The Kopje Garrison: A Story of the Boer War
Then for a few brief moments the firing near at hand almost ceased, so that the metallic rattle of the little daggers being affixed to the rifle muzzles was plainly heard, to be followed by a hearty British cheer given by every throat from van to rear, the men’s voices sounding full of exultation as, with the bugle ringing out, they dashed forward.
There was no working forward by inch or by foot now; the Boers gave way at once, and the broad column dashed on, dealing death and destruction to all who, in a half-hearted way, opposed their progress. It was quick work, for there was less than a couple of hundred yards to cover to be through the Boer line and reach the shelter of the rough stone walls and huge boulders which formed on that side the first defences of the kopje.
In the wild excitement of those minutes Lennox was conscious of cheering his men on, as with bayonets at the ready they dashed on toward the main body, driving back the Boers who were trying to close in again after being beaten back by the first rushes. Men were trampled under foot in the half-darkness, friends and foes alike, for it was a horrible business; but the men, in their wild excitement, cheered and cheered again till they were brought up by the first rugged wall and received with another burst of cheers from the holders of the bristling line of rifles and bayonets who were lining it.
“Through with you – over with you!” shouted the major. – “Here, help those poor fellows in. – Where’s Captain Edwards?”
“Here he is,” panted Dickenson, as he half-carried, half-dragged his brother officer to an opening in the wall.
“Tut, tut, tut!” ejaculated the major. “Here, Captain Roby, take full lead there on the left. Captain Roby! – Who has seen Captain Roby?”
“I did,” said Captain Edwards faintly. “Shot down at the same time as I was.”
“Ah-h!” roared the major. Then excitedly: “Where about?”
“A hundred yards away, perhaps. Shot down leading the left company in the charge. I – I was trying to help him along when I went down too.”
“Killed?” said the major.
“No; bullet through the thigh.”
“We must fetch him in. Here; volunteers!”
Lennox leaped on to the wall in the pale grey light of the fast-coming day, and as he stood there, stooping ready to leap down, fully a score of rifles sent forth their deadly pencil-like balls from where to right and left the Boers were crouching.
Down he went, to pitch head first, and a sound like a fierce snarling ran along the sheltered side of the stone wall; but as the men saw him spring to his feet again and begin to run they were silent for a few moments, as if in doubt as to what their young lieutenant meant; for Dickenson sprang on to the wall, trying hard to balance himself on the loose top where bullets kept on spattering, as he roared out, with his voice plainly heard above the rattle of the Boers’ rifles, “Look at the coward! Running away again! Volunteers, come on!”
There was a curious hysterical ring in his loud laugh as, with the bullets whirring and whistling about him and a cross fire concentrated upon where he stood, he too leaped down, to begin running, while a burly-looking sergeant literally rolled over the wall, followed by two more men from the rear company, all plainly seen now dashing towards where Lennox was running here and there among the dead and wounded which dotted the sloping ground, before stopping suddenly to go down on one knee and begin lifting a wounded man upon his shoulder.
“Well,” cried the major, “he’s the queerest coward I ever saw. I wish the colonel was here.”
His words brought forth a tremendous cheer from all who heard them, but the major turned upon the men angrily.
“Shoot, you rascals, shoot!” he cried; “right and left. Keep down the savages’ fire if you can.”
For, unmoved by the gallant actions going on in front, brave men setting death at defiance – as scores of others had done all through the war – in the noble endeavour to save a wounded man’s life, dozens of the Boers began firing at the rescue party, heedless of the fact that their bullets crossed the narrow way traversed by the little force in their dash from the village to the kopje, and now horribly dotted by the wounded and dying of both sides who had fallen in the desperate encounter.
Yells and shouts arose from both sides as the bullets took effect among friends; but in their mad hate against those whom they called the British rooineks, the Boers fired on. Fortunately, for the most part the wielders of the Mauser were not calmly lying down behind stones, with rests for their rifles, but were crowded together, nervous, agitated, and breathless with running, so that their bullets were badly aimed during the first minute or two. Directly after, they were startled by the hail poured upon them from the whole line of men behind the great wall – a hail of lead beneath which many fell never to rise again, while the greater part devoted themselves to seeking cover, crawling anywhere to get under the shelter of some stone.
