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Chapter Twenty Two.
For a Night Attack

It was a weird march in the silence and darkness, but the men were as elastic of spirits as if they had been on their way to some festivity. There may have been some exceptions, but extremely few; and Dickenson was not above suggesting one, not ill-naturedly, but in his anxiety for the success of the expedition, as he explained to Lennox in a whisper when they were talking over the merits of the different non-commissioned officers.

“I don’t believe I shall ever make a good soldier, Drew,” he said.

“What!” was the reply; and then, “Why?”

“Oh, I suppose I’ve got my whack of what some people call brute courage, for as soon as I get excited or hurt I never think of being afraid, but go it half-mad-like, wanting to do all the mischief I can to whoever it is that has hurt me; but what I shall always want will be the cool, calm chess-player’s head that helps a man to take advantage of every move the enemy makes, and check him. I shall always be the fellow who shoves out his queen and castle and goes slashing into the adversary till he smashes him or gets too far to retreat, and is then smashed up himself.”

“Well, be content with what you can do,” said Lennox, “and trust to the cool-headed man as your leader. You’ll be right enough in your way.”

“Thankye. I say, how a trip like this makes you think of your men and what they can do!”

“Naturally,” said Lennox.

“One of the things I’ve learnt is,” continued Dickenson, “how much a regiment like ours depends on its non-commissioned officers.”

“Of course,” replied Lennox. “They’re all long-experienced, highly-trained, picked men. See how they step into the breach sometimes when the leaders are down.”

“By George, yes!” whispered Dickenson enthusiastically. – “Oh, bother that stone! Hff! – And I hope we sha’n’t have them stepping into any breaches to-night.”

“Why?”

“Why! Because we don’t want the leaders to go down.”

“No, of course not,” said Lennox, laughing softly. “But, talking about non-commissioned officers, we’re strong enough. Look at James.”

“Oh yes; he’s as good as a colonel in his way.”

“And the other sergeants too.”

“Capital, well-tried men,” said Dickenson; “but I was thinking of the corporals.”

“Well, there’s hardly a man among them who mightn’t be made a sergeant to-morrow.”

“Hum!” said Dickenson.

“What do you mean?” cried Lennox shortly.

“What I say. Hum! Would you make that chap Corporal May a sergeant?”

“Well, no: I don’t think I would.”

“Don’t think? Why, the fellow’s as great a coward as he is a sneak.”

“Don’t make worse of the man than he is.”

“I won’t,” said Dickenson. “I’ll amend my charge. He’s as great a sneak as he is a coward.”

“Poor fellow! he mustn’t come to you for his character.”

“Poor fellow! Yes, that’s what he is – an awfully poor fellow. Corporal May? Corporal Mayn’t, it ought to be. No, he needn’t come to me for his character. He’ll have to go to Roby, who is trying his best to get him promoted. Asked me the other day whether I didn’t think he was the next man for sergeant.”

“What did you say?”

“Told Roby that he ought to be the very last.”

“You did?”

“Of course: right out.”

“What did Roby say?”

“Told me I was a fool – he didn’t use that word, but he meant it – and then said downright that fortunately my opinion as to the men’s qualities wasn’t worth much.”

“What did you say to that?”

“‘Thankye;’ that’s all. Bah! It set me thinking about what a moll the fellow was in that cave business. It was sheer cowardice, old man. He confessed it, and through that your accident happened. I don’t like Corporal May, and I wish to goodness he wasn’t with us to-night. I’m hopeful, though.”

“Hopeful? Of course. I dare say he’ll behave very well.”

“I daren’t, old man; but I’m hopeful that he’ll fall out with a sore foot or a sprained ankle through stumbling over a stone or bush. That’s the sort of fellow who does – ”

“Pst! We’re talking too much,” whispered Lennox, to turn the conversation, which troubled him, for inwardly he felt ready to endorse every word his comrade had uttered.

