The Mill on the Kop

The sun beat with tropical fierceness on the mill, for it was midsummer; in other words, Christmas Day. The German miller sat in the shade to the south of his mill, and smoked a long pipe he had brought from the Rhine, years ago. His son Hans, a boy of fourteen, wandered near by restless and dissatisfied. The Germans make much of Christmas, and the boy had been promised high jinks, whereas here was nothing going on, with a day so hot that his father refused to move from the shadow of his mill, and would not even answer the protests of the youth, save by a grunt.

Yacob Steiner, the miller, was a veteran of the Franco-Prussian War, who had seen stout fighting in his day, and thought he was entitled to his rest. He had had enough of battle to last him as long as he might live, and thus had settled in a country where he knew there would be no wars, far removed as it was from all European complications. So he built himself a windmill for the grinding of grain, a solid stone structure after the German fashion, on the top of a, probably the only one of its kind in all South Africa. Stone being plentiful, the mill was strongly constructed of this material, and glass being scarce, there was none in the windows, which were merely narrow upright slits in the walls, numerous to make up for their lack of width, giving the stodgy mill the appearance of a castle turret, loop-holed for bowshot practice, such as Steiner had often seen in the Old Country. On the top of the tower was the wooden movable circular platform that supported the four clumsy arms and great sails of the motive power, a hood with a great, long, wooden lever sloping downward that enabled Yacob, with much labor, to move the turntable that the sails might face the wind.

The mill would have proved a disastrous commercial speculation for a man of almost any other nationality, for the custom was scant. The Dutch round about ground their own mealies, mortar and pestle style, with an uncomplaining Kafir as the motor, so Yacob came to little profit by his advent among them; still the mill was his home, and if there was little to grind he needed little to eat. The tax collector knew him not, so there were elements of quiet happiness in his existence. Besides this he was a brave man, taking with equanimity whatever came. He had been through terrible battles in his youth, had been married three times in his more mature years, and now with old age creeping along, lived contented with his pipe and his youngest son, the final wife having followed her predecessors. Elder sons, in Cape Town and Durban, sent him a little money now and then, and thus Yacob considered himself extremely well off. His first pride was his mill, which he had built with his own hands, and his second, his younger son, who, unfortunately, was anxious to get off to the outer world which produced real money that his elder brothers were sharing.

The view southward from the mill was wild and extensive; that to the north even more so. A stranger to the scene would have said that there was no human habitation in sight, but the accustomed eyes of the miller saw several, with even a village possessing a name that rolled from the Dutch tongue like lumps of granite down a slope. To the sky line extended range upon range of low, rugged hills. Over all brooded deep silence and the fervid heat of the strong sun.

The old man had heard little of the war then going on in some remote parts of the land, but what he had heard was entirely to his satisfaction. The British were being driven into the sea, which was only what he had expected, for he knew that no nation could fight except his own. Commandeering had respected the age of the miller and the youth of his son, and had therefore passed them by. Aside from this he had no horse, depending for transit on his sturdy German legs, and in this he differed greatly from his Dutch neighbors. He was grateful for his exemption, and it never occurred to him that no one had a right to commandeer him, because his mill stood on British ground and his neighbors were technically British subjects. This, apparently, had not occurred to them either, for the British sovereignty was but a vague abstraction, and, although their votes had elected members of a colonial legislature, they were all as one in hating the "rooneks" and firm in the belief that, when the proper time came, the Dutch Afrikander would sweep the enemy from the land. Herr Steiner, too, hated the English in a mild sort of way, and before the war broke out had readily consented to make his remote mill an arsenal, where stacks of the most modern repeating rifles and boxes of small cartridges were stowed in the revolving turret, free from all chance of espionage, to be left till called for. A number of these rifles and a quantity of ammunition had been taken away when his neighbors went to the front, and he was pleased to learn that they had done good service; that the Boers won victories without the loss of a man, and that the enemy were being slaughtered wholesale.

"Father, are you going to the village?" asked Hans, in German.

"It is too hot to go to the village," answered his father, serenely.