The roar, then, that greeted the little party struggling back was not from British throats but from British rifles, which for the time being thoroughly kept down the enemy’s fire, till Lennox and Dickenson bore the insensible form of Roby right up to the wall, followed by Sergeant James and his two companions, each carrying a wounded comrade on his back.
And now, without ceasing their firing, the line cheered till all were hoarse, while four men sprang over to Roby’s help, the others being tumbled over, to be seized by willing hands.
It was quite time, for both Lennox and Dickenson were spent – the former sinking upon his knees to hold on by one of the stones; Dickenson bending forward to try and wave one hand, but dropping suddenly across Roby’s knees.
“Wounded?” cried the major excitedly, as he bent over Lennox directly he was lifted in, the last of the four.
Lennox opened his fast-closing eyes and stretched out his right hand to feel for Dickenson’s, in vain. Then, with a sigh, he looked up at the major and touched his left arm, his breast, and his neck. “Yes,” he said faintly, “the coward has it now.”
“Bearers here,” cried the major, and he turned to direct his men, for he was needed.
The Boers were coming on again in short rushes, regardless of the terrific fire poured upon them in the faint light of day, and a perfect hail of bullets was flying to and fro. And not only facing the village, but all round the kopje, where the enemy had in several places secured a footing and were utilising the stone defences prepared by the colonel’s men, but of course from the reverse side. It had this good effect, though; it condensed the British force, giving them less ground to defend; and for the next two hours wherever a Boer dared to show enough of himself to form a spot at which to aim, a bullet came.
The losses were terrible on both sides, for the attack was as brave as the defence; and even when the two small guns were brought into action, to send shells hurtling wherever the continually increasing enemy were seen to approach in clusters, the attack went on.
“It’s of no use, major,” said the colonel at last, as they stood together; “they mean to have the place.”
“What!” said the latter officer fiercely. “You don’t mean surrender?”
“My dear fellow, no: not while there’s a cartridge left.”
“Ha!” sighed the major. “You gave me quite a turn.”
“I meant, if this keeps on we shall lose as many men as if we brought it to a head. Besides, they’ll hold on to the parts they’ve got, and keep creeping nearer.”
“You mean the bayonet at once?”
“Exactly,” said the colonel. “Off with you; take one side and I’ll take the other. We must clear the kopje before the heat comes on.”
“Yes,” said the major, with a grim smile; “and the lads must want their breakfast now.”
The men in each trench rolled up their sleeves as they heard the order given to fix bayonets again, and, leaping over the defences, rushed forward, to be staggered a little by the enemy’s fire; then, with a cheer, on they went, the sun glistening upon the line of pointed steel.
It was more than the Boers could bear; defence after defence was vacated, and, soon after, the result of charge after charge was followed by a headlong flight which soon spread into a panic. It was “Sauve qui peut,” uttered in Boer Dutch; while the failure of the daring attack was completed fast by the emptying of the rifle magazines among flying men, and the shots from the three guns, which had their opportunity at last.
A stand was made in the village, which was obstinately held for a time by two big commandos which had come upon the ground too late to be of much service; but in spite of a pom-pom, a Maxim, and a heavy howitzer, the big gun on the top of the kopje silenced their fire before sundown, by which time their heaviest piece was destroyed, the village burning, and the two commandos in full flight.
Then came the flag of truce for permission to carry off the wounded and bury the many dead.
It was about this time that Doctor Emden looked to the colonel and said:
“Awful! Poor fellows! I don’t know where to turn to first.”
Chapter Thirty Eight.
The Doctor’s Diplomacy
It was a couple of days later, when the kopje was dotted with the rough shelters that the uninjured men had worked hard to erect from the ruins of the village, the principal being for the benefit of the wounded. The position was the same, or nearly the same, as it had been before. The Boers had retreated to their laagers, which were more strongly held than ever, and the investment was kept up with more savage determination; while the defenders had only the kopje to hold now, the village being a desolation, and the colonel’s forces sadly reduced.
The doctor was in better spirits, and showed it, for he had managed to get something like order in his arrangements for his wounded men. But the colonel and the major were in lower spirits, and did not show it, for matters looked very black indeed, relief seeming farther off than ever.
