Chapter Thirty Nine.
The Doctor’s Dose.
“Look here, Denham,” said the doctor; “you’re an ill-tempered, ungrateful, soured, discontented young beggar. You deserve to surfer.—And as for you, sir,” he continued, turning to me, “you’re not much better.”
That was when we were what the doctor called convalescent—that is to say, it was about a fortnight after our terrible experience in the old mine-shaft, and undoubtedly fast approaching the time when we might return to duty.
“Anything else, sir?” said Denham sharply.
I said nothing, but I winced.
“I dare say I could find a few more adjectives to illustrate your character, sir,” said the doctor rather pompously; “but I think that will do.”
“So do I, sir,” said Denham; “but let me tell you that you don’t allow for our having to lie helpless here fretting our very hearts out because we can’t join the ranks.”
“There you go again, sir,” cried the doctor. “Always grumbling. Look at you both; wounds healing up.”
“Ugh!” cried Denham. “Mine are horrid.” I winced again.
“Your muscles are recovering their tone.”
“I can hardly move without pain,” groaned Denham. I screwed up my face in sympathy.
“Your bruises dying out.”
“Doctor!” shouted Denham, “do you think I haven’t looked at myself? I’m horrible.”
This time I groaned.
“How do you know? You haven’t got a looking-glass, surely?”
“No; but I’ve seen my wretched face in a bucket of water,” cried Denham.
“Bah! Conceited young puppy! And compared notes, too, both of you, I’ll be bound.”
“Of course we have, lying about here with nothing to do but suffer and fret. You don’t seem to do us a bit of good.”
“What!” cried the doctor. “Why, if it hadn’t been for me you’d have had no faces at all worth looking at. Most likely— There, there, there! I won’t get into a temper with you both, and tell you what might have happened.”
“Both would have died, and a good job too,” cried Denham bitterly.
“Come, come!” said the doctor gently; “don’t talk like that. I know, I know. It has been very hard to bear, and you both have been rather slow at getting strong again. But be reasonable. This hasn’t been a proper hospital, and it isn’t now a convalescent home, where I could coax you both back into health and strength. I’ve no appliances or medicines worth speaking about, and I must confess that the diet upon which I am trying to feed you up is not perfect.”
“Perfect, Val!” cried Denham. “Just listen to him. Everything is horrible.”
“Quite right, my dear boy,” said the doctor; “it is.”
“The bread— Ugh! It always tastes of burnt bones and skin and grease.”
“Yes,” said the doctor, with a sigh; “but that’s all the fuel we have for heating the oven now the wagons are burned.”
“Then the soup, or beef-tea, or whatever you call it. I don’t know which is worst—that which is boiled up in a pannikin or the nauseous mess made by soaking raw beef in a bucket of water.”
“But it is warmed afterwards, my dear boy,” said the doctor, “and it is extremely nutritious.”
“Ugh!” shuddered Denham. “What stuff for a poor fellow recovering from wounds! I can’t and I won’t take any more of it.”
The doctor smiled, and looked hard at the grumbler.
“Won’t you, Denham?” he said. “Oh yes, you will; and you’re going to have bits of steak to-day, frizzled on ramrods.”
“Over a bone fire!” cried Denham. “I’m sick of it all.”
“Come, come, come! you’re getting ever so much stronger, both of you.”
“But are we really, doctor?” I said; “or are you saying this to cheer us up?”
“Ask yourselves, boys. You know as well as I do that you are. Climb up on the wall this morning and sit in the sunshine; but mind you keep well in shelter. I don’t want one of the Boers to undo in a moment what has taken me so long to do.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Denham dismally. “We’re poor sort of machines—always getting out of order.”
“Have you two been falling out?” said the doctor, turning to me.
“No,” I said; “we haven’t had a word. Denham’s in rather a bad temper this morning.”
“Why, you impudent beggar!” he cried, “for two pins I’d punch your head.”
“Bravo!” cried the doctor. “Here, I’ll give ’em to you. Humph! No; only got one. Stop a minute; I’ll give you a needle out of my case instead. Will that do?”
“Look here, doctor,” cried Denham; “I can’t stand chaff now.”
“Chaff, my dear boy? I’m in earnest. That’s right; go at him. Have a really good fight. It will do you good.”