"Then may I go to the village alone? It is not too hot for me," persisted the boy.

"There is nothing to see at the village. All the men are gone to the war, and there will be no more Christmas at the village than here at the mill."

"But you promised we would have Christmas at the mill, or go to the village," continued the boy, with tears of disappointment in his eyes.

"Yaw, yaw," said the miller with sleepy indifference, "but I change my mind. I tell you it is too hot." And regarding this as final, the miller resumed his smoking.

Hans gazed in silent, tearful dissatisfaction across the rolling, broken country toward the south. Life is full of compensations, but the boy did not know this, so the fact brought no consolation to him. Nevertheless he was to have a practical illustration, and in a short time all his disappointment was forgotten. From the top of a distant kopje rose a column of white smoke, and presently across the intervening landscape came the subdued thunder of a cannon. Even the old German became alert, and rose to his feet. More than a quarter of a century had passed since he had seen cannon smoke, and the sound of the gun roused an echo in his heart that had long been asleep. Surprise so overpowered him that he took his pipe from his mouth, a most unusual occurrence. Another cloud of smoke lifted itself in the air; another boom smote the ear after an interval.

"It is a battle!" cried the boy, quivering with excitement.

"Naw," said his father slowly. "They are practicing only. That is why they use the old powder. If it was a battle they would be firing smokeless powder."

But it seemed the old man was mistaken. Suddenly from the top of the kopje appeared smoke of a different color; then came the tearing sound of a bursting shell. The aim had not been accurate, for the shell struck some distance to the left, overshooting the mark, and, far away as it was, father and son could plainly see, through the clear air, the havoc the projectile had wrought among the shrubs and bushes on the northern side of the slope where it fell and burst. Again the white smoke and the boom; then the green smoke and the crash, this time nearer to the hilltop, but still overshot.

"The fools!" shouted old Steiner, warming up, "where is the smokeless powder they boasted of? They are setting up a target of smoke for the rooneks."

The artillery duel continued, the rooneks sending their shells nearer and nearer to the mark, until two fell in quick succession right on the spot where the white cloud was first seen, and now, having got the range, destruction reigned on the hilltop. No more clouds of white smoke went up, and black dots like minute ants could be seen scuttling down the northern slopes.

"They are thrashed," growled the miller. "Their gun is disabled, and will be captured."

But modern warfare seemed determined to contradict all the old veteran surmised. To his amazement, the boom of the cannon continued, although no smoke was seen. At last, however, it ceased, and in place of it came the incessant, faint, sharp rattle of the rifles. Still the shell explosions desolated the top of the ridge.

"Oh father! What is that?" shouted the boy, pointing downward and to the left. The old man gazed in the direction indicated by his son. Twenty or thirty spans of laboring oxen were slowly hauling a long, black cannon toward the north. Some hundreds of men on ponies galloped hither and thither, apparently urging the drivers of the oxen to greater speed. Steiner rubbed his eyes in amazement. How came the cannon from that direction? It had evidently not been on the ridge where havoc was making its playground. Its line of progress was well chosen. The retreating force kept kopjes between it and all possible observers on the hills to the south. It was a retreat conducted with masterly skill. Slowly the elongated chain of oxen dragged its heavy burden along the bottom edge of the concealing slope, then down into a water course, and here they got into trouble; but a trouble that no human foresight could have avoided. The river had to be crossed, but the heavy cannon sank down into its sands and there stuck. The motive centipede swayed now to the right, now to the left, but could not budge the burden of steel. The ox-train of ammunition was blocked on the farther bank, by the stalling of the great gun. One horseman galloped up the slope until nearly at the hilltop, and there dismounting, cautiously, himself unseen, reconnoitered the enemy. The futile bombardment of the empty crest was still raging, farther to the south. The spy signaled to his comrades below. Still the cannon remained immovable. A party of horsemen detached themselves from the main column and galloped swiftly along the valley, disappearing from view to the left of the mill hill.

"The rooneks are wasting much good ammunition," said the German sagely, "and valuable time."

