VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
"THERE IS ONE AMONGST US MISSING."
Meanwhile at the seat of war, events were developing. Several weeks hadnow gone by, during which the rebellion had spread. With the insanefatuity which was luring these people to their destruction, it seemedthat to every disaffected tribe hitherto peaceful, the news of acrushing blow sustained by its brethren was the signal for itself totake up arms. There was a lack of cohesion in the enemy's councils andundertakings that was simply incomprehensible. And now EmigrantTembuland had broken out into revolt, threatening Queenstown; and theHlambi section of the Gaikas, under the chiefs Ndimba and Seyolo, weremaking common cause with Sandili in British Kaffraria, while within thecolony, the clans under Tini Macomo, from their rugged fastnesses in theBlinkwater forest--famous battle-ground in days gone by--defied thecolonial authorities. Yet as each rose in succession, tribe aftertribe, it seemed as though in their very half-heartedness, they werefighting against their will.
For several weeks, then, have the colonial forces been occupied inclearing out the Gaika location from end to end by a series ofwell-arranged patrols--sometimes meeting the wily foe in pitchedbattle--or as near approaching it as Jack Kafir deems wise to venture--more often exchanging shots in desultory skirmish, with the result ofdispersing the savages after a few of their number had been laid low.Much cattle has been taken, too--thousands of head--which though aneffective deterrent to the enemy aforesaid, is by no means an unmixedblessing to the captors; at least, so say more than one of theirleaders. For large numbers of captured cattle in the camp can benothing less than a nuisance of the first magnitude; leading toconfusion and worry, the telling off of a considerable body of men asguards or as escort who might be better employed in the field; andconducive to much friction and irritability among the various nativelevies, each only too anxious to suspect and accuse the other of quietpurloining from the herds under their charge.
It was only yesterday that Jim Brathwaite, with feelings of intenserelief, watched the last of a large herd, as it made its way over thehill under a strong escort, en route for Komgha; and now, with an air ofsemi-disgust, he is pondering over a despatch which has just arrived,bidding him push forward at once, for that a body of rebels, inconsiderable force, are known to be on their way through at a point somefifteen miles lower down, to join Sandili in the Perie forest. Not thatthis is the fact which calls an expression of disgust to the brown faceof the dashing and fearless commander; on the contrary. But the stingof the document--like that of the scorpion--is in its tail, and is tothe effect that an immense number of cattle are with them, which, canthey but be taken, by thus cutting off their resources, a heavy blowwill be struck at the concealed foe, even if he is not so seriouslycrippled as to be compelled to surrender.
"Oh, blazes," growled Jim. "Even the glorious fan of a good oldrough-and-tumble--if the beggars stand, that is--is dashed by thecertainty of the camp being turned into a cattle-market for the nextweek or so. Naylor--Claverton, get the men into the saddle at once. Noneed to take rations. We shall be back to-night or to-morrow at thelatest, and, if not, we shall find plenty of beefsteaks down there.Sharp's the word, or we shall have those lumbering Dutchmen away beforeus."
The door of the tent is darkened, and one of "those lumbering Dutchmen"enters--a tall, strong, but awkward-looking man, who, in that way, seemsto deserve the slightly contemptuous epithet. It is the Commandant ofone of the troops of Dutch Burghers, and he is anxious to confer withJim anent the despatch he has just received, and of which, by the way,being ignorant of English, he cannot make out one word.
"What have you got to do?" echoes Jim, somewhat impatiently--for heforesees delay. "Why, you've got to hang it all, Arthur--you're good atlingo. Translate the orders to him as sharp as you can."
Gladly the Boer relinquishes the sheet of blue foolscap which he hasbeen turning over and over in his great hands with a pitiably puzzledexpression to Claverton, who translates it for the benefit of him andhis four "field-captains," who stand round eagerly listening.
"This is what it says," goes on Claverton, having translated the firstpart, which is in all particulars similar to Jim's. "Your troop mustkeep on about four miles ahead of us, so as to cut them off from thepass over yonder. The Fingo levies will also work with it."
"Ja, kaptyn."
"We shall keep on this side and drive them into you," and then followeda few rapid details.
"Ja, kaptyn, ja, ja!"