“Oh, I’m talking in a fly’s whisper. What a fellow you are! Always ready to defend anybody.”

“Pst!”

“There you go again with your Pst! Just like a sick locomotive.”

“What’s that?”

“I didn’t hear anything. Oh yes, I do. That howl. There it goes again. One of those beautiful hyenas. I say, Drew.”

“Yes?”

“My old people at home live in one of those aesthetic Surrey villages full of old maids and cranks who keep all kinds of useless dogs and cats. The old folks are awfully annoyed by them of a night. When I’ve been down there staying for a visit I’ve felt ready to jump out of bed and shell the neighbourhood with jugs, basins, and water-bottles. But lex talionis, as the lawyers call it – pay ’em back in their own coin. What a game it would be to take the old people home a nice pet hyena or a young jackal to serenade the village of a night!”

“There is an old proverb about cutting your nose off to be revenged upon your face. There, be quiet; I want to think of the work in hand.”

“I don’t,” replied Dickenson; “not till we’re going to begin, and then I’m on.”

The night grew darker as they drew nearer to their goal, for a thin veil of cloud shut out the stars; but it was agreed that it was all the better for the advance. In fact, everything was favourable; for the British force had week by week grown less demonstrative, contenting itself with acting on the defensive, and the reconnoitring that had gone on during the past few days had been thoroughly masked by the attempts successfully made to carry off a few sheep, this being taken by the enemy as the real object of the excursions. For the Boers, after their long investment of Groenfontein and the way in which they had cut off all communications, were perfectly convinced that the garrison was rapidly growing weaker, and that as soon as ever their ammunition died out the prize would fall into their hands like so much ripe fruit.

They were thus lulled as it were into a state of security, which enabled the little surprise force to reach the place made for without encountering a single scout. Then, with the men still fresh, a halt was made where the character of the ground suddenly changed from open, rolling, bush-sprinkled veldt to a slight ascent dotted with rugged stones, which afforded excellent cover for a series of rushes if their approach were discovered before they were close up.

This was about a mile from the little low kopje where the Boers were laagered; and as soon as the word to halt had been whispered along the line the men lay down to rest for the two hours settled in the plans before making their final advance, while the first alarm of the sentries on guard was to be the signal for the bayonet-charge.

“I don’t think we need say any more to the lads,” whispered the major as the officers crept together for a few final words. “They all know that the striking of a match for a furtive pipe would be fatal to the expedition.”

“Yes,” said Captain Roby, “and to a good many of us. But the lads may be trusted.”

“Yes, I believe so,” said the major.

“There’s one thing I should like to say, though,” said Roby. “I’ve been thinking about it all the time we’ve been on the march.”

“What is it, Roby?” said the major. – “Can you hear, Edwards – all of you?”

“Yes – yes,” was murmured, for the officers’ heads were pretty close together.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Captain Roby, “that if we divided our force and attacked on two sides at once, the Boers would believe that we were in far greater force, and the panic would be the greater.”

“Excellent advice,” said the major, “if our numbers were double; but it would weaken our attack by half – oh, by far more than half. No, Roby, I shall keep to the original plan. We don’t know enough of the kopje, and in the darkness we could not ensure making the attack at the same moment, nor yet in the weakest places. We must keep as we are. Get as close as we can without being discovered, and then the bugles must sound, and with a good British cheer we must be into them.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” was murmured, and Captain Roby was silent for a brief space.

“Very well, sir,” he said coldly. “You know best.”

“I don’t know that, Roby,” replied the major; “but I think that is the better plan – a sudden, sharply delivered surprise with the bayonet. The enemy will have no chance to fire much, and we shall be at such close quarters that they will be at a terrible disadvantage.”

“Yes,” said Captain Edwards as the major ceased speaking; “let them have their rear open to run, and let our task be to get them on the run. I agree with the major: no alterations now.”

“No,” said Dickenson in a low growl; “no swapping horses when you’re crossing a stream.”

