down, and those unhurt yelling in wild panic to get clear. And all the while, as fast as they could fire, the hidden covering party in the wood were supplementing the Maxim and gun fire by emptying their magazines into the two horror-stricken mobs. For they were nothing better, as in a selfish kind of madness to escape they dragged their horses’ heads round and lashed and beat at them with the butts of their rifles, to begin frantically galloping back by the way they came.
But the worst of their misfortune had not come. Each wing had to gallop for some distance within shot of the major’s little force, which poured in volley after volley before “Cease firing!” was sounded, the Boers having continued their flight right away, evidently making for their ruined laager, leaving horse and man dotting the veldt.
The men were too busy congratulating each other upon their victory, and helping to round up the cattle scared by the firing, to pay much heed at first to the wounded enemy; but as soon as a dozen of the best riders were mounted on some of the Bechuana ponies which, minus their riders, had begun to contentedly browse on such green herbage as could be found, the major set a party to work bringing the wounded Boers into the shade.
“Their own people will see to them as soon as we are gone,” said the major. “What do you make out, Edwards?” he continued to that officer, who was scanning the retreating enemy through his glass.
“They seem to me to be gathering together for another advance,” said Captain Edwards.
“No,” said the major, “they will not do that. This has been too severe a lesson for them. They’ll wait till we are gone, and then come to see to their killed and wounded. That was a sudden turn in the state of affairs.”
“Ha!” replied Captain Edwards. “I was beginning to wonder how many of us would get back to Groenfontein.”
“Yes,” said the major; “so was I.”
In a very short time the ambulance party and the convoy, with its great train of cattle, were once more on their way to the camp, well-guarded by half the party Colonel Lindley had so opportunely sent to the help of the expedition, the rest, with the major’s little force, following more deliberately, keeping on the alert for another attack from the Boers, who waited till their foes were quitting the field before coming slowly on. But not for a new encounter; their aim now was only to carry off their wounded comrades and bury their dead.
“Yes,” said the major, “they have had one of the sharpest lessons we have given them during the war. We suffered enough in carrying the kopje by surprise; this time we have not lost a man.”
These last words haunted Dickenson all the way back to the camp, which was reached in safety, the men being tremendously cheered by the comrades they had left behind. But in spite of his elation with the grand addition to their supplies and the two great triumphs achieved by his men, the colonel looked terribly down-hearted at the long array of wounded men; while with regard to Lennox he shook his head.
“A sad loss,” he said. “I looked upon Drew Lennox as one of the smartest young fellows in the corps. It’s very hard that misfortune should have befallen him now.”
“But you think he’ll get back to us, sir?” said Dickenson excitedly.
The colonel gave him a quick look.
“I hope so, Mr Dickenson; I hope so,” he said. “There, cheer up,” he added. “We shall soon see.”
Chapter Twenty Six.
“A Coward! – a Cur!”
It was about an hour later, when the wounded had been seen to by the surgeon – who reported very favourably on the men, whose injuries were for the most part the result of blows from rifle-butts received in the struggle on the kopje – that two of the scouts who had been left to watch the Boers came in with a sufferer dangerously injured by a rifle-bullet.
Dickenson’s heart gave a throb as he saw the men, and being off duty, he hurried to meet them, in the hope and belief that they had found Lennox. But it was one of their companions.
The men’s report was that the Boers had come steadily on as the British force retreated, and had then been busily engaged collecting their dead and wounded, paying no heed to the little outpost watching them till their task was done, when, as the last of their wagons moved off, they began firing again, till one of the outposts fell, and the others remained too well covered, staying till the firing had ceased, and then hurrying back.
“Poor old Lennox!” said Dickenson to himself. Then, seeing that Sergeant James was watching him, he shook his head.
“I was hoping that they were bringing in Mr Lennox, sir,” said the sergeant gloomily. “Of course, seeing the temper the enemy is in after their defeat, it would be like getting some of our fellows murdered if the colonel gave me leave to go out with a white flag.”
“I’m afraid so too,” said Dickenson.