Nevertheless, the Boers were in a hole, in every sense of the phrase, and they knew it. The commando had dismounted, their ponies standing in a clump, ready for instant use, while their riders tried ineffectually, with lever and rope, to move the stubborn gun, the Kafir-beaten oxen straining at the chains.

There was a clatter of hoofs on the rocky plateau behind the mill, and Steiner went round to learn the cause. He found himself in the midst of the detachment that had come north from the main body. On reaching the top their leader cast an anxious eye to the south, and was relieved to see the play of the lyddite on the far-away ridge.

"Have you any oxen?" asked the leader.

"Nein," replied Steiner.

"Are there any at the village beyond?"

"Yaw. Plenty."

"You will hold the mill," said the leader to his men. "Knock stones out of the wall, so that you can fire on the British as soon as they appear on the ridge."

"There is no need to knock stones out," said Steiner. "There are slits enough in the walls for twice as many men as you have here."

"Good. As soon as the British are in sight, fire on them as fast as possible, to keep them in check till we get the gun away. Begin firing at once close over the kopje; it may hinder them."

The commander sprang on his pony and galloped down the slope toward the village. His men estimated the range, and rained Mauser bullets in the direction of the unseen foe. The explosions on the crest had ceased, but the vapor still hung in a low cloud over it. The gun remained immovable in the slough, but by and by there appeared from the north a large drove of oxen, rapidly nearing the party by the river.

Now the sharp-eyed Boers in the mill saw a commotion on the distant hilltop. A flag had been planted on the crest. The enemy had charged the kopje and had found there nothing but a shell-swept ridge. The Boers fired volley after volley. Two of their number had gone along the uplands, keeping well out of sight, and, a quarter of a mile away, were exploding loose charges of black powder on the rocks, raising clouds of smoke, deluding the enemy into the idea that from this point were coming the bullets that poured from the mill. In the shelter another Boer was calmly making coffee over a fire he had kindled. Far below, the re-enforcement of oxen had been attached to the muzzle of the long cannon, and now they were rolling it, like a log, up out of the mud. In spite of the hail of bullets, the enemy were seen coming down the distant slope into the plain below. If they turned to the left they would still be in time to capture the gun, unless the force around it made a stand and held them off.

At this critical juncture the Boers in the mill ceased firing, and deserted their stronghold. Each drank down a boiling cup of coffee, and made for his pony. In vain the German tried to rally them. Now was the time to shoot, he cried. The British were forming line on the plain below the kopje, as if to give an expert rifleman every advantage. It was throwing away the blessings of Providence to retreat at this time, pleaded Steiner; but his visitors paid not the slightest attention to him. They leaped on their nags and galloped away, leaving the miller and his son alone with the deserted fortress. Steiner swore mouth-filling German oaths. All his military instincts were roused. The rooneks must be kept back at all costs.

"Up into the loft, Hans," he cried, "and bring down rifles and ammunition."

The eager boy needed no second bidding. He brought down a heavy sheaf of rifles, then a heavy box of cartridges. While he went for more, Yacob loaded magazine after magazine and sighted the weapons for the estimated distance. Threescore of rifles were speedily at his side, with more ammunition than he could fire in two days.

"Now, Hans, take the black powder and go along the ridge to where those Dutchmen fired it off. Get up a cloud of smoke and watch the mill. When I wave a flag at the west window, run to me. You saw what the Dutchmen did?"

"Yes, yes," cried the boy, and was off like a flash, keeping out of sight as the Boers had done.

And now the long dormant lust of fighting gleamed from the German's eye. He lifted rifle after rifle to the slit in the wall, and with incredible rapidity fired off the contents of each magazine at the line of troops. The effect was soon evident. The phalanx separated into atoms, and the atoms broke back to cover. For a while Steiner had it all his own way. There was no reply to his attack, but he kept on firing at the apparently empty slope. Then a screaming shell clove the air from the hilltop, racing for the cloud of smoke far to the right of the mill. The German waved his flag from the west window, but the boy, enveloped in powder fumes of his own making, could not see the signal.