"Well, then, we will work round to you. And now we must be off. Youunderstand, Mynheer Van Heerden!"
"Ja, kaptyn."
"That's all right," and away goes Claverton, jumps on his horse, whichis held ready by the faithful Sam, while the Boer leaders make their wayback to get their men under arms; still a little hazy, perhaps, as tothe plan of operations; but trusting with characteristic phlegm, that_det sal als recht kom_.
The camp is placed on an open bit of ground forming the summit of asmall eminence, and commanding a good wide sweep all round. It is shutin, however, as to view, save on one side, and it is from this side thatthey are able to lay their plans. Far away--at least two hours' ride--is a bold spur, where rises conspicuous a cliff of considerablealtitude; its brow, crowned by a row of stiff euphorbia trees, whosestraight stems and plumed heads stand out from the soft profusion of thesurrounding forest. At the foot of this cliff is the defile by whichthe enemy is expected to pass; and, to reach it, at least three hours ofrough scramble along the bushy valleys branching out in every direction,will be necessary.
In an incredibly short space of time all is ready, and the _veldt_ isalive with horsemen, hastening to make their way to the scene ofoperations. Opposite--across the ravine--the Dutch troop, about threehundred men, is hurrying forward; while beyond them some eight hundredFingoes, marching in four columns, advance no less rapidly, chantingtheir war-song in a deep bass, and the sun gleams upon the gun-barrelsand assegai blades; and, now and again, the tinkle of a bit and theneigh of a horse is heard as the expedition moves on.
It is the middle of the forenoon, and not a cloud is in the heavens tobreak the endless blue, and the heat is to be felt. As yet there is nosign of life. The other column has long been out of sight, and nowcarefully Jim's troop moves forward, expecting every moment to get touchof the enemy, while nearer and nearer rises the lofty krantz which is tobe the rallying-point. No one speaks; all are on the _qui vive_; butnothing disturbs the stillness of the deep valley into which they havebeen constrained to dip down in order to conceal the march as much aspossible.
Suddenly, from the bush in front, breaks forth a puff of smoke, followedby another and another, till a regular line of fire bars their progress.The horses start and swerve, terrified by the detonation, as thebullets come whizzing about their riders' ears with a horribly near andsuggestive "sing." One volley in return--for as yet they can see noone--and the order is given to seek cover, for, crack! crack! crack! onevery side now the jets of flame are belching forth from the thick greenbush, and it is evident that the enemy is in strong force. But he hascaught a Tartar. Cool and self-possessed to a man, Brathwaite's Horseare but waiting their opportunity, and ere long they begin to catchglimpses of the Kafirs, dodging in and out among the trees. Then thegame becomes two-sided, as the experienced frontiersmen, with many adeft snap-shot, begin to "drop" their concealed enemy--so quickly,indeed, that in a quarter of an hour the latter begins to draw off.Still the fire is unusually warm on their front, and the sagacious Jimstrongly suspects a deliberate intention to hold him in check therewhile the main body gets safely off with its spoil, as intimated.
"Claverton," he says, coming quickly to his lieutenant's side. "Takeabout thirty men, and advance upon those fellows in front, while we keepthem occupied here. Try and get round them and take them in the flank;knock over as many as ever you can, and drive the rest on."
Claverton hastens to obey, and, with his contingent, makes his wayswiftly and stealthily by a circuit so as, i
f possible, to take theenemy in the rear. Meanwhile the fusillade goes on, and the smoke hangsin a cloud above the valley as the concealed forces, each under cover,pepper away, but with a caution that, on the part of the Kafirs, issomewhat unwonted.
And now the "special service" band has reached the ridge some fivehundred yards above and beyond the main body, and its leader begins tothink about doubling upon the wily foe. A smothered chuckle at hiselbow makes him turn. Below, not six yards off, lying on his stomach ona rock, is a huge red Kafir. His piece is cocked, and he is worminghimself into a good position for a safe and sure shot; and the chuckleproceeds from Hicks, who stands with his revolver aimed well between thegreasy shoulders of the recumbent barbarian. But the quick ears of thesavage detect the sound. In a twinkling he wriggles round, but, beforehe has time to spring up, his "Youw!" of consternation is cut short inhis throat as Hicks' revolver cracks, and the ball passing fair throughthe Kafir's ribs, the huge carcase rolls from its perch, falling with acrash into the bush below.
