Camp Fire Yarns of the Lost Legion Part 16

Most of the particulars herein recorded I can vouch for as being correct, having conversed with several who were engaged in the transaction, and others who were residing in Natal at the time.

Here endeth the extract that I have taken from Moodie's aforementioned history.

Now, judging by the foregoing account of the battle of the Tugela--which it must be remembered has been extracted, word for word, from a history written by a knowledgeable gentleman of undoubted veracity, who not only knew the survivors of the action, but had heard the yarn from their own lips, and that the story told me by the old trader who also had been acquainted with the majority of the men composing the English army, he being a full-grown boy at the time, and resident in Port Natal, coincided and agreed with Mr Moodie's narrative in all the princ.i.p.al details--I think I am not far wrong when I a.s.sert that the battle of the Tugela was a scrumptious one, in which every man engaged must have enjoyed himself to the utmost of his ability, and no one could subsequently grumble at not getting his fair share of the fighting. Yet when you come to consider the numbers and equipment of that invading force, and compare them with the resources at Lord Chelmsford's disposal when he began to play the same game, just forty years afterwards, and which were then declared to be inadequate, you are forced to come to the conclusion that Cane and his Lost Legionaries were a bit over-venturesome. For looking back at my own experience in the Legion, I do not think I could ever have found twenty men daring enough to undertake the same contract, and I am quite certain that, even had the men been willing, I individually should never have possessed sufficient pluck to have bossed the show.

The story of Cane and his daring companions, unheard of in England, is, I fear, being rapidly forgotten in South Africa, but should any patriotic Natalian with imperialistic convictions wish to perpetuate the memory of those gallant adventurers, who, in despite of Boers, savages, the devil, and the gasbags of Downing Street, formed the advance guard of the settlers in his lovely country, and see fit to raise a subscription to build a cairn in commemoration of the pluck, or call it foolhardiness--if you like--of the first army of Natal, I, poor old sinner as I am, will gladly plank down my mite. Yes, by gad!

I will, even if I have to forgo my baccy for a month to raise the oof.

For, by the great gun of Athlone! those men were men, and died like men, and may the British Empire never run short of Lost Legionaries of like kidney!

And now, before the call of "lights out" is sounded, let me relate briefly another deed of daring, performed by one of the old-time Natal settlers, and as I am not writing a history of Natal, but only recounting a few well-authenticated facts of heroic bravery, carried through by a handful of Lost Legionaries, it will suffice to remind my reader that Port Natal was occupied for the first time by British regular troops in May 1842, when Captain Smith (27th Regiment), with 200 men and two field pieces, arrived there. He at once entrenched himself on the flat ground near where the city of Durban now stands, in which camp he was speedily surrounded, and cooped up by an overwhelming number of trek Boers. This rendered it absolutely necessary for the beleaguered O.C. to communicate with his superiors at the Cape, so as to warn them of his dangerous position, and to request immediate reinforcements. But how to communicate was the problem that required solving, and it was solved, thanks to the devotion and undauntable courage of one of the early settlers, who promptly volunteered to carry the despatch.

Now despatch-carrying during war-time is by no means a salutary occupation, even when the distance is short, and the country over which it has to be carried is open, with decent roads. What then is the said duty to be called, when the bearer has to traverse a distance of 600 miles, through thick bush, dangerous swamps, rugged mountains, and across innumerable rivers, very many of which have to be negotiated by swimming. Also please bear in mind that this delectable country through which the orderly must travel swarmed with hostile tribes, and was infested with wild animals, such as lions, leopards, elephants, etc. Troth, I call such a contract a decidedly unhealthy one. Yet such was the nature of the road Richard King had to travel alone, and bedad! he did it so successfully, for after being ferried across the harbour with two horses, on the night of the 25th May 1842, he slipped past the Boer pickets, and overcoming all the difficulties, and pa.s.sing through all the manifold dangers met with on the journey, he delivered his despatches ten days after his start.

I regret exceedingly I am unable to recount the details of that wonderful feat of skill, pluck and endurance, although I was told them by one of King's relatives, nor am I aware that the yarn has ever been written; for I remember, having done a bit of despatch-riding myself, how much I was entranced by the narrative, and have always considered Richard King's exploit to be a record worthy to be treasured in the annals of the "Legion that never was listed," and I am sure that most of my readers will allow I am right when I again a.s.sert "there were giants on the earth in those days."