"Hans! Hans!" cried his father. But the cry was unheard, and Steiner spent a long moment of agony, such as he had never experienced when he fought the French. The shell cleared the hilltop and burst like a clap of thunder far down the valley. A second later the frightened lad emerged from his cloud, and ran like a deer for the mill. Instinct had translated for him the language of the shell. The next missile came closer, but still overshot the mark; the third landed square in the cloud of smoke, which the still air held hovering over the spot from which it had emanated. The German now tried to get the range of the cannon on the distant ridge, and sent his Mauser bullets impartially along the crest, but the shells came at stated intervals without cessation. The centipede and the Boer gun had long since gone out of sight to the east of the mill, and now had reappeared on the southern slope of the kop to the north of the village, laboring slowly up. The temporary check of the enemy had been the salvation of the cannon.

Suddenly the volcano on the southern kop became inactive and the irruption of shells ceased. The atoms emerged from the foot of the hill and dashed at a double across the plain. Steiner almost fancied he heard the echo of a cheer. They took to the right instead of to the left, and any chance of coming on the trail of the retreating cannon was lost. The invaders presently disappeared from sight among the hills, and the German, who had stood irresolute during the charge, now put down his unemptied rifle. Silence fell on the land, and the smoke of battle gradually dissipated itself into the thin, transparent air.

No trace of either combatant was to be seen within sight of the mill. "Hans," said the old man quietly, resuming his neglected pipe, "get a sheet from your bed, climb to the top of the mill and tie it on the pole."

"Is that to be our flag?" asked the boy.

"Yaw, it is our flag now."

The active boy completed his task, and the white plume hung listless from the pole. The old man gathered the embers of the outside fire and warmed the coffee that the Boers had left. Drinking some of this, the two went into the mill, the boy to clean the rifles and the father to smoke on the balcony that circled the tower, some ten feet from the ground. Here, leaning his arms on the rail, he enjoyed his long pipe and the view. The sun was now descending, and a company of men broke out from cover. The mill was outflanked, and its assailants were brought to a stand by seeing the flag of truce waving above it, the new breeze giving life to the white insignia. Halting his company, the officer stepped forward uniformed in khaki, a brown slouch hat on his head turned up at the side. He attempted a sentence in Dutch, but the German, who had not moved a muscle or shown any surprise, said quietly between puffs, "I specks Anglish mineselef."

"Oh, do you? Well, thank goodness for that. You surrender, then?"

"Yaw, I makes derms."

"What are your terms?"

"You must spare der garrison, or we fights to der lasdt man."

"Of course we spare the garrison. We're soldiers, not assassins."

"Dot's all righdt. Und my mill musdt not be hurt."

The officer rapidly cast his eye over the mill and saw it was practically an impregnable fortress, if held by desperate and determined men. He had no desire to acquire this piece of property at the cost of half his company. His men stood on the alert, with guns aimed at the impassive German, for the whole situation had a suspicion of treachery, which was accentuated rather than allayed by the exhibition of the white flag.

"How many guns have you got inside?" asked the officer.

"Sixdty."

The captain suppressed an exclamation of surprise. If that were actually the case, he did not understand the surrender, and he now became anxious to hear the cheers of his comrades coming up the other side of the hill. "Boys," he said in a low voice to his company, "I don't like the looks of this. You'd better make for cover while I parley."

No man moved. "We've got this old skeezicks covered, captain. We're with you on this thing. If you come to cover, we will."

The German, smoking placidly, remembering the stern discipline of the German army, was amazed at the free and easy discussion going on before him.

"I accept the terms," said the captain; "we will neither destroy the mill nor the garrison. Bring your men out one by one, and make no mistake about telling them that they must leave their arms inside. If any man appears with a gun in his hand he will be shot. Do you understand?"

"Yaw," said the German, removing his pipe. Then he called over his shoulder in his own language, "Hans, put down your gun and come out."

The boy appeared on the balcony beside his father.

"Shentlemens, dot vas der garrison," said Steiner, with a complacent wave of his hand, the gesture of one who had amply fulfilled his contract.

"What do you mean? Where are your sixty men?"

"I dond zay I haf sixdty men; I zay I haf sixdty kuns. Dey vos inside."