“I have done,” said Roby, and all settled down into silence, the officers resting like the men, but rising to creep along the line from time to time to whisper a word or two with the non-commissioned officers, whom they found thoroughly on the alert, ready to rouse up a man here and there who was coolly enough extended upon his back sleeping, to pass the time to the best advantage before it was time to fight.

Every now and then there came a doleful, despairing yelp from some hungry animal prowling about in search of prey, and mostly from the direction of the Boer laager, where food could be scented. Twice, too, from far off to their left, where the wide veldt extended, there came the distant, awe-inspiring, thunderous roar of a lion; but for the most part of the time the stillness around was most impressive, with sound travelling so easily in the clear air that the neighing of horses was plainly heard again and again, evidently coming from the Boer laager, unless, as Lennox suggested, a patrol might be scouting round. But as each time it came apparently from precisely the same place, the first idea was adopted, especially as it was exactly where the enemy’s camp was marked down.

The two hours seemed very long to Lennox, who lay thinking of home, and of how little those he loved could realise the risky position he occupied that night. Dickenson was flat upon his back with his hands under his head, going over again the scene in the cavern when he was looking down the chasm and watching the movement of the light his friend had attached to his belt.

“Not a pleasant thing to think about,” he said to himself, “but it makes me feel savage against that corporal, and it’s getting my monkey up, for we’ve got to fight to-night as we never fought before. We’ve got to whip, as the Yankees say – ‘whip till we make the beggars run.’ What a piece of impudence it does seem!” he said to himself a little later on. “Here we are, about a hundred and fifty hungry men, and I’ll be bound to say there’s about fifteen hundred of the enemy. But then they don’t grasp it. They’re beggars to sleep, and if we’re lucky we shall be on to them before they know where they are. Oh, we shall do it;” and he lay thinking again of Corporal May, feeling like a boy once more; and he was just at the pitch when he muttered to himself, “What a pity it is that an officer must not strike one of his men! – for I should dearly like to punch that fellow’s head. – Ha! here’s the major. Never mind, there’ll be other heads waiting over yonder, and I dare say I shall get all I want.”

He turned over quickly, not to speak, but to grip his comrade’s hand, for the word was being passed to fall in, and as he and Lennox gripped each other’s hands hard and in silence, a soft, rustling movement was heard. For the men were springing to their feet and arranging their pouches and belts, before giving their rifles a thorough rub to get rid of the clinging clew.

“Fall in” was whispered, and the men took their places with hardly a sound.

“Fix bayonets!” was the next order, and a faint – very faint – metallic clicking ran along the lines, followed by a silence so deep that the breathing of the men could be heard.

“Forward!”

There was no need for more, and the officers led off, with the one idea of getting as close to the Boers as possible before they were discovered, and then charging home, keeping their men as much together as they could, and knowing full well that much must be left to chance.

The next minute the men were advancing softly in double line, opening out and closing up, as obstacles in the shape of stone and bush began to be frequent. But there was no hurry, no excitement. They had ample time, and when one portion of the force was a little entangled by a patch of bush thicker than usual, those on either side halted so as to keep touch, and in this way the first half-mile was passed, the only sound they heard being the neighing of a horse somewhere in front.

Chapter Twenty Three.
The Advance

The horse’s neigh was hailed with satisfaction by the officers, for it proved that they were going right; and soon after, this idea was endorsed and there was no more doubt as to their being aiming exactly, for right in front the darkness seemed to be intensified, and the advancing party could dimly see the rugged outline of the kopje marked against the sky.

Lennox drew a deep breath full of relief, for from what he could see there would be no terrible blundering and fighting their way up precipitous tracks, as the Boers’ stronghold was nothing more than a vast mound, easy of ascent; though he did not doubt for a moment but that wherever the ground was fairly level the lower part would be strengthened by breastworks and row after row of wagons, from behind which the Boers would fire.