“But what about as soon as it’s dark, sir? Think the colonel would let us go to make a better search? He must be near the Boers’ laager where we missed him.”
“I was thinking something of the sort,” said Dickenson. “Will you go with me, James?”
“Will I go with you, sir?” cried the sergeant. “Wouldn’t I go through anything to try and get him back? You’ll ask the colonel to name me, sir?”
“If he gives consent,” said Dickenson warmly. “He’ll tell me to take two or three men, and of course I shall pick you for one.”
“Thankye, sir; and don’t you be down-hearted. You’re fagged now, sir, with all we’ve done since we started, and that explosion gave you a horrid shaking up. You go to your quarters, sir, as soon as the colonel has given leave, and lie down – flat on your back, sir – and sleep till it’s time for starting. I’ll have the others ready, and I’ll rouse you up, sir.”
“Very well, sergeant,” said the young officer. “I must own to being a bit down.”
As soon as the sergeant had left him, the young officer went to the colonel’s quarters and asked to see him.
“Come in, Dickenson,” said the chief, and he held out his hand. “Thank you, my lad,” he said. “I’ve heard all about what you’ve done. Very good indeed. I sha’n’t forget it in my despatch, but when it will get to headquarters is more than I can tell. I’m glad you have come. What can I do for you?”
Dickenson stated his wishes, and the colonel looked grave.
“I don’t know what to say, Dickenson,” he replied. “It would be a very risky task. I have scouts out, but I doubt whether they’ll be able to tell whether the enemy is still holding the kopje. If he is, you will run a terrible risk. I’ve just lost one of my most promising young officers; I can’t spare another.”
“I was afraid you would say so, sir. But Drew Lennox and I have always been regular chums together, and it seems horrible to settle down quietly here in safety and do nothing to try and find him.”
“It does, my dear sir; but we soldiers have to make sacrifices in the cause of duty.”
“Yes, sir; but we’ve had a splendid bit of luck since last night. Can’t you strain a point?”
The colonel smiled.
“Well, it’s hardly fair to call it luck, Dickenson,” he said. “I think some of it’s due to good management. Eh?”
“Yes, sir; you are quite right.”
“Well there, then, if you’ll promise me to run no risks with the lads, and return if you find the enemy still at the kopje, I’ll give you leave to take a sergeant and a couple of men and go.”
Dickenson looked pleased and yet disappointed.
“We might find him somewhere near, sir, even if the Boers are there,” he said.
“In the darkness of a moonless night, with men on the qui vive ready to fire at the slightest sound?”
“We got well into the laager last night, sir, with a hundred and fifty men,” said Dickenson in tones of protest.
“But you wouldn’t get in to-night with one, and such an enterprise against either of the other laagers would now be impossible. There, I can make no further concessions, for all your sakes, so be content.”
“You are right, sir, and I am wrong,” replied Dickenson quietly.
“You will retire, then, directly you find the place occupied?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go, then, as soon as it is dark. You can pick two men who can ride, take three of the captured Bechuana ponies, and one can hold them while the others search.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But I have no hope of your finding him, Dickenson. This is solely from a desire that we may feel we have done all we can do in such a case. Now I am busy. You have been up all night, and nearly been killed. Go and lie down for a few hours’ sleep.”
The young officer left the colonel’s presence, and had no trouble in finding the sergeant, for he was watching for his return, and heard with eagerness the result.
“Ride? Capital, sir; make us fresher for our work. We shall find him. I don’t believe he’s dead. Now you’ll take a rest, sir. I’ll have the ponies ready, and the men.”
Dickenson gave him the names of the two men he would like to take, but had to give up one.
“Can’t sit a horse, sir; hangs on its back like a stuffed image. Now Jeffson, sir, was a gentleman’s groom. Ride anything. I wonder he isn’t in the cavalry.”
“Very well, then; warn Jeffson. There, I am done up, sergeant. I trust you to rouse me as soon as it’s dark.”
“Right, sir. But one word, sir.”
“What is it?”
“Captain Roby, sir. Keeps off his head, sir. Going on awfully. Doctor Emden says it’s due to the bullet striking his skull.”
