Great was the surprise of the farmers when they heard a loud shout, and beheld a white man flying for his life from a solitary savage. With the prompt.i.tude of men born and bred in the midst of alarms, they seized their guns and issued from their fortified enclosure to the rescue, but the Kafir was already close to Orpin, and in the act of raising his a.s.sagai to stab him.

Seeing the urgency of the case, Conrad Marais, who was considered a pretty good shot among his fellows, took steady aim, and, at the risk of hitting the white man, fired. The right arm of the savage dropped by his side and the a.s.sagai fell to the ground, but, plucking another from his bundle with his left hand, he made a furious thrust. Stephen Orpin, swaying aside, was only grazed by it. At the same time he whirled the stirrup once round his head, and, bringing the iron down with tremendous force on the skull of his pursuer, hurled him to the ground.

"Stephen Orpin!" exclaimed Conrad Marais in amazement, as the trader galloped up.

"You've got more pluck than I gave you credit for," growled Jan Smit.

"You'll need all your own pluck presently," retorted Orpin, who thereupon told them that hundreds of Kafirs were on the other side of the ridge, and would be down on them in a few minutes. Indeed, he had not finished speaking when the ridge in question was crossed by the black host, who came yelling on to the attack,--the few mounted men leading.

"Come, boys, let's meet them as far as possible from the waggons," cried Conrad.

The whole band of farmers, each mounted and carrying his gun, dashed forward. When quite close to the foe they halted, and, every man dismounting, knelt and fired. Nearly all the hors.e.m.e.n among the enemy fell to the ground at the discharge, and the riderless steeds galloped over the plain, while numbers of the footmen were also killed and wounded. But most of those savages belonged to a fierce and warlike tribe. Though checked for a moment, they soon returned to the attack more furiously than before. The Dutch farmers, remounting, galloped back a short distance, loading as they went; halting again, they dismounted and fired as before, with deadly effect.

There is no question that the white men, if sufficiently supplied with ammunition, could have thus easily overcome any number of the savages, but the waggons stopped them. On reaching these, they were obliged to stand at bay, and, being greatly outnumbered, took shelter inside of their enclosure. Of course their flocks and herds, being most of them outside, were at once driven away by a small party of the a.s.sailants, while the larger proportion, with savage yells and war-cries, made a furious attack on their position.

Closing round the circle, they endeavoured again and again to break through the line or to clamber over the waggon-tilts, and never did savage warriors earn a better t.i.tle to the name of braves than on that occasion. Even the bristling four and six-inch thorns of the mimosa-bushes would not have been able to turn back their impetuous onset if behind these the stout Dutchmen, fighting for wives and children, had not stood manfully loading and firing volleys of slugs and buckshot at arm's-length from them. The crowded ranks of the Kafirs were ploughed as if by cannon, while hundreds of a.s.sagais were hurled into the enclosure, but happily with little effect, though a few of the defenders--exposing themselves recklessly--were wounded.

While Conrad Marais was standing close to the hind-wheels of one of the waggons, watching for a good shot at a Kafir outside, who was dodging about for the double purpose of baulking Conrad's intention and thrusting an a.s.sagai into him, another active Kafir had clambered un.o.bserved on the tilt of the waggon and was in the very act of leaning over to thrust his spear into the back of the Dutchman's neck when he was observed by Stephen Orpin, who chanced to be reloading his gun at the moment.

With a loud roar, very unlike his usual gentle tones, Orpin sprang forward, seized a thick piece of wood like a four-foot rolling-pin, and therewith felled the savage, who tumbled headlong into the enclosure.

"Oh, father!" exclaimed a terrified voice at that moment, while a light touch was laid on Conrad's shoulder.

"What brings you here, Bertha?" said Conrad, with an impatient gesture.

"Don't you know--"

"Come, quick, to mother!" cried the girl, interrupting.

No more was needed. In a moment Conrad was in the central enclosure, where, crowded under a rude erection of planks and boxes, were the women and children. An a.s.sagai had penetrated an unguarded crevice, and, pa.s.sing under the arm of poor Mrs Marais, had pinned her to the family trunk, against which she leaned.

"Bertha could not pull it out," said Mrs Marais, with a faint smile on her pale face, "but I don't think I'm much hurt."

In a moment her husband had pulled out the spear, found that it had penetrated her clothing, and only grazed her breast, took time merely to make sure of this, and then, leaving her in Bertha's hands, returned to the scene of combat.

He was not an instant too soon. A yell was uttered by the savages as they rushed at a weak point, where the thorn-bush defences had been broken down. The point appeared to be undefended. They were about to leap through in a dense ma.s.s when ten Dutchmen, who had reserved their fire, discharged a volley simultaneously into the midst of them. It was a ruse of the defenders to draw the savages to that point. Whilst the Kafirs tumbled back over heaps of dead and dying, several other farmers thrust ma.s.ses of impenetrable mimosa bush into the gap and refilled it.

This discomfiture checked the a.s.sailants for a little; they drew off and retired behind the ridge to concert plans for a renewed and more systematic attack.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

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 pa.s.sing 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 circ.u.mstance 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 circ.u.mstance 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 c.o.c.ked 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.

Pa.s.sing 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 carca.s.s 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."