The Kopje Garrison: A Story of the Boer War

Many a long discussion took place amongst the soldiers about the state of affairs, in which Corporal May declared that it was a burning shame – that the generals only thought of saving their own skins, and didn’t care a fig for the poor fellows on duty fighting for their lives.

Sergeant James was present, and he flushed up into a rage and bullied the corporal in the way that a sergeant can bully when he is put out. He told the corporal that he was a disgrace to the army; and he told the men that as long as a British officer could move to the help of his men who were in peril, he didn’t care a snap of the fingers for his own life, but he moved.

Then it was the men’s turn, and they spoke all together and as loudly as they could; but they only said one word, and that one word was “Hooray!” repeated a great many times over, with the result that Corporal May was fully of opinion that the men put more faith in the sergeant than they did in him, and, to use one of the men’s expressions, “he sneaked off like a wet terrier with his tail between his legs.”

Discussions took place also among the officers again and again after their miserable starvation mess, which was once more, in spite of all efforts to supplement it, reduced to a very low ebb. For the brave colonel was Spartan-like in his ways.

“I can’t sit down to a better dinner than my brave lads are eating, gentlemen,” he would say. “It’s share and share alike with the Boers’ hard knocks, so it’s only fair that it should be the same with the good things of life.”

“Yes, that’s all very well, colonel,” grumbled the major; “but where are those good things?”

“Ah, where are they?” said the colonel. “Never mind; we shall win yet. The Boers have done their worst to crack this hard nut, and we’ve kept them at bay, which is almost as good as a victory.”

“But surely, sir,” said Captain Roby impatiently, “help might have been sent to us before now. Has the general forgotten us?”

“No,” said the colonel decisively. “I’m afraid that he has several detachments in the same condition as we are. That’s why we do not get any help.”

“Perhaps so, sir,” said the captain bitterly; “but I’m getting very tired of this inaction.”

“That sounds like a reproach to me, Roby,” said the colonel gravely.

“Oh no, sir; I didn’t mean that,” said the captain.

“Your words expressed it sir. Come now, speak out. What would you do if you were in my place, with three strong commandos of the Boers forming a triangle with a kopje at each apex which they hold with guns?”

“I don’t want to give an opinion, sir.”

“But every one wishes that you should. – Eh, gentlemen?”

“Certainly,” came in eager chorus.

“Well, if I must speak, I must, sir,” said the captain, flushing.

“Yes, speak without fear or favour.”

“Well, sir, all military history teaches us that generals with small armies, when surrounded by a greater force, have gained victories by attacking the enemy in detail.”

“Yes, I see what you mean,” said the colonel quietly. “You would have me attack and take first one kopje, then the second, and then the third?”

“Exactly, sir.”

“Capital strategy, Mr Roby, if it could be done; but I cannot recall any case in which a general was situated as we are, with three very strong natural forts close at hand.”

There was a murmur of assent, and Dickenson exchanged glances with Lennox, who was, with the exception of the scar on his forehead, none the worse for his terrible experience in the kopje cavern.

“You see, gentlemen,” continued the colonel, who did not display the slightest resentment at Roby’s remarks, “if the Boers were soldiers – men who could manoeuvre, attack, and carry entrenchments – they are so much stronger that they could have carried this place with ease. It would have meant severe loss, but in the end, if they had pushed matters to extremity, they must have won. As it is, they fight from cover – very easy work, when they have so many natural strongholds. I could take any of these; but while I was engaged with my men against one party, the other two would advance and take this place, with such stores as we have. Where should we be then?”

“Oh, but I’d leave half the men to defend the place, sir. Why, with a couple of companies, and a good time chosen for a surprise, I could take any of the enemy’s laagers.”

The colonel raised his eyebrows, and looked at the speaker curiously.

“You see, sir,” continued Roby, speaking in a peculiarly excited way, “the men, as an Irishman would say, are spoiling for a fight, and we are getting weaker and weaker. In another fortnight we shall be quite helpless.”

“I hope not, Mr Roby,” said the colonel dryly. “Perhaps you would like to try some such experiment with a couple of companies?”

“I should, sir,” cried the captain eagerly; and the other officers looked from one to the other wonderingly, and more wonderingly still when the colonel said calmly:

“Very well, Mr Roby. I will make my plans and observations as to which of the three laagers it would be more prudent to attack. If you do not succeed, you ought at least to be able to bring in some of the enemy’s cattle.”

That evening the colonel had a quiet council with the major, the latter being strongly opposed to the plan; but the colonel was firm.

“I do not expect much,” he said, “but it will be reading the Boers a lesson, even if he fails, and do our men good, for all this inaction is telling upon them, as I have been noticing, to my sorrow, during the past three or four days. To be frank with you, Robson, I have been maturing something of the kind.”

“But you will not give the command to Roby?” cried the major.

“Certainly not,” said the colonel emphatically. “You will take the lead.”

“Ha!” ejaculated the major.

“With Roby as second in command. I will talk with you after I have done a little scouting on my own account.”

Two days elapsed, and Captain Roby had been talking a good deal in a rather injudicious way about its being just what he expected. The colonel had been out both nights with as many men as he could mount – just a small scouting party – seen all that he could as soon as it was daylight, and returned soon after sunrise each time after a brush with the enemy, who had discovered the approach to their lines and followed the retiring party up till they came within reach of the gun, when a few shells sent them scampering back.

It was on the third night that Captain Roby sat talking to his greatest intimates, and he repeated his injudicious remarks so bitterly that Captain Edwards said severely, “I can’t sit here and listen to this, Roby. You must be off your head a little, and if you don’t mind you’ll be getting into serious trouble.”

“Trouble? What do you mean, sir?” cried Roby. “I feel it is my duty to speak.”