“Dangerous?” said Dickenson anxiously.
“Oh no, sir; but he keeps on saying things that it’s bad for the men to hear; and that Corporal May, he’s nearly as bad. He thinks he’s worse. He’s within hearing, and every time the captain says anything, Master Corporal May begins wagging his head and crying, and tells the chaps about him that it’s all right.”
“Poor fellow! There, I’ll go and see them before I lie down.”
“No, sir; please, don’t,” said the sergeant earnestly. “You’ve done quite enough for one day.”
“Confound it, man! don’t dictate to me,” cried Dickenson testily.
“Certainly not, sir. Beg your pardon, sir; but we’ve got a heavy job on to-night, and it’s my duty to warn you as an old soldier.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, sir, that I’ve had twenty years’ experience, and you’ve had two, sir. A man can only do so much; when he has done that and tries to do more, he shuts up all at once. I don’t want you to shut up, sir, to-night. I want you to lead us to where we can find Mr Lennox.”
“Of course, sergeant. I know you always mean well. Don’t take any notice of my snappish way.”
“Not a bit, sir,” said the man, smiling. “It’s only a sign that, though you don’t know it, you’re just ready to shut up.”
“But, hang it all, man!” said the young officer, with a return of his irritable manner, “I only want to just see my brother officer for a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir, I know,” said the sergeant stubbornly; “but you’re better away. He’s right off his head, and abusing everybody. If you go he’ll say things to you that will upset you more than three hours’ sleep will wipe out.”
“Oh, I know what you mean now – what he said before – about my being a coward and leaving him in the lurch.”
“Something of that sort, sir,” replied the sergeant.
“Poor fellow! Well, perhaps it would be as well, for very little seems to put me out. It was the shock of the explosion, I expect. There, sergeant, I’ll go and lie down.”
“I’ll bring you a bit of something to eat, sir, when I come. There’s plenty now.”
“Ah, to be sure; do,” said the young man. “But I could touch nothing yet. Remember: as soon as it is quite dark.”
“Yes, sir; as soon as it is quite dark.”
Dickenson strode away, and the sergeant uttered a grunt of satisfaction.
“Poor fellow!” he muttered. “It would have made him turn upon the captain. Nobody likes to be called a coward even by a crank. It would have regularly upset him for the work. Now then, I’ll just give those two fellows the word, and then pick out the ponies. Next I’ll lie down till the roast’s ready. We’ll all three have a good square meal, and sleep again till it’s time to call Mr Dickenson and give him his corn. After that, good-luck to us! We must bring that poor young fellow in, alive or dead, and I’m afraid it’s that last.”
Meanwhile Dickenson had sought his quarters, slipped off his accoutrements and blackened tunic, and thrown himself upon his rough bed. It was early in the afternoon, with the sun pouring down its burning rays on the iron roofing of his hut, and the flies swarming about the place.
As a matter of course over-tired, his nerves overwrought with the excitement of what he had gone through, and his head throbbing painfully, he could not go to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes his ears began to sing after the same fashion as they did directly following the explosion, and after tossing wearily from side to side for quite an hour, he sat up, feeling feverish and miserable.
“I’m making myself worse,” he thought. “I know: I’ll go down to the side of the stream, bathe my burning head and face, and try and find a shady place amongst the rocks.”
He proceeded to put his plan into execution, resuming his blackened khaki jacket and belts, and started off, to find a pleasant breeze blowing, and, in spite of the afternoon sunshine, the heat much more bearable than inside his hut. His way led him in the direction of the rough hospital, and as he drew near, to his surprise he heard Captain Roby’s voice speaking angrily, and Dickenson checked himself and bore off to his right so as to go close by the open door.
“Poor fellow!” he said. “I must see how he is.”
He went into the large open hut in which the captain had been placed by the doctor’s orders, because it was one in which the sides had been taken off so as to ensure a good current of air. As the young officer entered he caught sight of two others of the injured lying at one end, and noted that the wounded corporal was one.
Both men were lying on their backs, perfectly calm and quiet; but Roby was tossing his hands about impatiently and turning his head from side to side, his eyes wide open, and he fixed them fiercely upon his brother officer as he entered.