CHAPTER II

A QUEER CARD

Yes, you are quite right in saying that there must have been many queer as well as hard cases in South Africa during the seventies and eighties of the last century. Some of these I met, and knew well, and if I had been asked, during that period, to a.s.sign the biscuit to anyone of them in particular, I should without hesitation have handed it to one whom I shall call Mad Conway: a sobriquet he had earned by his wild pranks and escapades. As I said, this was not his name, but anyone who resided either in Kimberley, Free State or Transvaal, during those years, will at once recognise who is hereby designated, or at all events will do so when they have read a few lines further.

Now Mad Conway had also another nickname, as he was likewise called, especially by the Boers, Vrei Stadt Conway; the prefix having been earned by his numerous deeds of reckless gallantry, performed while fighting for the Free State against the Basutos, during the war of 1865-1868. Yes; Mad Conway was a caution, and in his own line of business stood out unique. Let me describe him, and recount a few incidents in his wild career.

To begin with, he was a cadet of a fine old English county family, some of the members of which were celebrated in the world of English sport during the early part of the nineteenth century, and whose name, like that of Osbaldistone, is still treasured by all true votaries of Diana. Well, Conway in no way disgraced the family reputation as a horseman, he being one of the very best I have ever seen, and would, provided his lot had been cast in the s.h.i.+res, have gained a place in sporting song and story as well as his ancestors.

After having been sent home from Eton for some mad escapade, he joined a crack cavalry corps, and had to send in his papers, owing to his having mistaken his colonel's pet charger for a horse belonging to a newly joined cornet. Now this charger was held as sacred in the corps as the mares of Mahomet were held by the Moslems, but Conway, after a heavy night in the mess, converted it, with considerable artistic taste and skill, and a couple of pots of paint, into a zebra.

On leaving the service--as he was over head and ears in debt to the Jew sharks, who in those days battened on the follies of young officers--troth! they do it still, when not more lucratively employed in the art of bogus company promoting, and other congenial pursuits--his people thought a _tour du monde_ would be a salutary exercise for him, and that if he could pick out some salubrious spot about half-way round, and make a permanent camp there, why, so much the better for them. So Mad Conway landed in South Africa some time in the fifties. Now what he originally intended to do there I don't know, and I don't think he knew himself; but he certainly wandered all over the country, taking a hand wherever the chance occurred in any Kafir fighting that might be going on, and putting in his spare time big-game hunting and exploring.

In both these congenial occupations he quickly gained the reputation of being a man utterly devoid of fear, while the wild and fantastic pranks he would play when he happened to be in a town made him an object of wonder and astonishment to both the phlegmatic Boers and the lazy Portuguese, some of them even causing his own more up-to-date and reckless countrymen to open their eyes. During this period of his existence he accompanied two successive expeditions that were organised for the purpose of searching the lower reaches and delta of the Zambesi for a gold-laden dhow that the Portuguese had sunk in the early part of the century, so as to prevent her capture by an English cruiser. On both these occasions Conway was the only European who survived the attacks of fever and wild beasts, and although, on the second trip, they actually located the dhow, still, before they could clear the drifted sand from off her his last surviving mate died.

Conway always declared that, notwithstanding the awful hards.h.i.+ps he had undergone, he would have stuck to the job, lone handed, and would have scooped the jack pot himself, but the dop (common Boer-made peach-brandy) cask gave out, and as that and quinine were his sole diet, he had to chuck the contract before he could touch the geldt.

Darned bad luck, he called it, especially as the long war waged by the Zambesi natives against the Portuguese, at that time breaking out, prevented him from having another try for the plunder. Reaching Delagoa Bay, thanks to the kindness of the officers of one of H.M.

cruisers, he wandered up to the Transvaal, and took a turn on the early goldfields. Doing no good, he drifted away to the Free State, where, as aforementioned, he earned the name of Vrei Stadt Conway by his feats of reckless daring. Let me recount one of them.

During one of the numerous unsuccessful attacks made on the impregnable mountain Thaba Bosigo, the princ.i.p.al stronghold of the great Basuto chief Moshesh, a gallant Dutchman was wounded and captured by the natives. This poor chap, having been duly tortured, was crucified on the very summit of the mountain. Moshesh at once declared that the poor remains were to be regarded as his standard, and at the same time sent an insolent message to the Boers, stating the fact, and challenging them to come and pull it down. This brutal and contemptuous message deeply enraged the Boers, and was all the more galling as the poor fellow's remains hung in full view of the Dutch laagers. Something must be done at once; so the farmers' war council determined to recover the body, and called for volunteers to do so. These being forthcoming, the attempt was made, but the party, after fighting its way about half the distance up the mountain, having suffered heavy loss, halted. They caved in, declared the undertaking to be impossible, and point-blank refused to make any further effort.