“My last orders were to hold this place,” said the colonel to the major, “and I’m going to hold it.”
“Of course! Keep on. Every day we shall be having another man or two back in the ranks. Ah! here is Emden. – Well, how are the lads?”
“Getting on splendidly. My dear sirs, I have heard people abuse the Mauser as a diabolical weapon. Nothing of the sort; it is one of the most humane. The wounds are small, cleanly cut, and, so long as a bone is not touched, begin to heal with wonderful rapidity. Come and have a look round.”
“Yes; we have come on purpose,” said the colonel. “By the way, though, before we go into the officers’ shelter, I wish you had contrived differently about Roby and Lennox. It seemed very short-sighted, after what has occurred, to place them next to one another.”
“My dear sir,” cried the doctor, “I did all I could to try and save the poor fellows’ lives as they were carried in to me, without thinking about their squabbles and quarrels and rank.”
“Yes, yes; of course, doctor. I beg your pardon. You have done wonders.”
“Thankye! Done my best, of course. But don’t you worry about those two; they’ll be all right. Come and see.”
“But about the men? Nothing more serious, I hope.”
“N-n-no. Had to take that fellow’s leg off to save his life.”
“What poor fellow? Oh yes – Corporal May?”
“Yes. He objected strongly, but it had to be done. He threatens to commence an action against me when he gets home – so I hear.”
They had been moving towards the shelter of corrugated iron beneath which the officers lay, each of whom greeted them with a smile. They were all badly wounded, but looked restful and contented, as wounded men do who have achieved a victory.
Roby seemed to be the most cheerful, and he beckoned to the colonel to come closer, while the doctor cocked his eye rather drolly and in a way that the chief did not understand.
“Well, Roby,” said the colonel, “you look better.”
“Well, for a man who has had the top of his head rasped by a bullet and got a hole right through his leg, I call myself a wonder.”
“Does your wound pain you much?”
“Quite enough; but there, I don’t mind. We’ve whipped.”
“Yes,” said the colonel, smiling; “we’ve whipped, thanks to every one’s gallant behaviour. You did splendidly, Roby.”
“Did my best, sir,” said the captain quietly. “But I’m not quite as I should like to be,” he continued confidentially. “Don’t take any notice. I can’t quite understand about my hurt on the head.”
“Indeed?” said the colonel, frowning.
“I recollect, of course, getting the stinging pain in my leg, and going down, and then it seemed to me that one of the Boers kicked me at the top of the forehead with his heavy boot, and I was trampled on. After that I fainted, and didn’t come to until the firing was going on and Lennox came running through it to pick me up. Colonel, that’s about the bravest thing that has been done since we’ve been here.”
“Quite,” said the colonel, watching the speaker curiously.
“I want you to promise me that you’ll mention it well in your despatch about the taking of the laager.”
“If I ever get a despatch to headquarters it shall contain that, I promise you.”
“Thank you,” said Roby warmly, and with the tears now in his eyes. “I say, colonel, I’m sorry I went down; but the doctor says the lads got back after another skirmish, with plenty of cattle and stores.”
“Yes,” said the colonel; “it was a splendid addition to our supplies and – ”
“Stop! stop! please, colonel,” said the doctor. “Roby’s weak yet.”
“Oh no, doctor.”
“My dear fellow, I say yes; and I say,” said the doctor, bending down to whisper to his patient, “Lennox and Dickenson are both very feeble. Think of them.”
Roby took the doctor’s hand and pressed it, accompanying the pressure with a significant look.
“Thank you for coming, colonel,” he said, “and you too, major. Emden’s an awful tyrant when he gets us on our backs.”
“Right,” said the doctor. “Nero was nothing to me. – Now, gentlemen, just a word or two with the rest of my nursery folk, and then I must order you off.”
The colonel nodded, passed on to Captain Edwards, and said a word or two; the same followed at Dickenson’s side, where the young officer, forgetful of his wounds, gave his chief a look full of exultation, receiving a good-humoured nod in return, and Dickenson turned his face sidewise with a sigh of content.