“Bah!” cried Denham, as he saw me laughing. “Here, come along up to the wall, Val. I don’t want to fall out with the doctor any more.”
“That you don’t,” said that gentleman, offering his hand. “There, good-morning, patients. I know. But cheer up. I like that bit of spirit Denham showed just now. It was a splendid sign. You’ll eat the grill when it comes?”
He did not wait for an answer, but bustled away, Denham looking after him till he was out of hearing.
“I wish I hadn’t been so snappish with him,” he said rather remorsefully. “He has done a lot for us.”
“Heaps,” I said.
“And we must seem very ungrateful.”
“He knows how fretful weak people can be,” I said. “Come, let’s get up into the sunshine.”
For I was having hard work with poor Denham in those days. His sufferings had affected him in a curious way. He was completely soured, and a word or two, however well meant, often sent him into a towering rage. Even then I had to temporise, for he turned impatiently away.
“Hang the sunshine!” he said.
“But it will do you good,” I said.
“I don’t want to get any good. It only makes me worse. I shall stop down here in the shade.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “for I wanted to be up in the fresh air this morning.”
“Oh, well, if you want to go I’ll come with you.”
“Yes, do,” I said; and we went out into the great court, where the horses were fidgeting, and biting and kicking at one another, and being shouted at by the men, who were brushing away at their coats to get them into as high a state of perfection as possible. There were the bullocks too, sadly reduced in numbers, and suggesting famine if some new efforts were not made.
“Don’t stop looking about,” said Denham peevishly. “How worn and shabby the men look! It gives me the horrors.”
I followed him, but after his remark I gave a sharp look at the groups of men we passed, especially one long double line going through the sword exercise and pursuing-practice under the instructions of Sergeant Briggs; and as, at every barked-out order, the men made their sabre-blades flash in the sunshine, I felt a thrill as of returning strength run through me; but I noticed how thin, though still active and strong, the fellows looked.
We climbed up the rugged stones, which had gradually been arranged till the way was pretty easy, and reached the top of the wall, now protected by a good breastwork high enough to enable our sentries to keep well under cover.
It was very bright and breezy up there; but Denham did not seem disposed to sit down quietly and rest in the sun, for he stepped up at once to where he could gaze over the breastwork, resting his elbows on the stones and his chin upon his hands.
“Hi, Denham! don’t do that,” I said. “It’s not safe.”
“Bah! I want to look out for those ammunition-wagons old Briggs was talking about.”
“But—” I began, and then I was silent, for Joeboy had followed us up, and seeing Denham’s perilous position, he stepped up behind him, put his hands to his waist, and lifted him down as if he had been a child.
“How dare— Oh, it’s you, Blackie,” he said, laughing.
It was a strange laugh, and I could see that the poor fellow had a peculiar look in his eyes. For as Joeboy snatched more than lifted him down, ping, whiz, the humming of two bullets went so close to his head on either side that he winced twice—to right and to left; and crack, crack came the reports of the rifles fired from the Boer lines opposite.
“Doppie want to shoot Boss Denham,” said Joeboy coolly. “Shoot straight.”
“Yes, they shoot straight,” said Denham; “but I didn’t think— I don’t know, though; perhaps I did think. I say, Val,” he added in a strange, inconsequent way, as if rather ashamed of his recklessness, “that was rather near—wasn’t it?”
“Why do you act like that?” I said reproachfully.
“I suppose it was out of bravado,” he replied, seeming to return to his old manner again. “I wanted to show the brutes the contempt I feel for them.”
“You only made them laugh to see how quickly your head disappeared when they fired.”
“How do you know?” he said sharply.
“Because that’s exactly what they would do,” I replied.
Denham frowned, and turned to Joeboy.
“Here,” he said, “put up that big stone on the edge there.”
The black obeyed, and then Denham pointed to another.
“Put that one beside it, and leave just room between them for me to peer out. I want to see whether it’s possible to do as you did, Val, and bring out a wagon of cartridge-boxes.”
Joeboy raised first one and then another great stone upon the edge as he was told, and Denham stepped up directly to look between them, but bobbed his head and stepped down again directly, for spat, spat, spat, three rifle-bullets struck the stones and fell rattling down.
Denham looked sharply towards me, frowning angrily; but I met his eyes without shrinking.
“I wish I wasn’t so nervous,” he said, by way of apology. “It’s from being weak, I suppose.”