This sensible determination, or pusillanimity--call it which you like, but remember a Boer is no coward--did not coincide with Conway's temperament, he being one of the leaders. He had declared he would bring that crucified corpse down, or would bust in the attempt, and if his men refused to come any further, why, he and his Hottentot arter-rider would go on alone; and, faith! the two of them went.

Troth, I forgot to tell you before that his mother was Irish, and when the best of English hunting blood is crossed with the best of Irish fighting blood it is deuced hard to stop the owner when on the warpath. Well, subjected to a _feu d'enfer_, these two beauties scaled the almost perpendicular cliffs, and reached the cross, which they pulled down, and removed from it the battered remains. They then turned to descend the mountain, only to find their one path down it blocked by a strong party of the enemy, who had allowed them to do so much, to make sure of capturing them alive, and then the following morning there would be three crosses on the mountain instead of one.

This strategy on the part of the natives would have caused most men to despair, and even the bravest of the brave, if cornered in a like manner, could have only hoped to enjoy a last good fight, and sell his life as dearly as possible. Mad Conway, however, thought otherwise. He had declared he would bring the body down the mountain or bust, and as the Basutos had blocked the only path down which he could carry it, why naturally he could only keep his word by throwing it over the krantz, and then, by following it himself, he would at all events balk the enemy of their antic.i.p.ated fun, and save himself from the horrors of the torture stick. He and his faithful Tottie boy, therefore, expended their remaining cartridges, and then, bundling the corpse over the edge of the precipice, jumped after it themselves. No one looking at Thaba Bosego would believe the possibility of a man going over the edge of its perpendicular krantzes ever reaching the bottom with a semblance of humanity left, much less that he could survive the awful fall without every bone in his body being broken and life crushed out of him. Yet Mad Conway and his Tottie boy did so, and miraculously reached the foot of the beetling precipice, not only alive, but comparatively unhurt. Then picking up the corpse they carried it, under a hail of bullets, back to the schanze, where the rest of the party awaited them. Now these men must have been blessed with charmed lives, for although their scanty clothing was nearly shot off their bodies they only received a few slight flesh wounds, until they were just reaching the safety zone, when Conway was knocked over with a bullet through his left leg.

Well, now I have given you a glance at the heroic side of this queer card, let me turn the tables and spin you another yarn, so as to give you some idea of the mad pranks he was capable of playing. Here goes.

At one time, during the long protracted struggle between the Free State farmers and the Basutos, Conway was commandant of a small Dutch dorp situated close to the border which, like all other Free State villages, during war-time was laagered. Now Conway's commando had in their possession an ancient six-pounder s.h.i.+p's cannon so honeycombed that, had they fired it off, the probability is they would have made a considerable hash of the gun's crew that served it. Still, it was a real cannon that, when polished up and mounted on a pair of waggon wheels, looked formidable. Well, mad Conway had this piece of antique ordnance in charge, and being in his usual state of impecuniosity, and the said cannon being the only available a.s.set he could lay his hand on, he one fine day determined to raise the gentle breeze of affluence and also to remove a possible danger to himself and men by disposing of the ancient bombard to the enemy, whose paramount chief, Moshesh, was most anxious to obtain artillery at any price, be it ancient or modern. This nefarious idea having been conceived, he at once sent a message over the border to Moshesh offering to sell it for 100 head of prime cattle. Moshesh was delighted. All the preliminaries were arranged: the time and place for the transfer of old sc.r.a.p iron for live stock was fixed upon, and the transaction was carried out, a small party of Basutos bringing 100 head of splendid oxen across the border, which they handed over, receiving the old carronade in return.

Mad Conway, many years afterwards, declared to me that it was only when the cattle were safely in his hands that the shameful wickedness of his act struck him, and he realised that, no matter how worthless the cannon might be, still he was an officer in the service of the Free State, that he had sold their war material to their enemy, and that by doing so he had forfeited his last shred of honour as an English gentleman. In fact his conscience reminded him that he had placed himself on the same low level as Mr Judas Iscariot, so he at once turned-to, like the Hebrew traitor, to purge himself of his shame. Now, my gentle reader, don't, please, imagine that Conway handed back the cattle, or expended a s.h.i.+lling in buying a rope wherewith to hang himself. No, not by a jugful; for he differed in very many respects from the Hebrew gent and when his qualms of conscience became too poignant for him to bear he turned out his commando, made a tremendous forced march, overtook the gun escort, which he surprised and routed, on their own side of the border, and brought back the old thunderer in triumph.

Now some people may say that Conway had been guilty of decided sharp practice over this gun deal, but he always a.s.serted that if old Moshesh could not keep possession of a purchased article after it had been delivered to him, and he had taken it across the border into his own territory, then he (Moshesh) was the only one to blame, and that he had no cause to grumble. Anyhow, the recapture of the gun reinstated Conway in his own self-respect, and as the sale of the cattle brought him in some 500, I think you will agree with me that he fared much better than the late Judas Iscariot, Esq.