“How does he seem, my lad?” said Dickenson to the attendant, who was moistening the captain’s bandages from time to time.
“Badly, sir. Quite off his head.”
“Ah! Cur! – coward!” cried Roby, glaring at him. “Coward, I say! To leave me like that and run.”
“Nonsense, old fellow!” said Dickenson, affected just as the sergeant had said he would be; and his voice sounded irritable in the extreme as he continued, “Drop that. You said so before.”
“Who’s that?” cried Roby, with his eyes becoming fixed.
“Me, old fellow – Dickenson. Not a coward, though.”
“Who said you were?”
“Why, you did, over and over again.”
“A lie! No. I said Lennox. Ah! To run for his miserable life – a coward – a cur!”
“What!” cried Dickenson angrily; but Roby lay silent as if exhausted, and, to the young officer’s horror and disgust, a womanly sob came from the corporal’s rough pallet at the end of the hut, and in a whining voice he moaned:
“Yes, sir; he don’t mean you, but Mr Lennox, sir. I saw him run, and it’s all true.”
Chapter Twenty Seven.
“There’s Nothing like the Truth.”
Bob Dickenson’s jaw dropped as he stood staring for some moments at the corporal – as if he could not quite believe his ears. It seemed to him that this had something to do with the explosion, and that his hearing apparatus was still wrong, twisting and distorting matters, or else that the excitement of the past night and his exertions had combined with the aforesaid explosion to make him stupid and confused.
But all the same he felt that he could think and weigh and compare Roby’s words with those of the corporal, and experienced the sensation of a tremendous effervescence of rage bubbling up within his breast and rising higher and higher to his lips till it burst forth in words hot with indignation.
“Why,” he roared, “you miserable, snivelling – lying – Oh, tut, tut, tut! what a fool I am, quarrelling with a man off his head! – Here, orderly,” he continued, turning to the hospital attendant, “this fellow May doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
“So I keep on telling him, sir,” said the man sharply; “but he will keep at it. Here’s poor Captain Roby regularly off his chump, and bursting out every now and then calling everybody a coward, and, as if that ain’t bad enough, Corporal May goes on encouraging him by saying Amen every time.”
“I don’t,” cried the corporal, in a very vigorous tone for one so badly injured; “and look here, if you make false charges against me I’ll report you to the doctor next time he comes round, and to the colonel too.”
“What!” cried the orderly fiercely. “Yes, you’d better! Recollect you’re down now, and it’s my turn. I’ve had plenty of your nastiness, Mr Jack-in-office Corporal, for a year past, when I was in the ranks. You ain’t a corporal now, but in hospital; and if you say much more and don’t lie quiet I’ll roll up a pad of lint and stuff that in your mouth.”
“You daren’t,” cried the corporal, speaking the simple truth defiantly, and without a trace of his previous whining tone.
“Oh yes, I dare,” said the attendant, with a grin. “Doctor’s orders were that, as you were put in here when you oughtn’t to be, I was to be sure and keep you quiet so as you shouldn’t disturb the captain, and I’m blessed if I don’t keep you quiet; so there.”
“You daren’t,” cried the corporal tauntingly.
“What! Just you say that again and I will. Look here, my fine fellow. In comes Dr Emden. ‘What’s this, orderly?’ he says. ‘How dare you gag this man?’
“‘Couldn’t keep him quiet, sir,’ I says. ‘He’s been raving awful, and lying, and egging the captain on to keep saying Mr Dickenson and Mr Lennox is cowards.’”
“I wasn’t lying,” cried the corporal, with a return of his whimpering tone. “What Captain Roby says is all true. I saw Mr Lennox sneak off like a cur with his tail between his legs.”
“Cur yourself, you lying scoundrel!” cried Dickenson. – “Here, orderly, I’ll hold him. Where’s that gag?”
“Oh! Ow!” wailed the corporal. “Here, if you touch me I’ll cry for help.”
“You won’t be able to,” said the orderly, making a pretended rush at the doctor’s chest of hospital requirements.