"Who did all the shooting from this mill?"

"Dot vas me. Yaw; dot is all righdt."

"Oh, I say! This is some new kind of trap. I want six volunteers to enter the mill. Six men step forward."

The whole company took a pace in advance, as if on drill. The captain chose the half dozen nearest him, and they made a dash on the mill, all their comrades on the alert, expecting a fusilade. The German leaned on the rail and smoked, his boy standing beside him making no complaint of lack of excitement. After a few minutes of intense suspense one of the soldiers appeared at the upper window.

"Say, Captain, this shanty is loaded for bear. It's a regular arsenal; more Mausers and ammunition than you can shake a stick at, but there are no inhabitants that we can find."

"Yaw, dot's all ride," nodded Steiner in corroboration.

The six soldiers appeared on the balcony, their search concluded.

"Bring down the prisoner," said the captain.

Steiner, his boy close at his heels, came down to the ground between a pair of the searchers.

"Look here, my man," began the officer, "it is not true that you were alone in the mill. You will have to be careful what you say. Where are the rest of the Boers?"

"I am gareful vot I say. Und I haf der vord of an Englishman dot I am not to be hurted."

"You can't play on the word of an Englishman, if you lie to me. We are not English, but Canadian. I'll keep my word to you all right, but I'm not going to bend over backwards to do it. The English may be kinder to the Boers they capture than to their own men, but I give you warning I don't believe in that sort of thing. You're going to have a rocky road to travel if you don't speak the truth. I'll have you tied up in a hard knot, and you'll find our transport service very defective. Now, Mr. Boer, where are the rest of your comrades?"

"You are misdaken, sir," replied the prisoner calmly, "I am not a Poer, but a German. Der German Emperor is mine chief."

"Then what in thunder were you shooting at us for? The German Emperor is not in this quarrel."

"Vot in dunder, yaw und blitzen too, do you shoot at me for? I know der English, but der Kanadians I knows noddings apout. Vot haf you mit dis kvarrel to do so mooch more as me?"

Some of the Canadians laughed at this, and one of them said:

"You're up against an empire, old man. Didn't you know it? You should study geography a bit, and current politics too."

"Pay attention," commanded the captain sternly. "Where is the company that was firing at us from the ridge on the left?"

"Der vas no kompany. Dot vas mine liddle poy Hans who vas playing mit plack powder. He vants some fun on Gristmas Tay."

"Oh, that was it. The puffs of powder coincided remarkably with the coming of the bullets."

"Yaw; dot's ride. I shoots dem pullets."

"My personal opinion is that I should have you shot where you stand, but I'll leave the commanding officer to deal with you."

The dialogue was interrupted by cheers from the left. A section of the artillery came forward dragging a cannon. Then followed the ammunition train, and another squad of infantry. There were boisterous greetings, and sarcastic shouts of "Merry Christmas!" with congratulations that, despite all the firing, no one had been hurt.

"Where are the Boers?" was the cry of the newcomers.

"Important engagements elsewhere. Sorry they couldn't wait," was the reply.

"Well, I think as these chaps broke the arrangement about not firing on Christmas Day, they might have left us some turkey and plum pudding when they invited us by cannon post to come and see them."

"They are an inhospitable lot," growled another.

"Oh, no. They greeted us with a hot fire, and that has always been considered a welcoming token on Christmas Day at home. Besides, here's a can of coffee all nicely ready for you. What are you kicking about? You're never satisfied."

But other eyes were watching the jolly Kanucks besides those of the miller and his boy. There was a long shriek to the north and a shell came spinning over the mill, bursting in the valley far below, aimed too high, as usual.

"The same to you," cried the artillery lads, springing to their gun. The next shell carried away the white flag fluttering at the top of the mill. Far on the northern kopje rose the two clouds of white smoke.

The third and fourth shells went wide; the fifth sent the gaunt arms of the mill flying. The Canadian cannon had plumped a shell right into the distant cloud of smoke at the first trial: a triumph of range-finding. When the mill was struck the calm demeanor of the German dropped from him like a cloak.