Through the unjustifiable interference of the British Government, the long war between the Free State farmers and the Basutos was brought to an end in March 1868, so that Mad Conway must needs look out for something else to do. He had gained great kudos in the field, and the Free State Government not only pa.s.sed a vote of thanks to him, but also determined to add a more substantial token of appreciation, by presenting to him a large farm, the t.i.tle deeds of which were to be delivered into his hands on the occasion of the last parade of the Bloemfontein burghers, previous to their disbandment. Well, the function was held, President Brand made his speech, and at the end of it Commander Conway's name was called. The hero of the hour rode to the front, to be welcomed by the plaudits of the men, and the handkerchief-waving of the women. A fine figure of a man, and a superb horseman, Mad Conway looked well as he reined up beside the President, and one would have thought that the bestowal of such an honour would have made even the most reckless dare-devil in the world conduct himself with decorum. Moreover, Mr Brand was perhaps the one man in South Africa who was highly respected, both by Briton and Boer, and had frequently befriended Conway in many ways. But alas! the Fates willed otherwise, for the reckless child of impulse, prompted by Ate or Old Nick, as usual, fell away and behaved in a most shocking manner. I said prompted by either Ate or Old Nick. Well, maybe they were the original instigators, but they used deputies to carry out their designs, for you see Conway had that morning imbibed many klein soupjies, and President Brand was wearing a tall bell-topper hat. Of course you will understand in a moment that a multifarious number of tots might excite a hot-tempered, reckless fellow such as our friend, but it may puzzle you why the hat of a respectable old gentleman should arouse the somnolent devil in Mad Conway. Let me explain.

A tall bell-topper hat was, at that time, and for many years afterwards, an aggression that up-countrymen, be they Boers or Britons, could not stomach, for even in the latter eighties only two men were allowed to wear them in Kimberley--one, as old hands will remember, being Chief Justice Buchanan, and the other Donald McKai, the De Toits Pan market master. No one else, no matter what his status might be, possessed the temerity to appear in public wearing one; for, had he done so, it would have suffered the same fate as the presidential Golgotha did, on the occasion of which I am writing. Yes, bedad! and it did suffer, for Mad Conway had no sooner been given the t.i.tle deeds of the farm, and had uttered a few words of thanks for the complimentary speech, and the honorarium he had received, than he waved his right arm wildly over his head and brought his fist down flop on the presidential bell-topper, which after emitting a drum-like thud, collapsed over the ears of its portly wearer. Then there was the deuce to pay and no pitch hot. Had anybody else been in Conway's boots he would have been ma.s.sacred at once by the infuriated burghers, but seeing it was Conway, and being accustomed to his crazy vagaries, they sat on their horses and stared open-mouthed at the extraordinary spectacle, while the President attempted to struggle out of the ruins of his battered _chapeau_. In a moment Conway was himself again, was off his horse and a.s.sisting the President in getting rid of his enc.u.mbrance, at the same time pouring out a volume of excuses, and censuring himself for his confounded clumsiness. These excuses the dear old man accepted, and, in fact, in a few moments was acting as comforter to the brazen scallywag, so that the latter emerged from what might have been a desperate fix with honour and emolument.

Now let me tell you how I fell across this queer character. I think it must have been about the end of the year 1883 that I, who was at that time working as a digger in Bullfontein, received an invitation to dinner from an old brother officer residing at the New Rush, for the purpose of meeting Mad Conway, who had drifted down to the diamond fields from the Transvaal. Of course, like everyone else in South Africa at that time, I had heard heaps of yarns about him, but although we had both served in the same wars we had somehow or other never met; so I joyously accepted the invitation. On my arrival at my friend's house I was introduced to this noted madcap, who turned out to be a well-dressed, well-groomed, well-set-up man, who, although past middle age, looked as hard as iron and tough as whipcord. The dinner pa.s.sed off well, myself and others being kept in a roar of laughter by the extraordinary yarns he related, together with the inimitable pantomime with which he ill.u.s.trated them. Mad Conway had sojourned on the diamond-fields in the earlier days, and had literally been hunted from off them, his exodus being so thoroughly in keeping with the man's whole career that I think you will pardon me should I digress and recount it. You see, it was in this way. Conway was as usual over head and ears in debt, and one fine morning he heard that writs were out against him for civil imprisonment. This was an indignity that sent him hopping mad, so jumping on to his horse he galloped to the Court House. _En route_ he encountered the b.u.m-bailiff, who, mounted on an old pony, was looking for him, and who was fool enough to try and stop him. Waving a sheaf of blue papers in his hand, he called on Conway to pull up, at the same time turning his nag athwart the road in an attempt to stop him. It was only an attempt, for the next moment the messenger of the Court and his gee-gee were heaped up in the sluit, while his scattered doc.u.ments were being rapidly torn up by a mob of laughing, cheering diggers.

