The Young Colonists: A Story of the Zulu and Boer Wars

The Young Colonists: A Story of the Zulu and Boer Wars
George Henty

Henty G. A. George Alfred

The Young Colonists: A Story of the Zulu and Boer Wars

Preface

As a rule the minor wars in which this country has been from time to time engaged, have been remarkable both for the admirable way in which they were conducted and for the success that attended them. The two campaigns in South Africa, however, that followed each other with but a brief interval, were notable exceptions. In the Zulu War the blunder, made by the General in command, of dividing his army and marching away with the greater portion without troubling himself to keep up communication with the force left behind, brought about a serious disaster at Isandula. In the Boer War we also suffered two defeats, – one at Laing’s Neck, the other at Majuba Hill, – and when at last a British force was assembled capable of retrieving these misfortunes, the English government decided not to fight, but to leave the Boers in possession of the Transvaal. This unfortunate surrender has, assuredly, brought about the troubled state of things now existing in South Africa.

After having written upwards of fifty records of almost unbroken success to the British arms in almost all parts of the world, I have found it painful to describe these two campaigns in which we suffered defeat. I trust, however, that this story will prove of great interest to the reader because of the characteristic English pluck and daring of its hero.

    G.A. Henty.

Chapter One.

A Snow-Drift

The country round Castleton, in Derbyshire, is greatly admired by summer tourists, for it lies in the wildest part of that county; but in winter the wind whistles sharply over the bleak hills – where there are no trees to break its violence, – the sheep huddle under the shelter of the roughly-built stone walls, and even lovers of the picturesque would at that season prefer a more level and wooded country. The farm of Mr Humphreys was situated about a mile from Castleton. It consisted of 100 acres or so of good land in the bottom, and of five or six times as much upland grazing on the hills. Mr Humphreys owned as well as farmed his land, and so might have claimed, had he chosen, the title of gentleman-farmer; but he himself would have scoffed at such an idea. He was a hard-working, practical farmer, about over his ground from morning to night, save when the hounds met within easy distance in winter; then he would mount “Robin,” who served alike as hunter, or hack, or to drive in the neat dog-cart to Buxton market; and, although there were many handsomer horses in the field, Mr Humphreys was seldom far off when the fox was killed.

His family consisted of his wife and two sons, the eldest, Richard, was about fourteen years old. His brother, John, was three years younger. Both went to school at Castleton. The younger boy was fond of his books; he had always been weak and delicate, and, being unable to spend his time in active exercise out of doors, he was generally to be found reading by the fire in winter, or lying on the ground in summer under a tree in the orchard, with his chin on his hand, and the book before him. Richard had no literary taste; he managed to scrape through his work and keep a moderate place in his class, somewhere about half-way down; but he threw his whole heart into outdoor exercise, and was one of the best bats in the school, although there were many there older by years. He knew every foot of the hills, could tell every bird by its note, and knew all about their nests and eggs. Except in school, or perhaps during the long winter evenings, it was rare indeed to find Dick with a book in his hand.

“You will never set the Thames on fire, Dick,” his father would say to him.

“I shall never want to, father,” he would reply. “I do not see that learning will ever be much good to me.”

“That is a foolish idea, Dick. A great deal of the learning that boys get at school is of no actual value in pounds, shillings, and pence. It is not the fact of knowing Latin, and Greek, and mathematics which benefits a man; but it is the learning of them. It is the discipline to the mind, which is of benefit. The mind is like the body. There is no use in cricket, or in boating, or in hunting, but these things strengthen the body and make it active and healthy, and able to do better everything which it undertakes, and it is exactly the same thing with the mind; besides, the days are coming when farmers must farm their land with science and intelligence, or they will be left behind in the race. We are being rivalled by the farmers of America. Not only do we have to pay rent, but by the tithes and rates and taxes they put upon us government makes the English farmer pay a heavy tax upon every bushel of corn he produces, while they allow the American corn to come into the market tax-free. This may be all right, but it does not appear fair to me. However, there it is, and we have got to meet it, and if we are to keep our heads above water, it can only be by farming up to the very best lights of the day.”

“Well, father,” Dick said, “then it seems to me that when we grow up, John and I must farm together. He shall be the scientific partner; I will do the work.”