The advancing force tramped on as silently as ever, in spite of the impediments in their way; but there was no alarm, no scout sitting statue-like upon his active, wiry Basuto pony, and farther on no bandolier-belted sentry, rifle in hand, shouted the alarm. They might have been approaching a deserted camp for all the hindrance they met with.

It seemed to Lennox, just as others expressed it later on, that it was too good to be true, and the young officer’s heart beat fast as, revolver in one hand, sword in the other, he stepped lightly on, prepared for a furious volley from the Boer rifles, being quite certain in his own mind that they must be going right into an ambush.

But no – all was safe: and they were so near that at any moment the bugles might sound, to be followed by the rousing cheer of the men in their dashing charge.

Suddenly there was a pause, and a thrill ran along the line, for there was something in the way not five yards from Lennox’s position in the line.

“A sentry!” was whispered, and the line advanced again, for a burgher was lying across the way, fast asleep, and giving warning thereof through the nose – sleeping so hard that the men stepped right over him, he as unconscious as they were that other sentries were failing as much in their wearisome duty and being passed.

“It must be now,” thought Lennox, as he could dimly make out, spreading to right and left, a line of wagons, but not closed up, for there were wide intervals between; and now a low, dull, crunching sound and the odour of bovine animals plainly announced that there were spans of oxen lying close by the wagons as if ready for some movement in the early morning for which their drivers had made preparations overnight.

As it happened, the interval between two of the wagons was fairly wide just opposite the spot where Lennox was in line with his men. Dickenson was off to his left, and Roby was leading.

In a whisper the major indicated that the men should close up and pass through this opening, but in the excitement of the moment he spoke too loudly, and from somewhere close, the guard having been passed in the darkness, a man started up and shouted:

“Who comes there?”

His answer was given by the loud call of a bugle, and as he fired his warning shot the major’s voice was heard shouting, “Forward – bayonets!” and with a ringing cheer the men dashed on as best they could, making for the centre of the Boers’ position, shouting, cheering again and again, and driving the yelling crowd of excited Boers who were springing up in all directions before them like a flock of sheep.

The confusion was awful: rifles were being fired here and there at random, and more often at the expense of friend than of foe; while wherever a knot of the enemy clustered together it was as often to come into contact with their own people as with the major’s excited line, which dashed at them as soon as an opening could be found, with such effect that the Boers, thoroughly surprised, gave way in every direction, fleeing from bristling bayonets and overturning one another in their alarm.

It was terrible work, for the attacking line was so often arrested by impediments whose nature they could not stop to grasp, that it was soon broken up into little groups led by officers commissioned and non-commissioned. But still, after a fashion, they preserved the formation of an advancing wave sweeping over the kopje, and their discipline acted magnetically with its cohesion, drawing them together, while their enemies scattered more and more to avoid the bayonet as much as to find some shelter from which such of them as had their rifles could fire.

It was panic in excelsis, and though many fought bravely, using their pieces as clubs where they could not fire, the one line they followed was that of flight for the enclosure behind, where their horses were tethered; and in less than ten minutes the major’s force had swept right through the Boer laager on to open ground, where, in response to bugle, whistle, and cry, they rallied, ready for rushing the enemy wherever they could see a knot gathering together to resist, or from which firing had begun.

Another five minutes, during which there was desperate work going on near what had been the centre of the attacking line, and the beating of horses’ hoofs and trampling feet told that the Boers were in full flight in the direction of the next kopje, where their friends were in all probability sleeping in as much security as had been the case where the attack was made. And now, as soon as the major could get his men in hand, they dropped on one knee to empty the magazines of their rifles into the dimly seen cloud of flying men running and hiding for their lives, the volleys completely dissipating all thoughts of rallying to meet the attacking force; in fact, not a Boer stopped till the next kopje was reached and the news announced of their utter defeat.