After his successful charge, Conway cantered on to the Court House, through the sacred portals of which he rode his excited and plunging horse. Scattering the limbs of Satan and the grimy sc.u.m usually to be found in such establishments to the four winds of heaven. "----"

shouted he to the horrified magistrate. "I heard you had been signing some d----d arrest papers against me, so I just dropped in to tell you, you can shove them where the monkey shoved the nuts. So long."

"Stop him! Arrest him!" cried his outraged wors.h.i.+p, as Conway swung his horse round, and two policemen made a half-hearted attempt to do so, but were ridden over and dispersed.

"Whoop, gone away," yelled Conway, as he emerged into the Free State road and burst through a squad of mounted police. "If you want to catch me try to."

They wanted to catch him very badly, and tried very hard to do so, but the veld was close handy and, Lord bless you! they might as well have tried to rope a sunbeam as to round up Mad Conway once he had gained the open plains; so that after he had played with them until, I presume, he got thirsty, he just turned his horse's head for the Free State and cantered across the frontier, leaving his baffled pursuers to ride their knocked-up horses back to the disgruntled beak. This escapade took place just before he joined the irregular forces who were carrying on a desultory sort of warfare with Sekukuni. It was while serving with this disorganised crowd that Conway mated with an ex-naval lieutenant as like himself in character as two peas are in appearance. Faith, they made a bonny half-section, for what one did not know in the way of devilment, the other could teach him. Well, it was just before the time when the aforesaid irregular forces were to be reorganised. Sir Garnet Wolseley was on his way up country, so were strong reinforcements, and the atmosphere was thick with shaves as to what was going to happen. Now, it was just at this moment this brace of beauties found themselves to be in a dilemma: they were both stonybroke. True, they were accustomed to be so, and as they had both been appointed to irregular corps about to be embodied, possessed smart uniforms and first-rate horses, they thought it would be a hard matter if they could not manage to raise a fortnight's board and lodging of the best, together with the necessary liquid, in liberal quant.i.ties, _bien entendu_, from somewhere or other. Now half-a-day's ride from where they were located was an up-country dorp, in which was a canteen of such pretensions that the owner, a leery old Scotsman, called it a hotel. He was, like many of his countrymen, exceedingly avaricious, and prided himself on his cuteness, making a brag that no one could impose upon him. For many years he had enjoyed the monopoly of such trade as pa.s.sed through the little towns.h.i.+p, but latterly another individual had opened an opposition shop, which, as it was slightly more up-to-date, filled the old sinner with apprehension, and rage, especially as hard cash was very scarce in the Transvaal at that date. Well, it was this close-fisted old Boniface that our brace of worthies determined to victimise, although to anyone else an attempt to do so would have looked very hopeless indeed. Now mad Conway was so well known in the dorp, especially by the said Boniface, that it was utterly useless for him to try to obtain credit for a tot of dop, as the publican would sooner see the liquor on his shelves than trust anyone for a s.h.i.+lling. But at the same time he was well aware that Conway had held, and was likely again to hold, a fairly high position in military circles. The other partner, however, was a perfect stranger. So this was the way the two scamps worked the oracle.

One fine morning Conway cantered up to the old Scotsman's hotel, into which he strode with a bustling, dutified air. "Swan," quoth he, "Colonel ---- (mentioning the well-known name of one of Sir Garnet's princ.i.p.al staff officers) will be here in a few minutes. He is riding in advance of the General, so as to make arrangements for the accommodation of Sir Garnet and his whole staff, who will be staying in this dorp for some considerable time. The Colonel was recommended to go to the new hotel, but I, who am acting as his guide, have persuaded him to try you first of all, to see if you can furnish the necessary requirements. Of course you will have to do your very best, furnish the best rooms, supply the very best food and liquor, and all that sort of thing, and the Colonel will require a private sitting-room, in which to carry on his correspondence, while he is awaiting the General's arrival."

Old Swan nosed what he thought was going to turn out to be a most profitable bit of business. He had heard of the enormous sums of money squandered by the Imperial Government during the late Zulu war, and his fingers fairly itched at the chance of being thrust into the plunder pot. In a moment he was all smiles and attention, even going so far as to promise to turn out, at a moment's notice, all his usual guests and to reserve the whole of the house for the great man and his staff. Throwing open the door of his own cosy sitting-room, he inquired if Conway thought that would do until a better one could be provided, and also asked if he should be doing right to invite the Colonel to have a drink on his dismounting.

