Chapter 4 | Rumours of War | A Dash From Diamond City

The Diamond-Fields Horse had drilled one evening till they were tired, and after it was all over, including a fair amount of firing, the smell of blank cartridges began to give way to the more pleasant odour of tobacco smoke, the officers lighting their cigars, and the privates filling up their pipes to incense the crisp evening air.

“I’m about tired of this game,” said one of a group who were chatting together; “there’s too much hard work about it.”

“Yes,” said another. “Someone told me it was playing at soldiers. I don’t see where the play comes.”

“Look at the honour of it,” said another. “We shall be defending the town directly from an attack by the Boers.”

There was a burst of laughter at this, and when it ended the first speaker broke out contemptuously with: “The Boers! We shall have to wait a longtime before they attack us.”

“I don’t know so much about that,” said the man who had spoken of the attack. “I believe they mean mischief.”

“Bosh!” came in chorus.

“Ah, you may laugh, but they’ve got Majuba Hill on the brain. The idiots think they fought and thrashed the whole British Army instead of a few hundred men. Here, Ingleborough, you heard what was said?”

The young man addressed left off chatting with West and nodded.

“You went to Pretoria with the superintendent of police about that diamond case, and you were there a couple of months.”

“Yes,” said Ingleborough. “What of that?”

“Why, you must have seen a good deal of the Boers then!”

“Of course I did.”

“Well, what do you say? Will they fight if it comes to a row?”

“Certainly they will!” replied Ingleborough.

There was a derisive laugh at his words, and West flushed a little on hearing it, as the volunteers gathered round.

“Bah! It’s all bluff!” cried a voice. “They know that by holding out they can get what they want. They’d cave in directly if we showed a bold front.”

“Moral,” said West; “show a bold front.”

“That’s what we’re doing,” said one of the men; “but there’s too much of it. Some of the officers have war on the brain, and want to force the soldiering element to the very front. We’ve done enough to show the Doppers that we should fight if there was any occasion. There was no drilling going on when you were at Pretoria, eh, Ingleborough?”

“Yes, there was, a good deal,” said the young man slowly. “They did not make any fuss, but in a quiet way they were hard at work, especially with their gun drill.”

“Gun drill!” cried one of the group contemptuously. “What, with a few rusty old cannon and some wooden quakers?”

There was a roar of laughter at this, and West coloured a little more deeply with annoyance, but Ingleborough shrugged his shoulders, turned his little finger into a tobacco-stopper, and went on smoking.

“The Boers are puffed-up with conceit,” he said gravely, “and they believe that their victory at Majuba Hill has made them invincible; but all the same they’ve got some level-headed men amongst them, and I believe before long that it will come to a fight and that they will fight desperately.”

His hearers laughed.

“What for?” shouted one.

“To drive the British out of South Africa, seize Cape Colony and Natal, and make the country a Dutch republic.”

There was a momentary silence before someone cried: “I say, Ingleborough, are you going mad?”

“I hope not,” said the young man quietly. “Why?”

“Because you are talking the greatest bosh I’ve heard for months!”

“I don’t think I am,” said Ingleborough gravely. “I know that the Boers are terribly inflated with vanity and belief in themselves, but they have wisdom in their heads as well.”

“I’ve never seen any of it!” said the previous speaker. “Bah! Rubbish! They drive us out of South Africa! Why, that would mean taking Rhodesia too.”

“Of course,” replied Ingleborough, “and that’s what they believe they are going to do.”

“With popguns?”

“No,” said Ingleborough gravely; “but with their rifles. Do you know that they can at any time arm a hundred thousand men with the best magazine-rifles in the world?”

“No!” came in chorus. “We don’t.”

“And that they have a magnificent force of artillery, which includes such guns as would dwarf any that we could bring against them, thoroughly outrange ours, and that in addition they have a great number of repeating-cannon—Maxims and Nordenfelts? Above all, they have a vast supply of ammunition.”

“Where did they get it from?” cried one.

“The moon,” shouted another, and there was a roar.

“The fellow’s a regular Boer himself,” shouted a man behind; and there was a hiss raised, followed by a menacing groan, which made West’s blood tingle as he closed up to his friend’s side.

“The old story,” said Ingleborough contemptuously, “You can’t bear the honest truth.”

“Yes, we can,” cried one of the men; “but we can’t bear lies. Do you think we are fools to believe your cock-and-bull stories about magazine-rifles and guns that would dwarf all that the British Army could bring up against the Boers?”

“You can do as you like about believing,” said Ingleborough coldly. “I have only told you what I learned for myself when I was staying in Pretoria.”

“And do you mean to tell us that the Boers have guns like that?”

“I do,” said Ingleborough.

“Then where did they get them?”

“From the great French and German makers, From Creusot and Krupp.”

“And how did they get them up to Pretoria?”

“From the Cape and Delagoa Bay.”

“What nonsense!” cried another voice. “Their arms and ammunition would have been stopped at once. What do you say to that?”

“The Boers are slim,” said Ingleborough. “Hundreds of tons of war material have been going up-country for years as ironmongery goods and machinery. They have a tremendous arsenal there, and they mean to fight, as you’ll see before long.”

The hissing and threatening sounds ceased, for there was so much conviction in the tone adopted by the speaker that his hearers began to feel uneasy and as if there might be something in the declarations, while, upon Ingleborough turning to West with: “Come Oliver, let’s get home!” the little crowd of volunteers hedged the pair in, and the man who had been the most ready to laugh laid a hand upon his arm.

“Hold hard a minute,” he cried frankly. “I felt ready to laugh at you and chaff all your words; but I’m not going to be a dunder-headed fool and shut my eyes to danger if there really is any. Look here, Ingleborough: are you an alarmist, or is there really any truth in what you have said?”

“It is all true,” replied the young man calmly.

“Well, then, I for one will believe you, my lad; for, now you have spoken out as you have, I begin to put that and that together and I feel that the Boers have been playing dark.”

“They have been playing dark,” said Ingleborough warmly, “and I should not be surprised to hear any day that they had declared war and found us anything but prepared.”

“They only want to be free,” said a voice.

“Free?” cried Ingleborough. “Yes, free to do exactly what they please: to tax every stranger, or outlander, as they call us, for their own benefit: to rob and enslave the unfortunate natives, and even murder them if it suits their hand. Free? Yes, look at their history from the first. Why, their whole history has been a course of taking land from the original owners by force.”

That very night rumours reached Kimberley which sent a tingle into the cheeks of every man who had joined in the demonstration against Ingleborough: though the greatest news of all had not yet arrived, that the Transvaal Government had thrown down the glove and made the advance.