The Kopje Garrison: A Story of the Boer War. Fenn George Manville

as the enemy did till they fell back.”

      “Quite time the Boers were taught the meaning of civilised war, Bob,” said Lennox as they returned to their quarters.

      “Quite; but I’m out of heart with them,” replied Dickenson. “They’re bad pupils – such a one-sided lot.”

      “What about the corn and sheep and beef those fellows are to bring to-morrow or next night?” said Lennox grimly.

      “Well, what about it? I’m afraid they’ll be too much offended with the colonel’s treatment to come.”

      “Yes,” said Lennox; “so am I.”

      Chapter Six.

      Pleasant Supplies

      Matters looked anything but hopeful at Groenfontein, though the men were full of spirits and eager to respond to any of the attacks made by the Boers, who, with three commandos, thoroughly shut them in, joining hands and completely cutting off all communication.

      Time was gliding on without any sign of help from outside, and the beleaguered party would have concluded that they were quite forgotten by their friends if they had not felt certain that the different generals were fully engaged elsewhere.

      “Let’s see,” said Lennox one evening; “we’ve been attacked every day since our fishing-trip.”

      “That’s right; and the Boers have been beaten every day for a week.”

      “And yet they are as impudent as over. They think that we shall surrender as soon as we grow a little more hungry.”

      “Then they’ll be sold,” said Dickenson, “for the hungrier I grow the more savage and full of fight I get. You know about the old saying of some fellow, that when he had had a good dinner a child might play with him?”

      “Oh yes, I know,” said Lennox. “Well, these children of the desert had better not try to play with me.”

      “Ought to have a notice on you, ‘Take care; he bites’ – eh?” said Lennox merrily.

      “’M, yes; something of the kind. I say, I wish, though, I could sleep without dreaming.”

      “Can’t you?”

      “No; it’s horrible. I go to sleep directly I lie down, and then the game begins. I’m at Christmas dinners or banquets or parties, and the tables are covered with good things. Then either they’ve got no taste in them, or else as soon as I try to cut a slice or take up a mouthful in a spoon it’s either snatched or dragged away.”

      “Oh, don’t talk about food,” said Lennox impatiently; “it makes me feel sick. There’s one comfort, though.”

      “Is there?” cried Dickenson excitedly. “Where? Give us a bit.”

      “Nonsense! I mean we have plenty of that beautiful spring water.”

      “Ugh!” cried Dickenson, with a shudder. “Cold and clear, unsustaining. I saw some water once through a microscope, and it was full of live things twizzling about in all directions. That’s the sort of water we want now – something to eat in it as well as drink.”

      Lennox made an irritable gesture.

      “Talk about something else, man,” he cried. “You think of nothing but eating and drinking.”

      “That’s true, old man. Well, I’ll say no more about drinking; but I wonder how cold roast prisoner would taste?”

      “Bob!” shouted Lennox.

      “Well, what shall I talk about?”

      “Look about you. See how beautiful the kopjes and mountains look in the distance this evening; they seem to glow with orange and rose and gold.”

      “There you go again! You’re always praising up this horrid place.”

      “Well, isn’t it beautiful? See how clear the air is.”

      “I dare say. But I don’t want clear air; I’d rather it was thick as soup if it tasted like it.”

      “Soup! There you go again. Think of how lovely it is down by the river.”

      “With the Boers popping at you? I say, this ear of mine doesn’t heal up.”

      “You don’t mind the doctor’s orders.”

      “So much fighting to do; haven’t time.”

      “But you grant it is beautiful down by the river?”

      “Yes, where only man is vile – very vile indeed; does nothing all day but try to commit murder. But there, it’s of no use for you to argue; I think South Africa is horrible. Look at the miles of wretched dusty desert and stony waste. I don’t know what we English want with it.”

      “Room for our colonists, and to develop the mines. Look at the diamonds.”

      “Look at our sparkling sea at home.”

      “Look at the gold.”

      “I like looking at a good golden furzy common in Surrey. It’s of no use, Drew, my lad; it’s a dismal, burning, freezing place.”

      “Why don’t you throw it up and go home, then?”

      “What! before we’ve beaten the Boers into a state of decency? No!”

      Bob Dickenson’s “No!” was emphatic enough for anything, and brought the conversation between the two young men to an end; for it was close upon the time for the mess dinner, which, whatever its shortcomings, as Bob Dickenson said, was jolly punctual, even if there was no tablecloth.

      So they descended from where they had perched themselves close up to the big gun, where their commanding position gave them the opportunity for making a wide sweep round over the karoo, taking in, too, the wooded course of the river and the open country beyond in the possession of the Boers.

      But they had seen no sign of an enemy or grazing horse; though they well knew that if a company of their men set off in any direction, before they had gone a quarter of a mile they would be pelted with bullets by an unseen foe.

      They had seen the walls and rifle-pits which guarded the great gun so often that they hardly took their attention. All the same, though, soldier-like, Drew Lennox could not help thinking how naturally strong the kopje was, how easy it would be for two or three companies of infantry to hold it against a force of ten times their number, and what tremendous advantages the Boers had possessed in the nature of their country. For they had only had to sit down behind the natural fortifications and set an enemy at defiance.

      “It’s our turn now,” Lennox said to himself, “and we could laugh at them for months if only we had a supply of food.”

      “Let’s try this way,” said Dickenson, bearing off to his left.

      “What for? It’s five times as hard as the regular track, and precipitous.”

      “Not so bad but what we can do it. We can let one another down if we come to one of the wall-like bits too big to jump.”

      “But it’s labour for nothing. Only make you more hungry,” added Lennox, with a laugh.

      “Never mind; I want to make sure that an enemy could not steal up in the dark and surprise the men in charge of the gun. I’m always thinking that the Boers will steal a march on us and take it some day.”

      “You might save yourself the trouble as far as the climbing up is concerned. This is the worst bit; but they could do it, I feel sure, if our sentries were lax. I don’t think they’d get by them, though.”

      “Well, let’s have a good look what it is like, now all the crags are lit up.”

      They were lit up in a most wonderful way by the sun, which was just about to dip below the horizon, and turned every lightning-shivered mass of tumbled-together rock into a glowing state, making it look as if it was red-hot, while the rifts and cracks which had been formed here and there were lit up so that their generally dark depths could be searched by the eye.

      “Do