"Oh, mine Gott!" he cried, "dose villains are shooding at mine mill!" For a few moments he swore resounding German oaths, which had no influence on the shells; then he turned to the officer who commanded the gunners. "Oh, mine mill is ruinet. Of you dondt shoot dem Poers, dey smash mine mill. You vas shooding all wrong."

"You mind your own business, old man. Hang your mill. Take it away if the situation doesn't suit you; we'll attend to the shooting."

"Yaw, yaw, but dem Poers don't be some shackasses und stay mit dot smoke. Dey fool you all der time, ride away. Dot smoke is plack powder. Der gannon is on dot kop halef a mile to der right. It shoods from der bile of stones at der top. Dem Poers fool you mit der plack powder."

"I believe he is right," said the captain who had first arrived, to the officer of artillery. "I'm sure from something he said before that they have smokeless powder, and that these too evident explosions of black powder are entirely misleading."

The officer turned his glasses on the kopje pointed out by the miller. The indications were sufficiently suspicious, and he gave a sharp command to his men. The gun was veered round, the range taken, and the shell launched. The effect was instantaneous. No more shots came from the north, and the mill was saved. After thoroughly shelling the ridge and getting no reply, the cannonade ceased. The officer, through his glasses, saw the black nozzle of the Boer gun heave up into the air and fall out of sight. Whether this meant the dismounting of Long Tom or not, the cannon sent no more Christmas greetings that day. The sun was now getting low above the western hills, and the evening promised to be as chill as the day had been warm. The Canadians were wasteful of the Mauser rifles. They gathered these weapons from the mill and broke them, one by one, against a protruding rock. The cases of ammunition they put in a pile, smashing the boxes, and making a bonfire of the heap, which seemed a dangerous proceeding, but, as was the case with the battle, nobody was hurt, and the small boy had a wonderful exhibition of fireworks with which to usher in the close of his holiday.

The prisoner had resumed his pipe and his composure, now that the mill was safe. The captain approached him.

"I want you to answer a few questions. Are there any Boers in that village down below?"

"Nein. Eggesept women. Der men vas on der hills."

"You are sure of that? We don't want to trouble the women, but if there are men there, we're going to clear them out."

"Nein. Der vas no men dare."

"Do you think there is any chance of getting something to eat at the place? We'll pay for what we take."

"Yaw, dare is mooch to eat down dare."

"Well, I think they owe us a meal, having brought us this far."

A score of foragers were sent down the hill, but no chances were taken. They were supported by a company of armed men, and the cannon was held in readiness. However, the German had told the truth, and furthermore had convinced his captors that he had actually held off what he supposed was the British army, all by himself in the mill. They listened to him with great interest, and he branched off into recitals concerning his campaigns in France. In return, they told him there was a town called Berlin in Canada, and bestowed upon him much valuable geographical knowledge. The foragers brought back the materials for a satisfying meal, and while the soldiers were busily engaged in putting it where it would do the most good, the captain said quietly to the smoking German:

"You don't care to see Cape Town, do you?"

"Nein."

"Quite satisfied with the mill, eh? Well, I'll give you a hint. You had better look after it. If you and that promising boy of yours get up into that tower, perhaps you may be overlooked in the hurried search that will take place presently."

"All ride," said Steiner, quite unmoved.

Supper finished, sharp commands were given and obeyed. The troops lined up for their march to find their convoy.

"Where's the prisoner?" demanded the captain.

One of the soldiers saluted and spoke:

"Captain, the boys think the German is not half a bad sort of fellow. He has given us important information, and his shooting didn't amount to much, so we thought—"

"All that has nothing to do with the case," returned the captain with severity. "If this outlaw isn't found inside of two minutes, you'll have to go off without him. I can't keep men waiting here all night, and it will soon be dark."

There was a droop of the captain's right eyelid, scarcely perceptible, but nevertheless noted by some of the quick-sighted chaps before him. A hasty search was at once inaugurated, but so successful was the miller's hiding that he could not be found within the time limit set. Therefore Her Majesty's forces marched off to the south without him.