It was quick but terrible work, for the men’s bayonets had been busy. Their blood was up, and they felt that they were avenging weeks of cruel suffering, loss, and injury. But now that the wild excitement of the encounter was at an end, and they were firing with high trajectory at their panic-stricken foes, the bugle rang out “Cease firing!” and they gathered together, flinging up their helmets and catching them on their bayonets, and cheering themselves hoarse.

The next minute they were eagerly obeying orders, with the faint light of day beginning to appear in the east, and working with all their might to collect and give first aid to the wounded, whether he was comrade or enemy: no distinction was made; everything possible was done.

But before this Major Robson had selected the best runner of his men volunteering for the duty, and sent him off to Groenfontein bearing a hastily pencilled message written upon the leaf of his pocketbook:

“Boers utterly routed – kopje and laager taken. Many wounded; send help.”

For the attacking force had not escaped unhurt, several having received bullet-wounds, as where the Boers could get a chance they fired well; but as far as could be made out in the first hurried examination not a man was dangerously injured, and in most of the cases their hurts were cuts and bruises given by the butts of rifles. As to the Boers, the majority of their hurts were bayonet-thrusts, in some cases the last injuries they would receive; but quite a score were suffering from the small bullet-holes made by the Mauser rifles fired by their friends in their random expenditure of ammunition, such of them as had been shot by our men lying far out on the veldt, having received their wounds during their hurried flight and not yet been brought in.

Many of the wounded Boers – there was not a single prisoner, orders having been given not to arrest their flight – looked on in wonder to see the easy-going, friendly way in which our soldiers gave them help. For it was a cheery “Hold up, old chap!” or “Oh, this is not bad; you’ll soon be all right again.”

“Here, Tommy, bring this Dutchman a drink of water.”

For the fierce warrior was latent once again, and now it was the simple Briton, ready and eager to help his injured brother in the good old Samaritan mode.

There was other work in hand to do as soon as it was light enough – the roll to call – and there were missing men to be accounted for; while, as the officers responded to their names, there was no answer to that of Captain Roby.

“He was fighting away like a hero, sir, last time I saw him,” said Sergeant James, whose frank, manly face was disfigured by a tremendous blow on the cheek.

“Search for him, my lads; he can’t have been taken prisoner,” said the major. “It’s getting lighter now.”

“Poor fellow! I hope he hasn’t got it,” said Dickenson to himself as he nursed a numbed arm nearly broken by a drive made with a rifle-butt.

Lennox was called, and Dickenson’s eyes dilated and then seemed to contract, for there was no reply.

“Mr Lennox. – Who saw Mr Lennox last?”

There was no answer for some seconds, and then from where the wounded lay a feeble voice said, “I saw him running round one of the wagons, sir, just in the thick of the fight.”

“He must be down,” said the major sadly. “Look for him, my lads; he is somewhere on the ground we came along, lying perhaps amongst the Boers.”

Dickenson groaned – perhaps it was from pain, for his injury throbbed, pangs running right up into the shoulder-joint, and then up the left side of his neck.

“Oh! don’t say poor old Drew’s down,” he said to himself. “Just, too, when I was growling at him for not coming to look me up when I was hurt.”

No one did say he was down but the young lieutenant’s imagination, and he sat down on a rock and began watching the men coming and going after bringing in wounded men.

“Who said he saw Mr Lennox last?” cried Captain Edwards.

“I did,” said the wounded man in a feeble, whining voice.

“Who’s that?” said the major, stepping towards the man, who lay with his face disfigured by a smear of blood.

“I did, sir. Dodging round one of the wagons somewhere. It was where the Boers stood a bit, and I got hurt.”

“Could you point out the place?”

“No, sir; it was all dark, and I’m hurt,” said the man faintly.

“Give him some water,” said the captain. “Your hurts shall be seen to soon, my lad. Cheer up, all of you; the major has sent for the ambulance-wagons, so you’ll ride home.”

“Hooray, and thanks, sir!” said the worst wounded man, and then he fainted.