“Wait a bit,” he said to himself. “I’ll have it out with the old man as soon as I get better. He’s bound to ask poor old Drew’s pardon. But fancy Roby turning like this.”
Meanwhile the colonel had passed on to Lennox’s side, to find him far the greatest sufferer of the party present, and unable to do more than smile his thanks and lie back, extremely weak, but with a look of calm restfulness in his eyes that told that there was nothing mental to trouble him and keep him back.
“What do you think of them, colonel?” said the doctor as soon as they were outside.
“All much better than I expected,” said the colonel.
“But what about Roby? He is quite delirious from his wound, is he not?”
“Perfectly calm, sir, with his mens much more Sana than his corpus. I thought he was all wrong at first, but he’s only weak – pulse regular, temperature as cool as a hot iron roof will let it be.” (Note: Mens sana in corpore sano.)
“But, hang it all, doctor! his head’s all in a muddle about storming the little kopje and getting the cattle and stores away.”
“Yes; that’s the comical part of it. He’s a bit mixed, and in his present state I let him think what he likes, so long as it is not likely to do him any harm.”
“But really, Doctor Emden, I fail to follow your reasoning,” said the colonel rather stiffly.
“Never mind, colonel; leave it. I don’t follow all your military manoeuvres, so I leave them to you. Let the cobbler stick to his last. There, man, don’t look mystified. Let me explain. Roby had bad concussion of the brain from that first shot. There was no fracture, but the bone was, so to speak, a little dented down, and the consequence was that, though he rapidly recovered his health bodily, he did not get his mental balance quite right at the same time.”
“Then you think that charge of his against Lennox was a trifling aberration that’s now over. I hope you are right, doctor; but – ”
“But me no buts,” said the doctor. “I stake my reputation upon it. Surely, man, you can see the proof? The poor fellow showed you that he has not the slightest recollection now of what has been going on since the expedition to the laager.”
“To be sure,” said the major. “I see now. That explains it. He talked as if he thought this was the result of being shot down there.”
“To be sure he does. He thinks, too, that Edwards is wounded from a skirmish with the Boers during the retreat.”
“Then there was no nonsense, no unreality, in his display of interest in poor Lennox?”
“Not a bit. He’s delighted with the poor fellow’s gallantry, and talks to me about how much he owes him.”
“But his charge of cowardice?”
“Wind, my dear sir; wind. Let it blow away. If any one were to tell him of it now he would stare with astonishment and ask you if you meant to insult him. Take my word for it, the hallucination has completely passed away. The fresh wound, with its loss by haemorrhage, and the reaction, has acted antagonistically to his mental trouble. He has, so to speak, stepped mentally from the attack on the Boers to their attack on us, and as soon as he recovers his strength he’ll be as good a man as ever.”
“But when we tell him about his charge?” said the colonel.
“Why tell him, sir? Let it rest. If it ever comes out by accident, that’s quite another thing. The trouble has settled itself, as some troubles will.”
“I wish this one would,” said the major, “for I’m getting very sick of being penned up here on very reduced rations. Have they quite forgotten us at headquarters?”
“No,” said the colonel. “Their hands are full. – Meanwhile, doctor, our ranks are very thin, so as fast as you can send the poor lads back to the ranks, let us have them again. The Boers will not let us rest like this for long.”
Chapter Thirty Nine.
At Last!
But the Boers had received so severe a lesson that they did leave the garrison severely alone for nearly a month, save that there were often sharp encounters between patrols and the foraging parties which made a dash whenever there was a chance of capturing something for the military larder.
It had come to the colonel holding a private council, at which the doctor was present to give his opinion how long it would be before the wounded men would be sufficiently strong to undertake a night march and then push on to try and join hands with the nearest post held by our forces.
“If we could feed the lads as they ought to be fed, in about a month,” replied the doctor quietly. “Going on as we are now – never.” The colonel started from his seat. “Do you mean this, Emden?” he said excitedly. “The men’s appearance speaks for itself. It is all the healthy can do to keep body and soul together; the wounded are at a standstill.”
“No, no,” said the colonel warmly; “all of our officers, though certainly weak, have returned to their duty.”
“Yes,” said the doctor; “but then they all partook more of a certain essence than the men do. The poor fellows had done marvellously well, and the more educated, better-class fellows compare wonderfully well with those of a lower station; but there is that difference.”