"Well," said Conway, "I should hardly do that, as perhaps Colonel ---- may be one of those rabid teetotallers who do not like to drink in public, but you had better place a bottle of whisky, one of brandy, yes, and perhaps one of gin, together with some soda-water, and a box of your very best cigars on that buffet, and if he should help himself you will then know whether he drinks or not. Ah, by Jove! here he comes."

A fine stalwart figure, clothed in undress uniform, rode slowly across the big market square and, reining up at the front door, leisurely dismounted. Handing his horse over to the grinning Tottie hostler, he coolly scanned the front of the premises and the surroundings. Out rushed the obsequious host, more leisurely followed by the debonair but still respectful Conway.

"Ah, Conway," drawled the new-comer, "so we have arrived at last, and this is the hotel you recommended, is it? Well, perhaps it will do, though I must confess I like the appearance of the other one better.

Still, I have no doubt our worthy host here will do his best to make us all comfortable, especially as our stay here may be rather a long one. Let us step inside and see what accommodation he has to offer, as you know how particular Sir Garnet is."

Enter the bandits, who are shown over the house by the palpitating innkeeper, whose ears at the illusion about the more attractive appearance of the rival house are aching as if struck by an acute pang of tic doloreux and he forthwith promises at once to carry out the most frivolous suggestions, and there were many of them, of the somewhat haughty and exacting S.O.

"And now you have shown me the house," quoth the latter, "perhaps you will be good enough to show me my private sitting-room, in which I think, Conway, as I am somewhat fatigued by my long ride, we might indulge in a biscuit, and on this occasion, although I hardly ever take anything stronger than tea, I think I will venture, Mr Swan, on a gla.s.s of your best sherry or pontac; and by the way, Mr Swan, at two o'clock you will be good enough to let us have the best and most substantial lunch you can furnish at such a short notice. Ah, this will do very nicely"--as the deluded innkeeper threw open the door of his own snuggery and ushered his stonybroke guests inside. The room looked like a cosy miniature bar, for the the small buffet was loaded with bottles, plates of delicately cut sandwiches, biscuits, and a big box of extra-special prime cigars, while the canvas water-cooler was full of bottled ale and soda water.

Well, our two adventurers were in clover, and so well did they employ their opportunity that old Swan, who had been bragging to all his usual bar frequenters about having secured the General's custom, and chuckling to himself over the huge bill that, in the future, he would present, which would be duly paid in bright English gold instead of in worthless Transvaalian greenbacks, was fairly wild with greed and pride. There was, however, one small cloud on the horizon: the Colonel had stated that he rarely touched anything stronger than tea, and the tea-drinker is not nearly so profitable a customer to an up-country innkeeper as one who imbibes expensive drinks at short intervals during the day. This gloomy conjecture he confided to his circle of cronies, who condoned with him, but the cloud, however, was to be quickly blown away, for after he had summoned his guests to their lunch he rushed back into the bar and exclaimed: "Tea-drinker, does he call himself? Tea-drinker, ma certes! Why, they have finished the sherry; they've finished the pontac; they've finished the brandy and more than half finished the whisky, and the Colonel has ordered two big bottles of champagne for their tiffin. Yes, and I'm blest if they've turned a single hair. Tea-drinker indeed! My word, if the General and the remainder of the staff drink tea like the Colonel, and are half as drouthy, they will drink the dorp dry in less than a week." And the old fellow rubbed his hands as he booked the amount for the liquor consumed and chortled over the antic.i.p.ated profits.

Well, to cut a long story short, our two penniless heroes lived for over a week on the very fat of the land, their Gargantuan repasts and the amount of liquor they consumed causing wonder and astonishment in the quiet dorp. But the end of their bean-feast was at hand. Sir Garnet, they knew, was in the vicinity. Prudence warned them to absquatulate, and they determined to cut their lucky, before the inevitable _denouement_. One evening, therefore, they informed old Swan that the expected great man would arrive the next day, that they were riding out in the morning to meet him, and they conjured him to have things ready for his reception. Next morning, with their wallets filled with the best cigars, and their flasks full of the best cognac, they rode gaily away on their quest, and, bedad! it was high time for them to do so, as they had not proceeded two miles out of the dorp before they met the real Simon Pure, with all his staff, escort and mule waggons _en route_ to the village they had just quitted. Well, they were all right: the paymaster had arrived, all arrears would be paid up, the war would start again, they had had a high old time of it, and they lapsed into roars of laughter when they thought of old Swan and the fury he would be in when he found out he had been hoaxed.