"Sold again?" exclaims Hicks, smothering a shout of laughter. "Not thisjourney, my boy. I never saw anything more comic than that bird's facewhen he looked round."
Three more Kafirs spring up at their very feet, but before they can liftan assegai even, or at any rate use one, they are shot dead, almostpoint-blank. And now several dark heads may be detected peering in thedirection of this new danger, but this is just what our friends havebeen expecting, and, crack! crack! crack! go their trusty breech-loadersas they advance down through the scrub, driving the enemy before them.
But the said enemy is in full retreat. He has had enough, and yonderover the ridge, dark bodies are running, by twos and threes, while thefire of the victorious whites still tells as it is kept constantlyplaying upon the discomfited savages. Then Jim gives the order to mountand push forward. No time is to be lost after this delay, or the planwill fall through. His troop has suffered by two men wounded and theloss of three horses, the dismounted riders making their way as bestthey can by holding on to the stirrup of a comrade. Nothing, indeed,could have been worse than the enemy's marksmanship.
They make their way out of the hollow without any further opposition andare upon the heights overlooking the pass. Have they been misinformed,or are they too soon? Jim hardly thinks they are too late. It may bethat the Kafirs in charge of the cattle, hearing the firing, have driventhese off in another direction. Suddenly an exclamation breaks from hislips.
"Oh-h-h! Good Lord! Where on earth _are_ those damned Dutchmen?"
For he has been descending all this time, and is standing looking up thepass. There is the great cliff, towering many hundreds of feet above,and there about two miles off the whole defile is filled with a densemass of cattle, a cloud of dust arising before them as their driversurge them along with many a shout which is borne to the ears of thedisappointed pursuers. Even the very spoors at their feet weretantalisingly fresh.
"Perhaps they've gone round up above," suggested Naylor.
"Maybe. In the meantime we'll go down and lie in wait so as to hem theniggers in when they turn. Van Heerden's sure to have got his men roundtoo far."
An outpost was left on the rising ground, and the rest descended. Theywere about to take up a position on either side of the road and wait;when, without any warning, a tremendous volley is poured into them; andall the bush is alive with dark shapes--hundreds and hundreds of them--darting from cover to cover, yelling and brandishing their assegais asthey advance nearer and nearer, while a constant fire is kept up bythose in front.
So sudden and unlooked-for is this attack, that Jim's men are for themoment completely taken by surprise. It is, moreover, unparalleled inits fierceness and determination, for the Kafirs press boldly forward,waving their weapons. Some of them even may be seen snapping off theirassegais in preparation for a charge.
"Steady, Allen, old boy. That's a new kind of a tuning-fork," remarksClaverton, as a bit of pot-leg whistles between his ear and that of himaddressed, with a vicious whirr. "No use ducking when it's past, youknow. Hallo!"
His attention is drawn by two men struggling, a white man and a Kafir.The savage, pinned against the very base of the cliff described, isvainly striving to free his right wrist from his antagonist's grasp, soas to use the assegai which, held flat against the rock, is useless tohim; the white man, finding it all he can do to hold on to the other'sthroat; and thus the two are struggling, each unable to use his weapon.Then, in response to a half-choked shout from the Kafir, several of hiscountrymen are seen rushing through the bush to his assistance, when lo,a quick movement, something gleams; the white man throws his adversaryoff, and with a couple of bounds is at Claverton's side panting, as,crouching behind a bush to dodge several shots aimed at him, he wipesthe blade of his sheath-knife on the ground.
"Ripped--the beggar--up."
"Deuce you did! Well done, Gough. A smart bit of work that," rejoinshis chief.
And now the great cliff thunders back in tremendous echoes thevolley-firing. Two of Brathwaite's men have fallen, shot dead, anotherhas been overwhelmed in a sudden rush of the fierce foe, who becomesmore and more daring, and assegaied in a moment. Several are slightlywounded; and Jim, seeing that no time is to be lost if they are to avoidbeing surrounded, gives the word to fall back on higher ground, to apoint where his practised eye detects better facilities for defence, andfor holding out until assistance comes. Suddenly somebody exclaims:
"Any one seen Jack Armitage?" A chill of blank consternation goesthrough all who hear it.