Just then, as the first orange-tipped clouds were appearing far on high, four men were seen approaching, carrying a wounded man slung in Sergeant James’s sash; and as soon as he caught sight of the injured man’s face Major Robson hurried to meet the party.

“Roby! Tut, tut, tut!” he cried. “This is bad work. Not dead, sergeant?”

“No, sir; but he has it badly. Bullet at the top of his forehead; hit him full, and ploughed up through scalp; but as far as I can make out the bone’s not broken.”

“Lay him down, sergeant. How long will it be,” he muttered, “before we get the doctor here? Where did you find him?”

“Lying out yonder all alone, beyond those rocks, sir,” replied the sergeant.

“Water – bandage,” said the major, and both were brought, and the best that could be done under the circumstances was effected by the major and Sergeant James, while the sufferer resisted strongly, every now and then muttering impatiently. Then irritably telling those who tended him to let him go to sleep, he closed his eyes, but only to open them again and stare vacantly, just as Dickenson, who had been away for another look round on his own account, came up and bent over him.

“Poor fellow!” muttered Dickenson sadly, and he laid his hand sympathetically upon that of the wounded captain.

“I don’t think it’s very serious,” said the major. “Look here, Dickenson; we have no time to spare. Take enough men, and set half to round up all the bullocks and sheep you can see, while the others load up three or four wagons with what provisions you can find. Send off each wagon directly straight for camp, and the cattle too, while we gather and blow up all the ammunition and fire the wagons left. It will not be very long before the enemy will be coming back. Hurry.”

Dickenson was turning to go when the major arrested him.

“Any news of Lennox?” he said.

“None, sir,” said the lieutenant sadly.

But his words were nearly drowned by an angry cry from Roby: “The coward! The cur! He shall be cashiered for this.”

“Go on, Dickenson,” said the major; “the poor fellow’s off his head. He doesn’t mean you.”

The lieutenant hurried away, and for the next half-hour the men worked like slaves, laying the wounded Boers well away from the laager, and their own injured men out on the side nearest Groenfontein; while Dickenson, in the most business-like manner, helped by Sergeant James, sent off a large drove of oxen, the big, heavy, lumbering animals herding together and trudging steadily away after a wagon with its regular span laden heavily with mealies, straight for Groenfontein. For a few Kaffirs turned up after the firing was over, evidently with ideas of loot, and ready to be impressed for foreloper, driver, or herdsmen to the big drove of beasts.

A few horses were rounded up as well, and followed the oxen; while, as fast as they could be got ready, three more provision-wagons were despatched, the whole making a long broken convoy on its way to the British camp.

By this time the men, working under the orders of Captain Edwards and the major, had got the Boers’ ammunition-wagons together in one place behind a mass of rocks, on the farther side of the kopje, away from the wounded. Then the weapons that could be found were piled amongst the wagons in another place; and the troops were still working hard when the major bade them cease.

“We can do no more,” he said; “we have no time. But oughtn’t the ambulance-wagons to be here by now? The enemy can’t be long; they’re bound to attack. Ah, Dickenson, have you got all off?”

“All I could, sir, in the time.”

“That’s right. I want your men here. You’ll be ready to help to get off the wounded as soon as the wagons come?”

Dickenson nodded, with his head averted from the speaker and his eyes wandering over the injured men.

“No news of Lennox?” he asked.

“None. I can’t understand where the poor fellow is, unless he was carried off in the rush of the Boers’ retreat. A thorough search has been made. Here, get up on the highest part of the kopje with your glass, and see if you can make out anything of the enemy.”

The lieutenant was in the act of opening the case of his field-glass, when from where the wounded lay came another angry burst of exclamations from Roby, incoherent for the most part, but Dickenson heard plainly, “Coward – cowardly hound! To leave a man like that.”

Dickenson turned a quick, inquiring look at the major.

“Delirium,” said the latter sharply. “I don’t know what the poor fellow has on his brain. Oh, if the ambulance fellows would only come! There, my dear boy, off with you and use that glass.”