Yes, old Swan's consternation and rage were beyond description when the General's cavalcade, instead of pulling up at his highly decorated house, proceeded to that of his hated rival, from whence, after a short interview between Sir Garnet and the landrost, it continued its way to parts unknown. Truly the old fellow's provocation was great.

Not only had he been put to much expense by the alterations to his house, but the bill run up by the two marauders was a very big one, and then the chaff that he would have to submit to, because he, who fancied himself to be more than cute, had allowed himself to be taken in and done down by a well-known bad hat like Mad Conway. No; it was not to be tolerated, so he called for his horse and his two-shot scatter gun, for the purpose of going in pursuit, but on second thoughts that was far too risky a job, so he got drunk, and goaded at last to desperation by his wife's clacking tongue tried to beat her, but she, being a strong-armed suffragette, took the contract out of his hands and gave him the devil's own thumping. So the poor old fellow subsided and submitted to having his leg pulled with the best grace he could muster. There was, however, a little balm in store for him, as after the two freebooters had had some financial dealings with the paymaster they sent him a good round sum of money; for they were both men who did not object to paying their debts when they had the coin, and remembered to do so. This remittance, although it brought relief to his avarice, still did nothing to a.s.suage his injured self-respect. He had been taken in and hoaxed. The yarn spread all over the country, and he was unmercifully chaffed to the day of his death about the way he had entertained Mad Conway and the counterfeit Colonel. It was, however, to be the last escapade of the latter, as the poor fellow was shortly afterwards killed while gallantly leading a desperate rush at Sekukuni's Mountains.

I, however, had started telling you about my personal experiences with Mad Conway. Well, after I met him at dinner, I saw a good deal of him, and one day he asked me to come for a drive with two of his friends, who owned a very smart turn-out, to a well-known drift across the Vaal River, where there was an hotel. We were to start on a Sat.u.r.day afternoon, stay there the night, and return the next day. He promised me a lively time, as two of the team of four horses were unbroken, and the other two, although splendid animals, possessed all the vices that gee-gees can be either born with or acquire. The distance was about twenty-five miles, the road was good, across a dead-level flat, which, like most of those in Grigualand West, was thickly sprinkled with ant-heaps, from about a foot to two and a half feet high. Well, perhaps the characters of the horses and that of the two other men who were to accompany us, both roaring blades, to say nothing about the well-known recklessness of our Jehu, might have made a nervous old gentleman give pause and refuse the invite; but then you see at that time I was not a nervous old party, and although I have no wish to claim an inordinate amount of pluck or recklessness still as I was blue mouldy for the want of a bit of divarsion, and knew Conway to be one of the best whips in Africa, I gladly accepted. The start was a trifle exciting, our two companions turning up just about half-seas over, while the horses promised to act up to their evil reputations.

However, the trap was a brand-new Cape cart, and the harness of the very best, so that after some little circus play Conway managed to get the nags to move off, and we started. The drive through the diggings was accomplished, thanks to Conway's masterly management, in safety, for although we scattered like chaff many groups of n.i.g.g.e.rs, we only upset two Pa.r.s.ee pedlars and one Chinaman, the balance of the damage done being the demolishment of a coolie's habitation, which was constructed out of material that at one time had been paraffin and sardine tins. This accident caused the pious Hindoo who owned the shattered tin-heap to swear horribly and spit just like an angry cat; but I don't think we killed anybody. When we reached the veld and were on the broad, open waggon road, the horses, thanks to the splendid handling of our charioteer, settled down to a swinging pace. There was but little chance of our meeting anyone, the scores of high-heaped produce and wood waggons trekking into Kimberley being, at that time of day, all drawn off the road and outspanned, as were also the empty waggons homeward bound, and I firmly believe we should have reached our destination in safety had it not been for the conduct of the other two pa.s.sengers. The drive was most exhilarating as we rushed through the glorious air, and there was plenty of excitement in it too for a man who was not a glutton; for although the road was a first-cla.s.s one, and quite flat, yet frequently, when we pa.s.sed a group of outspanned waggons, the Dutchmen's dogs would rush out and bark at us, a proceeding that drove our unbroken and vicious horses nearly mad.