"Eh, what? Where's Jack? Where's Jack?" echo several voices.
"He was close to me when first we began to retire," says Claverton. "Hemay be there yet. Come along, boys, we'll pick him up, wherever he is.Who'll volunteer? We can't leave poor Jack to be chopped up by thesedevils?" Even as he speaks there floats through his brain the echo ofthose soft, entreating words whispered in the hour of parting: "_Youwill not run any unnecessary risks, even for other people. Your lifebelongs to me now, love_!" And side by side with the tender thought,runs the consciousness that he cannot leave a comrade to a certain andcruel death.
"I will." "I will." "The devil's in it but we'll find Jack."
"Come on, straight at 'em," were some of the cries in answer to hisappeal, and among the confusion and smoke--for the firing was prettybrisk--Claverton and a dozen others, gliding rapidly from bush to bush,revolver in hand, made their way to where the missing man was last seen.And in doing so they went further and further into the most deadlyperil, and separated themselves more and more from their retreatingcomrades; but still they went.
A couple of hundred yards further, and it seemed as if they had even gotbehind the enemy's lines. Two or three Kafirs had sprung up beforethem, but these had been immediately shot down, and, amid the confusionand firing on all sides, they succeeded in breaking through almostunobserved.
"Here's where I saw him last," said Claverton. "Jack! Jack!" he calledin a low, penetrating tone. "Where are you, man?"
No answer.
A double report, and a couple of bullets came singing over their heads.
"Half-a-dozen of you fellows keep an eye on our rear," said Claverton."We shall have them down upon us directly. But we won't give up yet."
"Hallo?" cried a faint voice some twenty yards off.
"There he is, by all that's blue!" exclaimed several. "Hooray?"
There he was sure enough. Lying under a huge, overhanging yellow-woodtree--several of which grew along the course of the small stream flowingthrough the valley--half hidden away in the long grass, whither he hadcrawled in the hope of escaping notice, lay poor Jack Armitage, hisright foot shattered by a ball, while another had penetrated his side.His only hope was to be allowed to die in peace, though more than onceas he lay there, alone with the anguish of his wounds, forgotten andleft behind in that wild forest, he had thought of calling out to thesavages to come and put an end to him. But hope would again reassertitself, and
his own natural buoyancy of spirits, combined with thethought of his young wife, whom he would yet live to return to, made himresolve to cling on at all costs, as he put it. Poor Jack!
The rescuers were none too soon, for just then a Kafir, attracted by hisfaint shout, glided from behind the trunk of a tree, assegai uplifted;but a couple of revolver bullets, well aimed, stretched him beside hisintended victim.
"Jack, old man, are you badly hit?" asked Claverton, with a thrill ofconcern in his voice, bending over him and grasping his hand.
"Infernally," was the reply in a weak voice; and the poor fellow's facewas bathed in moisture from the agonies he was undergoing.
"Well, cheer up, old chap; we'll get you out of this, and you'll live tohave the laugh of John Kafir yet."
"Ping, ping!" A bullet embedded itself in the trunk of the tree, whilea second whistled perilously close to the speaker's ear.
"The devil! There's some one among those fellows who can shoot. Lieclose, every one. There's fairly good cover here, and we'll pepper thema few."
"Hallo, Allen; you there?" said the wounded man. "Shake hands, oldchap. You're a good sort to come down here and look after a fellow."
Allen looked a little sheepish. He might be a duffer in some respects,but he was not deficient in pluck, and had been one of the first tovolunteer in the search.
The place where they stood, or rather crouched, was a ring of bush.Above, rose the great yellow-wood tree, with long, tangled monkey ropestrailing from its boughs. Around, however, all was tolerably open,although the trunks of the large forest trees which overshadowed thespot, shutting out the sunlight, might afford some cover to the foe.And this openness of the surroundings might yet prove the salvation ofthe devoted group, who stood there hemmed in by relentless and eagerfoes.
"We'll hold our own, never fear!" cried Claverton. "We were in a worsefix that day down by the Bashi--you remember, Jack?--when a blast ofyour old post-horn sent the niggers flying in every direction."
