treats of various strange incidents, some interesting matters, and a rescue.
while the emigrant farmers were thus gallantly defending themselves, the party under hans marais and charlie considine was hastening on their spoor to the rescue.
their numbers had been increased by several volunteers, among whom were george dally and scholtz, also david, jacob, and hendrik, the sons of jan smit, who had made up their minds not to follow the fortunes of their savage-tempered sire, but who were at once ready to fly to his rescue on learning that he was in danger. while passing through the country they were further reinforced by a band of stout burghers, and by four brothers named bowker. there were originally seven brothers of this family, who afterwards played a prominent part in the affairs of the colony. one of these bowkers was noted for wearing a very tall white hat, in which, being of a literary turn of mind, he delighted to carry old letters and newspapers. from this circumstance his hat became known as “the post-office.”
although small, this was about as heroic a band of warriors as ever took the field—nearly every man being strong, active, a dead shot well trained to fight with wild beasts, and acquainted with the tactics of wilder men.
proceeding by forced marches, they soon drew near to that part of the country where the beleaguered farmers lay.
one evening, having encamped a little earlier than usual, owing to the circumstance of their having reached a fountain of clear good water, some of the more energetic among them went off to search for game. among these were the brothers bowker.
“there’s very likely a buffalo or something in that bush over there,” said septimus bowker, who was the owner of the “post-office” hat. “come, mr considine, you wanted to— where’s considine?”
every one looked round, but considine and hans were not there. one of the skyds, however, remembered that they had fallen behind half an hour before, with the intention of procuring something fresh for supper.
“well, we must go without him. he wanted to shoot a buffalo. will no one else go?”
no one else felt inclined to go except junkie brook, so he and the four bowkers went off, septimus pressing the “post-office” tightly on his brows as they galloped away.
they had not far to go, game of all kinds being abundant in that region, but instead of finding a buffalo or gnu, they discovered a lioness in a bed of rushes. the party had several dogs with them, and these went yelping into the rushes, while the brothers stationed themselves on a mound, standing in a row, one behind another.
the brother with the tall white hat stood in front. being the eldest, he claimed the post of honour. they were all fearless men and crack shots. junkie was ordered to stand back, and complied with a bad grace, being an ardent sportsman.
“look out!” exclaimed the brother in front to the brothers in rear.
“ready!” was the quiet response.
next moment out came the lioness with a savage growl, and went straight at septimus, who cocked his gun as coolly as if he were about to slay a sparrow.
while the enraged animal was in the act of bounding, septimus fired straight down its throat and suddenly stooped. by so doing he saved his head. perhaps we should say the tall white hat saved it, for the crushing slap which the lioness meant to give him on the side of the head took effect on the post-office, and scattered its contents far and wide. spurning septimus on the shoulders with her hind-legs as she flew past, the lioness made at the brothers. firm as the horatii stood the other three. deliberate and cool was their action as they took aim. junkie followed suit, and the whole fired a volley, which laid the lioness dead at their feet.
gathering himself up, septimus looked with some concern at the white hat before putting it on. remarking that it was tough, he proceeded to pick up its literary contents, while his brothers skinned the lioness. shortly afterwards they all returned to camp.
passing that way an hour or so later, hans marais and charlie considine came upon the spoor of the lioness.
“i say, charlie,” called out hans, “there must be a lion in the vley there. i’ve got the spoor. come here.”
“it’s not in the vley now,” replied charlie; “come here yourself; i’ve found blood, and, hallo! here’s a newspaper! why, it must be a literary lion! look, hans, can you make out the name?—howker, dowker, or something o’ that sort. do lions ever go by that name?”
“bowker,” exclaimed hans, with a laugh. “ah! my boy, there’s no lion in the vley if the bowkers have been here; and see, it’s all plain as a pikestaff. they shot it here and skinned it there, and have dragged the carcass towards that bush; yes, here it is—a lioness. they’re back to camp by this time. come, let’s follow them.”
as they rode along, hans, who had been glancing at the newspaper, turned suddenly to his companion.
“i say, charlie, here’s a strange coincidence. it’s not every day that a man finds a times newspaper in the wilds of southern africa with a message in it to himself.”
“what do you mean, hans?”
“tell me, charlie, about that uncle of whom you once spoke to me—long ago—in rather disrespectful tones, if not terms. was he rich?”
“i believe so, but was never quite certain as to that.”
“did he like you?”
“i rather think not.”
“had you a male cousin or relative of the same name with yourself whom he did like?”
“then allow me to congratulate you on your good fortune, and read that,” said hans, giving him the newspaper.
charlie read.
“if this should meet the eye of charles considine, formerly of golden square, hotchester, he is requested to return without delay to england, or to communicate with aggard, ale, and ixley, solicitors, 23a fitzbustaway square, london.”