Yet I thoroughly enjoyed the drive, and no doubt should have done so to the end, as the change from the slogging hard work of the mine, with its dust and dirt, was delightful, while the slas.h.i.+ng pace we were going and the wild, fresh, veld wind roused my animal spirits till I felt as exhilarated as a penniless small boy does when he is presented with an unexpected half-crown. But, alas! we had other spirits on board, and our two companions, who occupied the back seat in the cart, partook of them freely, nor did they partake of them in the orthodox manner, as the motion of the swinging cart made the use of a gla.s.s and a mixing of _aqua fortis_ with _aqua fontis_ a somewhat difficult matter; so they dispensed with the usual accessories and swigged the whisky neat out of the bottle. Now this was a very dangerous proceeding, especially as they had imbibed a fair skinful previous to starting, and what with the natural high spirits engendered by the drive, and the other spirits they loaded up in the aforementioned manner, they became very tight indeed, and decidedly uproarious. First of all they began to sing a song. That was a failure. Then they began to chaff old Conway, which was dangerous; and then they began to rattle and stamp their feet on the floor of the cart, so as to make the horses more restive, which was both unnecessary and foolish. Conway, the muscles of whose arms were swollen to nigh breaking-point, took no notice of their crazy antics, except to order them to stop monkeying, as it was all he could do to hold and guide the half-maddened animals, but they paid no heed to his admonitions. Then he cursed them with unction, but that succeeded no better, till at last, thoroughly angry, he shouted out: "Oh, you want a smash, do you? Well! by gad, you shall have one." And without another word he bundled up the reins, which he threw on to the leaders' backs, at the same time letting go a letter "S" cut with his whip which impartially stung up every horse in the team, and then sitting back he let go one of his well-known wild bursts of laughter.

At the moment this happened we were about five miles from the drift.

The road was perfect, but some two miles or more farther on there was a sharp bend in it, and the problem to me was, would the maddened horses keep to the road or take to the veld when they came to it. I had not to wait long for the solution. The horses, the moment they felt the whip, and found their heads loose, at once broke into a tearing gallop. Reaching the bend in next door to no time, they took to the veld and tore wildly across it, making straight for the long line of willows that marked the river's bank. Here we were bound to come a most unholy smash, provided we ever reached it, but I knew there were far too many ant-heaps on the way, and to run against any one of these, which we were sure to do, would be quite enough to upset our apple-cart. From the moment Conway threw away the ribbons I knew I must come an awful mucker, and had philosophically prepared myself for the inevitable smash. He simply leant back in his seat, giving vent to his peculiar bursts of laughter, while the other two, sobered up by the danger, howled curses, entreaties and pious e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns in a duet that would have been highly diverting under other circ.u.mstances. Now events that are inevitable usually happen--at least, that is my experience--and we had not travelled far across the veld when the off-side wheel of the cart struck an ant-heap, some two feet high, bang in the middle, when I immediately and involuntarily vacated my seat. Yes; I left it in the same manner as a war rocket should leave its trough, and I described the same sort of a flight as one of those infernal machines very often used to do, for when I had described a parabola through the air, and had reached the full height of the trajectory, I turned a complete somersault. Then my specific gravity bringing me back to mother earth, I landed on my feet, ran a few yards so as to ease off the momentum of my flight, and came to a halt, devil a cent the worse. This was luck, and I turned round to see what had become of my companions, one or more of whom I feared must be badly hurt. Conway was all right, that was evident, as he was sitting on an ant-heap taking a pull at a bottle of whisky that had somehow escaped the debacle. Looking round, I saw the horses still galloping, dragging the remains of the cart, smashed to flinders, behind them. They disappeared among the willows, and I could conjecture the awful mess there must be at the foot of the river's bank. I longed to go to their a.s.sistance, for I dearly love a horse, but I first turned to our two mates, for although they were, in my opinion, far the worse brutes, still they were human brutes, and fas.h.i.+on makes us serve them first.

Going to them as they lay amidst a debris of lamps, cus.h.i.+ons, karosses, etc., I saw one of them was not only knocked silly but had broken his left arm and, by the way he breathed and looked, I diagnosed concussion of the brain. The other had broken his left leg, had acquired a beautiful gravel rash all over his face and was swearing at old Conway with much volubility. I was rendering the poor devils first aid, and begging Conway to walk on to the hotel to get more help, when we were hailed from the road by a well-known Kimberley sawbones, who, having providentially viewed the smash-up from a cross-road, had borne down to our a.s.sistance. A mob of Dutchmen and waggon boys were also on their way from the hotel, so I was able to go and look after the horses, borrowing a Boer's rifle _en route_. On reaching the poor beasts I found them lying in a tangled heap at the bottom of a steep bank. The cart was smashed to matchwood, and I had to shoot two of the nags, while the others we extricated with great trouble, both of them being badly hurt.

This was the finale of my first joy ride with Mad Conway, and though I enjoyed many subsequent ones, none of them were so exciting as the first. I could yarn to you all night about this extraordinary critter, and on some future date may give you further reminiscences about him; but I think you will allow, from what I have told you, that he was a very queer card indeed.

CHAPTER III