The Kopje Garrison: A Story of the Boer WarFenn, George Manville
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The Kopje Garrison: A Story of the Boer War
Fenn, George Manville
South African War, 1899-1902 -- Fiction
There was nothing for it but to crouch there in silence with hearts
beating, and a general feeling that in another few seconds the order
must come to fire.
The moments seemed to be drawn out to minutes as the Boers rode on,
lessening their distance and talking loudly in a sort of formation two
or three abreast, till the front pair were level, when one of them
raised his hand to shade his eyes, and drew his comrade's attention to
something in the distance.
"It's a party of the rooineks," he said in his Dutch patois; "or some of
our horses left from that wretched surprise yesterday."
"I shall never do it in the dark," said Lennox half-aloud, and
Dickenson's heart seemed to cease beating.
"What do you say, behind there?" cried the first speaker sharply, but
without turning his head.
"I say they're rooineks," said one of the three who came next.
"Yes, they're rooineks, sure enough," said the first Boer; "but that's
not what you said just now."
"Yes, I did," was the surly answer; "but every one here's talking at
once."
"Yes," growled the first speaker. "Silence, there! Halt!"
The men reined up in a group, while the first man, who seemed to be in
command, dragged out a much-battered field-glass, focussed it, and tried
to fix the distant objects. But his horse was fresh and fidgety,
waiting to be off.
"Stand still!" cried the Boer savagely, and he caught up the reins he
had dropped on the neck of his mount and gave them a savage jerk which
made the unfortunate animal plunge, sending the rest into disorder, so
that it was another minute before steadiness was restored.--"Mind what
you're about, there," cried the leader. "Keep close to the bushes. Do
you want to be seen?"
He raised his glasses to his eyes again for a few seconds, closed them,
and thrust them back into their case.
"There's too much haze there," he said. "Can't see, but I feel sure
they're some of our ponies grazing."
"Going to round them up and take them back with us?"
"I would if I was sure," was the reply, "but after yesterday's work we
can't afford to run risks. Curse them! They've got enough of our
stores to keep them alive for another month."
Every man was gazing away into the distance, little suspecting that only
a few yards away four magazine-rifles were covering them, and that at a
word they would begin to void their charges, with the result that at
least half-a-dozen of them, perhaps more, would drop from their saddles,
possibly never to rise again. And all this while the little British
party crouched there with, to use the untrue familiar expression, their
hearts in their mouths, watching their enemies, but stealing a glance
from time to time at the shadowy spot beneath the thick bush, wondering
one and all what the young lieutenant would say next.
"He must give the order to fire," said the sergeant to himself as he
covered the leader. "We shall have Mr Lennox speaking out louder
directly and asking where he is."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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