“And pray what is the wonderful essence, doctor?” said Captain Edwards, smiling.
“Esprit de corps, my dear sir,” said the doctor.
“Well,” cried the colonel, “then you have settled it, doctor. We are not going to surrender.”
“No!” came in chorus.
“We can’t go and leave our weak ones behind.”
“No!” came with double the force.
“We are too much reduced in available men to run any risks.” There was no reply to this, and the colonel continued: “Then there is nothing else to be done, gentlemen, but take up another hole in our belts, keep on sending messages when we can get a Kaffir runner, and wait patiently for help.”
As the officers sauntered away from the rough hut which had been built in a niche for the colonel, Roby was limping along with the aid of a stick and Lennox’s arm, while Dickenson was rolling up a cigarette composed of the very last dust of his tobacco, ready to hand it to the captain, who suffered a good deal still from the bullet wound, the missile having passed right through his thigh. They had to pass two of their men, seated upon a rock in a shady corner, one of them being minus his right leg, which had been removed half-way between knee and hip; the other was recovering very slowly from a bullet wound in the face, an injury which had mended very slowly and kept him low-spirited, fretful, and ready to affect the companionship of one as fretful and as great a sufferer as himself. The group of officers stopped to say a few kind words to the men, and then, having nothing hopeful to hold out for their comfort, passed on.
“See that Captain Roby?” said the one-legged man.
“Of course I do.”
“Well, I did have some hopes of him as being a man, but he isn’t. He’s a sneak, that’s what he is – a sneak.”
“Better not let him hear you say so,” said the other.
“Tell him if you like.”
“Tell him yourself.”
“You know how he let on about Mr Lennox running away in the fight?”
“Oh yes, of course; but it was all a mistake. He was off his head, Captain Roby was.”
“Tchah! Not he. It was all true, but the captain wouldn’t hold to it. They hang together, these officers, and make things up, so that when their turn comes to be in trouble the others back them. I was out here the other day, and old Roby came doing the civil and asking me how I was, so I rounded upon him about giving up saying Mr Lennox was a coward. What do you think he says?”
“Said you were cracked.”
“Yes; only he said mad. What do you think of that?”
“That he ought to have said you were a sneak and a cur,” said the man, getting up and walking away, but only to stop and turn round. “Look here, corporal,” he said; “take a bit of advice. Drop that altogether, or some day the chaps may turn upon you and forget that you’re a crippled man, and give you what you don’t like.”
“Why?” cried Corporal May wrathfully.
“Because every one of us thinks Mr Lennox is about the pluckiest fellow in the regiment, and would follow him into the hottest fire the enemy could get up.”
Affairs, after gliding sluggishly along for months, began to move swiftly now. Two weeks after there was an announcement that a Kaffir, a despatch-runner, had reached the kopje, and he was hurried before the officers, to prove to be the Zulu who had brought in the warning of the last attack. He had fresh news now – that once more the Boers had been reinforced, and that they had received three heavy guns. Preparations were again made for the reception of the enemy, but the men moved about looking grave and stern. The old hopeful elasticity seemed gone. Dickenson noted this, and called Lennox’s attention to it.
“Yes,” he said; “but the first shouts will rouse them, and they’ll fight as well as ever.”
“Of course,” said Dickenson. “Still, one can’t help feeling dull.”
There was no attack that night; but the scouts had reports to make of the advance of the enemy from all the laagers, and the next morning soon after sunrise half-a-dozen Boers rode up under the white flag – their leader being blindfolded and led into the colonel’s presence, with the other officers gathered round.
“I have come from our general with a message,” said the Boer officer shortly. “He knows that you are all nearly starved, and that the kopje is covered with sick and wounded. He tells me to say he does not wish to attack and shoot you all down, though you deserve it. He says he will be merciful, and gives you ten minutes to consider whether you will haul down and surrender. What am I to tell him?”
“Tell the officer who sent you that we do not want ten seconds to consider, and that we do not know how to haul down the British colours. Let him come here and drag them down himself.”
“What do you mean?” said the man roughly, and opening his eyes wider than was his wont in wonder.