“And I feel it is not; and if I were Colonel Lindley I would not stand it.”

He had hardly spoken when there was the crack of a rifle, followed by another and another. The men turned out ready for anything, fully expecting that the Boers were making an attack; but Dickenson came hurrying to the colonel with the report of what had happened.

The two prisoners had been waiting their opportunity, and rising against the sentry who shared their corrugated iron prison, had snatched his bayonet from his side and struck him down, with just enough life left in him afterwards to relate what had happened. Then slipping out, they had tried to assassinate the sentry on duty, but failed, for he was too much on the alert. He had fired at them, but they had both escaped into the darkness, under cover of which, and with their thorough knowledge of the country, they managed to get right away.

“Just like Lindley,” said Roby contemptuous as soon as the alarm was over and the men had settled down again. “Any one but he would have made short work of those two fellows.”

He had hardly spoken when an orderly came to the door of the hut where he, Captain Edwards, and two more were talking, and announced that the colonel desired to speak with Captain Roby directly. The latter sprang up and darted a fierce look at Captain Edwards.

“You have lost no time in telling tales,” he said insolently.

“You are on the wrong track,” said the gentleman addressed, angrily. “I have not seen the colonel to speak to since, and I have sent no message.”

Roby turned on his heel wrathfully and went straight to the colonel’s quarters, to face him and the major, who was with him.

To his intense astonishment and delight, the colonel made the announcement that the south-west laager was to be attempted by surprise that night by a hundred and fifty men with the bayonet alone, the major in command, Captain Roby second, and Captain Edwards and the two subalterns of Roby’s company to complete the little force.

“When do we start, sir?” said Roby, with his heart beating fast.

“An hour before midnight,” said the colonel; and the major added:

“Without any sound of preparation. The men will assemble, and every precaution must be taken that not one of the blacks gets wind of the attempt so as to warn the enemy of our approach.”

“I have no more to add, Robson,” said the colonel. “You know where to make your advance. Take the place if you can without firing a shot, but of course, if fire should be necessary, use your own discretion.”

The whole business was done with the greatest absence of excitement. The three officers were warned at once; Captain Edwards looked delighted, but Dickenson began to demur.

“You are not fit to go, Drew,” he said.

“I never felt more fit,” was the reply, “and if you make any opposition you are no friend of mine.”

“Very well,” said Dickenson quietly; “but I feel that we’re going to have a sharp bit of business, and I can’t think that you are strong enough.”

“I’ve told you that I am,” said Lennox firmly. “The orders are that I go with the company, and the colonel would not send me if he did not know from his own opinion and the doctor’s report that I am fit to be with the ranks.”

There was a little whisper or two between Dickenson and Sergeant James.

“Oh, I don’t know, sir,” said the latter; “he has pulled round wonderfully during the last fortnight, and it isn’t as if we were going on a long exhausting march. Just about six or seven miles through level veldt, sir, and in the cool of the night.”

“Well, there is that,” said Dickenson thoughtfully.

“And a good rest afterwards, sir, so as to make the advance, so I hear, just at the Boers’ sleepiest time. Bah! It’ll be a mere nothing if we can only get through their lines quietly. They’ll never stand the bayonet; and I wouldn’t wish for a smarter officer to follow than Mr Lennox.”

“Nor a braver, James,” said Dickenson quietly.

“Nor a braver, sir.”

“If he is up to the mark for strength.”

“Let him alone for that, sir,” said the sergeant, with a chuckle. “I don’t say Mr Lennox will be first, but I do say he won’t be last; and the men’ll follow him anywhere, as you know, sir, well.”

“Yes,” said Dickenson, drawing a deep breath; “and it’s what we shall want to-night – a regular rush, and the bayonet home.”

“That’s it, sir; but I must go. The lads are half-mad with joy, and if I’m not handy we shall have them setting up a shout.”

But of course there was no shout, the men who, to their great disgust, were to stay and hold the camp bidding good-luck to their more fortunate comrades without a sound; while more than once, with the remembrance of the dastardly murder that had just taken place, men whispered to their comrades something about not to forget what the cowardly Boers had done.

Exact to the time, just an hour before midnight, and in profound darkness – for the moon had set but a short time before – the men, with shouldered rifles, set off with springy step, Dickenson and Lennox, to whom the country was well known from shooting and fishing excursions they had made, leading the party, not a word being uttered in the ranks, and the tramp, tramp of feet sounding light and elastic as the lads followed through the open, undulating plain, well clear of the bush, there being hardly a stone to pass till they were within a mile of the little kopje where the Boers’ laager lay.

There the broken country would begin, the land rising and being much encumbered with stones. But the place had been well surveyed by the major through his field-glass at daybreak two days before, and he had compared notes with Lennox, telling him what he had seen, and the young officer had drawn his attention to the presence of a patch of woodland that might be useful for a rallying-point should there be need. Captain Roby, too, had been well posted up; and after all that was necessary had been said, Lennox had joined his friend.

“Oh, we shall do it, Bob,” he said. “What I wonder is, that it was not tried long enough ago.”

“So do I,” was the reply. “But, I say, speak out frankly: do you feel up to the work?”

“I feel as light and active as if I were going to a football match,” was the reply.

“That’s right,” said Dickenson, with a sigh of relief.

“And you?”

“Just as if I were going to give the Boers a lesson and show them what a couple of light companies can do in a storming rush. There, save your breath for the use of your legs. Two hours’ march, two hours’ lie down, and then – ”

“Yes, Bob;” said Lennox, drawing a deep breath, and feeling for the first time that they were going on a very serious mission; “and then?”

And then there was nothing heard but the light tramp – tramp – tramp – tramp of a hundred and fifty men and their leaders, not one of whom felt the slightest doubt as to his returning safe.

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.”