“most amazing!” exclaimed considine, after a pause, “and there can be no doubt it refers to me, for these were my uncle’s solicitors—most agreeable men—who gave me the needful to fit me out, and it was their chief clerk—a roman-nosed jovial sort of fellow, named rundle something or other—who accompanied me to the ship when i left, and wished me a pleasant voyage, with a tear, or a drop of rain, i’m not sure which, rolling down his roman nose. well, but, as i said before, isn’t it an astonishing coincidence?”
“it wasn’t you who said that before, it was i,” returned hans, “but we must make allowance for your state of mind. and now, as we’re nearing the camp, what is it to be—silence?”
“silence, of course,” said charlie. “there’s no fear of bowker reading the advertisements through, he has far too much literary taste for that, and even if he did, he’s not likely to stumble on this one. so let’s be silent.”
there was anything but silence in the camp, however, when the friends reached it and reported their want of luck; for the warriors were then in the first fervour of appealing their powerful appetites.
next morning they started at sunrise.
early in the day they came on the mangled remains of the emigrant farmers before referred to. at first it was supposed this must be the remnant of the band they were in search of, but a very brief examination convinced them, experienced as they were in men and signs, that it was another band. soon after, they came in sight of the party for which they were searching, just as the kafirs were making a renewed attack. already a few volleys had been fired by the dutchmen, the smoke of which hung like a white shroud over the camp, and swarms of savages were yelling round it.
“the cattle and flocks have been swept away,” growled frank dobson.
“but the women and children must be safe as yet,” said considine, with a sigh of relief.
“now, boys,” cried hans, who had been elected captain, “we must act together. when i give the word, halt and fire like one man, and then charge where i lead you. don’t scatter. don’t give way to impetuous feelings. be under command, if you would save our friends.”
he spoke with quick, abrupt vigour, and waited for no reply or remark, but, putting himself where he fancied a leader should be, in front of the centre of his little line, set off in the direction of the emigrants’ camp at a smart gallop. as the horsemen drew near they increased their pace, and then a yell from the savages, and a cheer from their friends, told that they had been observed by the combatants on both sides. the kafirs were seen running back to the ridge on the other side of the camp, and assembling themselves hurriedly in a dense mass.
on swept the line of stalwart burghers, over the plain and down into the hollow in dead silence. the force of their leader’s character seemed to have infused military discipline into them. most of them kept boot to boot like dragoons. even dally and scholtz kept well in line, and none lagged or shot ahead. as they passed close to the camp without drawing rein, the dutchmen gave them an enthusiastic cheer, but no reply was made, save by junkie, who could not repress a cry of fierce delight. down deeper into the hollow they went, and up the opposite slope,—the thunder of their tread alone breaking the stillness.
“halt!” cried the leader in a deep loud voice.
they drew up together almost as well as they had run. next moment every man was on the ground and down on one knee; then followed the roar of their pieces, and a yell of wild fury told that none had missed his mark. before the smoke had risen a yard they were again in the saddle. no further order was given. hans charged; the rest followed like a wall at racing speed, with guns and bridles grasped in their left hands and sabres drawn in their right.
the savages did not await the onset. they turned, scattered, and fled. many were overtaken and cut down. the dutchmen sallied from the camp and joined in the pursuit. the kafirs were routed completely, and all the cattle and flocks were recovered.
that same day there was a hot discussion over the camp-fires as to whether the emigrant farmers should return at once to the colony or wait until they should gather together some of the other parties of emigrants which were known to have crossed the frontier. at last it was resolved to adopt the latter course, but the wives and families were to be sent back to fort wilshire under the escort of their deliverers, there to remain till better times should dawn.
“charlie,” said conrad marais, as he walked up and down with his friend, “i must stick by my party, but i can trust you and hans. you’ll be careful of the women and little ones.”
“you may depend on us,” replied considine, with emphasis.
“and you needn’t be afraid to speak to bertha by the way,” said conrad, with a peculiar side glance.
charlie looked up quickly with a flush.
“do you mean, sir, that—that—”
“of course i do,” cried the stout farmer, grasping his friend by the hand; “i forgive your being an englishman, charlie, and as i can’t make you a dutchman, the next best i can do for you is to give you a dutch wife, who is in my opinion better and prettier than any english girl that ever lived.”
“hold!” cried considine, returning the grasp, “i will not join you in making invidious comparisons between dutch and english; but i’ll go farther than you, and say that bertha is in my opinion the best and prettiest girl in the whole world.”
“that’ll do, lad, that’ll do. so, now, we’ll go see what the totties have managed to toss us up for breakfast.”
before the sun set that night the emigrant farmers, united with another large band, were entrenched in a temporary stronghold, and the women and children, with the rescue party—strengthened by a company of hunters and traders who had been in the interior when the war broke out, were far on their way back to fort wilshire.
