Charge! A Story of Briton and BoerFenn, George Manville
General
Charge! A Story of Briton and Boer
Fenn, George Manville
South African War, 1899-1902 -- Fiction
"Not the blackest blacks, sor," said the man, drawing himself up and
raising one hand and his voice in an oratorical way; "the blacks I mane
are white-skinned, but black in the heart through and through; the
blacks who are the dispisers of progress, the foes of freedom, the
inimies of the counthry, sor--the despicable, insolent Saxons."
"Do you mean the English?" said my father coolly.
"I do that, sor," said the man defiantly; "and the day has dawned at
last when the down-thrampled Boers are goin' to give them a lesson that
shall make the British lion snaik out of this counthry with his tail
between his legs like a beaten dog."
"You are a British subject, sir," said my father.
"Mahn, I scorrun it," cried our visitor. "I have thrown off all fealty
years ago, and am a free Irishman, and captain of the body of brave men
who are going to dhrive the tyranny of England out of this colony for
ever."
"This is all news to me, sir," said my father coldly.
"Is it, sor?" said our visitor mockingly. "Then I'm proud to be the
bearer of the great news."
"Do you mean to tell me, then," said my father, "that there is war
declared by England against the Boers?"
"No, sor," cried the fellow insolently; "but I tell you that we have
declared war again' the brutal Saxon."
"We, sir?" said my father gravely. "But you are one of the Queen's
servants--an Irishman."
"Nothing of the sort, sor. I disown England; I disowned her when I came
out here to throw meself into the arrums of the brave, suffering,
pathriotic race around me, and placed my sword at their service."
"Then you are a soldier, I presume?" said my father.
"I was tin years in the arrmy, sor," said our visitor, drawing himself
up and clapping his hand upon his chest. "Look at thim," he continued,
pointing to his followers drawn up in line. "A part of my following,
and as fine irrigular cavalry as ever threw leg over saddle.--Look here,
young man, ye're in luck, for ye'll have the honour of serving in
Captain Eustace Moriarty's troop."
"You are Captain Eustace Moriarty?" said my father.
"I am, sor."
"Then I must tell you, sir," said my father, "that though I have taken
up land here and made it my home, I claim my rights as an Englishman not
to make myself a traitor by taking up arms against my Queen."
"A thraitor!" cried the captain. "Bah! That for the Queen;" and he
snapped his fingers. "But ye're not asked to serve now. That can wait
till ye're wanted. It's the bhoy we want, and maybe after a bit it'll
be you."
"My son thinks as I do," said my father sternly.
"Does he, now?" said the captain mockingly. "Then I shall have to
tache him to think as I do, and it won't take long. D'ye hear me,
bhoy?"
"I hear what you say, sir," I replied. "Of course I think as my father
does, and I refuse to serve against England."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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