“That is all right enough, Dick, but you must have some science too, else you and he will never get on. You would want to go on in the old-fashioned groove, and would call his ideas newfangled. No, I intend you, when you get old enough, to go to Cirencester College, where you will learn the theory and science of farming thoroughly. You will get the practical part at home. As to John, he is a child yet, and, I trust, will grow up strong and active; but if his tastes remain as they now are, I do not think it likely he will take to farming, and we must find some other career for him.”

One afternoon in the beginning of December two of Dick’s school-fellows said to him —

“We are going over the hills to our uncle’s farm, Dick. Will you go with us?”

When there was nothing better to do, Dick was always ready for a walk, and he at once agreed to accompany the Jacksons. The elder boy was about his own age, the younger two years his junior.

The Jacksons called for him directly he had finished his dinner, and they started away together for a farm which was about four miles distant. They struck right across the hills, as it would have been two miles longer by the nearest road.

“I should not be surprised,” Dick said, “if it were to snow to-night; it is bitterly cold, and the clouds look very heavy.”

“I hope it won’t snow until we get back,” James, the younger of the brothers, remarked.

“I don’t know,” Dick answered, looking at the clouds. “I should not be surprised if it began at any moment.”

The wind was blowing strongly. The hills were high and steep, and, although the boys made their best speed, it was considerably over an hour before they reached the farm. They had started at two, and it was now a quarter past three. Mr Jackson was out. The boys delivered the message with which they had been charged to their aunt.

“Now,” she said, “I will cut you each a hunch of cake, and when you have eaten that and had a glass of fresh milk you had best start at once. It is bitterly cold, and we are going to have snow: The sooner you are home, the better.”

The boys now ate their cake. Mrs Jackson came to the door with them. Then she said, as the first flake of snow fell —

“I am not sure, boys, that you had not better stay here all night.”

The boys laughed.

“Why, what would they say at home? They would just be in a way about us.”

“Well, at any rate, you had better go by the road.”

“Oh, that is two miles farther at least. We should not get home until long after dark. We shan’t be an hour by the hills. We know every foot of the way.”

“Well, good-bye, then. Make as much haste as you can.”

For half a mile their way led along the road, then they scrambled over a wall and began to ascend the barren hill-side. The snow was falling fast now. Thicker and thicker it came down, and when, hot and panting, they reached the top of the hill, the wind blew the flakes so fiercely into their faces that they were half-blinded, and were obliged to turn their backs to the gale while they got breath. For half an hour they struggled on. They could scarcely see ten paces before them through the driving snow, and in every sheltered spot white patches rapidly began to form.

“How different things look in a snow-storm!” Dick said, as they stopped for breath and shelter under the lee of a wall. “I don’t know, Tom, but I am not quite sure that we are going straight; I do not know what wall this is.”

“No more do I,” Tom Jackson replied. “I felt quite sure that we were going right at first, but somehow I don’t think so now.”

“I wish the snow would stop for a minute,” Dick said, “just to let us have a look round. If I could see a hundred yards I am sure I should know where we are. What is the matter with you, James; what are you blubbering about?”

“My feet are so cold; they hurt dreadfully.”

“Oh, never mind,” Dick said. “Come, boys, push along, and we shall soon be home.”

Again they started with heads bent to face the storm.

“It is getting dark awfully fast,” Tom Jackson said.

“It is, and no mistake. Come, let us have a trot. Come on, young one.”

But, although Dick spoke hopefully, he was not as confident as he appeared. He was sure now that they had lost the way. They might not, he hoped, be far off the track; but he knew that they were not following the precise line by which they came.

It was now nearly dark. The snow was falling thicker than ever, and the ground, except upon the uplands exposed to the full force of the wind, was covered with a white mantle.

On arriving at the bottom of a steep hill, they stopped again.

“Do you know where we are, Tom?”

“Not in the least,” Tom answered.

“This ought to be the last valley,” Dick said, “and after one more climb we ought to go straight down into Castleton. Don’t you remember in that valley there were a lot of sheep in a fold, with a wall round it? If we can find that, we shall know that we are right. It is near the bottom, so we shall not miss it. Which way shall we turn, left or right?”

“Let us try the left first,” Tom said.

They walked for half a mile, gradually ascending.

“It is not this way,” Tom said at last. “We are getting to the head of the valley. What are you doing, James?” as the young boy, who had been sobbing for some time, threw himself on the snow.