The wounded man smiled faintly at the reminiscence.
"Give us a revolver, some one," he said. "I can still draw a bead lyinghere."
"No, you can't. Just lie quiet, old chap, and leave the fun to us thistime. The Dutchmen are sure to come up soon, and then we'll turn thetables, as we did that other time."
It was their only chance. Not for ever could that brave handful hope tohold their own against such desperate odds. They could hear the firingof their comrades on the hillside far away; but these had enough to doto act on the defensive; no relief was to be looked for from them. Andnow the savages began to call to each other, and scores of dark shapescould be seen flitting amid the semi-gloom of the forest--now running afew yards, now sinking down, as it were, into the very earth, as thewell-directed fire of the defenders began to tell, but each timespringing up again, and more of them crowding on behind, and advancingnearer--nearer--nearer.
"Now, then, you six, blaze a volley into that low bush there, at thefoot of the tree. At least three niggers are lying there," saidClaverton.
They obeyed, and upon the detonation came a loud yell and groans frommore than one throat, notifying that the move had been effective. Twobodies rolled out into the open, and two more, badly hit, staggeredbehind the huge trunk.
"That's it, boys! Hurrah! We'll give them pepper! They won't come toclose quarters, not they!" And catching their leader's spirit, the men,all young fellows brimful of pluck, cheered wildly and gazed eagerlyround in search of more targets.
There was silence for a moment, and then a crowd of Kafirs could be seengliding like spectres among the trees.
"Here they come, by Jingo!" muttered several of the group, but thesavages hardly seemed to see them. They passed on, running, as for dearlife, many of them turning their heads to look back. And the reason ofthis soon became evident, as a strong, harsh voice was heard exclaiming:"_Nouw kerels, skiet maar! Skiet em doed, die verdomde schepsels_,"["Now, boys, shoot away! Shoot them dead, the damned rascals."] andimmediately a tremendous volley was poured into the retreating foe.
Never was any sound more welcome to mortal ear than the harsh, familiardialect to the ears of the beleaguered group to whom it broughtdeliverance, and a ringing cheer went up from their midst as theyrecognised the voice of the old Dutch commandant, who with his men hadthus arrived timely to the rescue. Spread out in a long line throughthe bush the Boers advanced, cautiously but rapidly, shooting down theflying foe in every direction. And another wild cheer went up in reply,as Jim Brathwaite, at the head of his mounted men, charged up the pathin the hope of cutting off the enemy's retreat, or at any rate ofthinning his numbers while crossing the open ground some two milesbeyond.
"Hallo, Claverton!" he cried as he rode past. "Better fall back, asyou're dismounted. The ground's quite clear behind." And the battle,which had now become a rout, swept on, farther and farther up the pass.
Indeed our friends had as much as they could, manage in transportingtheir wounded comrade with all the comfort--rough at best--that theycould muster under the circumstances; but it had to be done, and thepoor fellow went through agonies. His pluck and cheerfulness neverfailed him. "I say, Claverton," he remarked, with an attempt at asmile, "that old humbug McShane will have the laugh of me now. How theold beggar will crow!" But the speaker knew full well that not a soulamong the forces now in the field would be more concerned and grieved onhis account than the fiery but soft-hearted Irish doctor.
The camp was reached at last; but long before it was reached, the wholeforce had overtaken them, returning from the pursuit. The bodies ofthose who had fallen were found, horribly mutilated, and were hastilyburied where they fell. But the undertaking had been a failure. TheBoer commando had been unable to arrive at the rendezvous in time, owingto the same reason which had delayed Brathwaite's Horse. It had beenengaged by a large body of the enemy evidently thrown out for thepurpose, and as soon as it had beaten these off it hastened to therelief of our friends, as we have seen. And the upshot of the wholeaffair was that nearly two thousand rebels, with an immense number ofcattle, had succeeded in breaking through, and had gone to join theircountrymen in the fastnesses of the Amatola Mountains.
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All through that night the wounded man lay, watched in turns by his oldcomrades, those among whom he had spent his life. A stupor hadsucceeded the agony which he had first undergone, and now he laycomparatively free from pain and breathing heavily. It happened thatthere was no surgeon in the camp, McShane being with the larger columnsome twenty-five miles off; and though three men were galloping acrosscountry to fetch him, it had long since become evident to all, even thesufferer himself, that the whole Faculty of Medicine could not save hislife. He was doomed from the very first; that ball in the side haddecided his fate. So they watched beside him there, and many times inthe course of the night would his companions-in-arms steal to the doorof the tent to whisper for news, for poor Jack was a favourite with thewhole corps. So still and beautiful was the night that it required someextent of imagination to realise the stirring drama which had beenenacted the day before, and an hour after midnight the camp was wrappedin slumber and darkness, save for that one faint light burning in thedying man's tent, a meet symbol of the life that was flickering within,fainter, and fainter, and fainter. Away on the slopes of the farAmatola the red signal fires of the savages twinkled and glowed, andabove rose the eternal peaks in dark outline.
It was towards dawn. Jim Brathwaite and Claverton alone were in thetent when Armitage seemed suddenly to awake from his death-like stupor.
"Who's there?" he whispered. "That you, Jim?"
In a moment Jim was at his side.
"Well, look here, old chap, I'm off the hooks this time, and no mistake.It wouldn't much matter--only--" and he paused.
"It wouldn't much matter," he continued, as if with an effort; "but--Jim--hang it, it's Gertie I'm thinking of. Poor little g
irl, she'll beleft all alone--," again he seemed to hesitate, and by the light of thedim lantern, it could be seen that the dying man's eyes were very moist."You'll look after her a little, now and then, won't you, Jim, for thesake of old times? There'll be enough to keep her comfortably--wheneverything's realised--that's one consolation. And tell the little girlnot to fret. It can't be helped."
Solemnly Jim promised to carry out his wishes. He was a man of fewwords, but they were from his heart.
"Claverton--it was downright good of you to bring a fellow up here todie among his old friends," went on Armitage, suddenly catching sight ofthe other. "Better fun than pegging out with only the sooty-facedniggers prodding away at you," he added, with an attempt at his oldlight-heartedness. "After all, what does it matter? I say, though, youfellows, don't go bothering to drag me off to `King.' Just slip me insomewhere here. I'd rather, you see. Best sort of grave for a fellowcampaigning--and it's all God's earth."
His voice grew somewhat fainter as he ceased. There was silence for afew minutes, and he lay with closed eyes. The watchers stole a look ateach other, and just then three more figures slipped softly into thetent. They were Hicks, and Allen, and Naylor. The dying man's lipsbegan to move, but Claverton, bending over him, could not catch hiswords, though he thought he could just detect the name of his wife.
"Where's Hicks?" he suddenly exclaimed, opening his eyes. "And Naylor,and all of them? I should just like to say good-bye to them. Oh, hangit all--it's too soon to give way. One more shot and the beggars'llrun. Ah-h-h! That chap's down." His mind was wandering, and hefancied himself in the conflict again, "N-no. Where am I? It's awfullydark. Open those shutters, somebody. A fellow can't see."
Again the watchers look at each other. This was the beginning of theend. Hicks had knelt down beside his dying comrade, and, grasping hishand, something very like a sob is heard to proceed from his broadchest. The candle in the lantern burns low, flickers, and goes out.They put back the flaps of the tent door, and just then the first redflush of dawn glows in the east. Then they bend down to look at theircomrade; but it is all over. The spirit has fled, only the clayremains--cold and tenantless.
Thus died, in his full manhood, the joyous, mischief-loving,sunny-tempered Jack Armitage--light-hearted to the very last; fearless,for he had never done anything to be ashamed of, or contrary to hissimple, straightforward code. Never a dishonest or malicious actioncould he blame himself with, and now he was at peace with all mankind.And if any one is tempted to ask: "Was the man a Pagan? Was he utterlyGodless?" I reply, not necessarily. He died as he had lived, among hisold comrades, careless and unthinking, perhaps, and with his thoughtsapparently all for those he left behind; but genuinely regretted by all,and without an enemy in the world. And, O pious reader, when your timecomes and the grim monarch lays his icy grasp upon you, will they beable to say of you even thus much?
The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier Page 40