“It’s enough to make a strong man shrink,” I said. “Don’t look again. The next bullet may come between the stones and hit you.”
“But I must look,” he said angrily. “It’s quite time you and I did something to help.”
“If you are hit it will do every one else harm instead of good.”
He turned upon me fiercely, but calmed down directly.
“Yes,” he said; “I suppose you’re right. Oh, here’s the Sergeant coming up. He has done drilling, I suppose.”
The Sergeant announced that this was so directly after joining us.
“The boys are getting splendid with the sword now,” he said, seating himself upon a block of stone and wiping his moist brow; “but it’s dreary work not being able to get them to work.”
“Tell the Colonel to get them all out, then, and make a charge. We ought to be able to scatter this mob.”
“So we could, sir,” said the Sergeant gruffly, “but they won’t give us a chance. If they’d make a mob of themselves we’d soon scatter them, numerous as they are; but it’s of no use to talk; we can’t charge wagons and rifle-pits. It wouldn’t be fair to the lads. Why, they’d empty half our saddles before we got up to them, and then it would be horrible work to get through. No, it can’t be done, Mr Denham, and you know it as well as I do.”
“No, I don’t,” said my companion stubbornly. “It ought to be done. Once we were all through, the enemy would take to flight.”
“Once we were all through,” said the Sergeant, with a grim chuckle; “but that’s it. How many would get through? Now, just put it another way, sir. Say there’s only six or seven of them out there, and there’s one on our side. That’s about how it stands as to numbers. Very well; say you lead that charger of yours out. The Boers see what’s going to happen directly, and the minute you’re up in the saddle they begin to fire at you—the whole seven.”
“You said six,” cried Denham.
“Six or seven, sir. Well, let it be six. Don’t you think it very likely that one out of the six Doppies would manage to hit you?”
Denham frowned and remained silent, while Joeboy sat all of a heap, his arms round his knees, watching the Sergeant, and I saw his ears twitch as if he were trying hard to grasp the whole of the non-com’s theory.
“You think not, sir?” continued Briggs. “Well, I don’t agree with you. They’d hit you perhaps before you got far; they’d hit you for certain, you or your horse, before you got close up; and let me tell you that the chances would be ever so much worse if we were galloping up to them in line.”
“Yes, you’re right, Sergeant,” said Denham slowly. “It would be murder, and the chief couldn’t, in justice to the men, call upon them to charge. But they’d follow us,” he added excitedly.
“Follow their officers, sir? Of course they would, and some of ’em would get through.”
“Gloriously,” cried Denham.
“Well, I suppose some of those fine writers who make history would call it glorious; but I should call it horrible waste of good stuff. It wouldn’t do, sir—it wouldn’t do, for there’d be nothing to gain by it. If we could make an opening in the enemy’s lines and put ’em a bit into disorder, so as to give a chance for another regiment to slip in and rout ’em, it would be splendid; but to do it your way would be just chucking good men’s lives away.”
“Yes, yes, Sergeant; you’re right, and the Colonel’s right, and I’m all wrong. I know better; but my head got so knocked about by that renegade Irishman and my fall down that hole that it doesn’t work right yet.”
“I know, sir,” said the Sergeant, nodding his head. “When you talk in that bitter way I know it isn’t my brave, clever young officer speaking; and I say to myself, ‘Wait a bit, old man; he’ll soon come round.’”
“Thank you, Sergeant; thank you,” said Denham, holding out his hand, which Briggs grasped, shook warmly, then turned to me to go through the same business; he did so hotly, for my hand felt crushed, and I vainly tried to respond as heartily, while the tears of pain rose in my eyes, but did not dim them so much that I could not see my torturer’s eyes were also moist.
“Well, what are you looking at?” he growled. “I say, don’t squeeze a man’s hand like that. Why, you’ve made my eyes water, lad. Look, they’re quite wet. Phew! You did squeeze.”
“It’s because he has so much vice in him, Briggs,” said Denham, smiling.
“That’s it, Mr Denham. Well, we must wait, for there’s nothing to be done but send one or two smart fellows to creep through the enemy’s ranks in the night, on foot. You can’t get horsemen through.”
“You mean, send for help from the nearest British force?” said Denham.
“That’s it, sir—some one to tell the officer in command that we shall soon be on our last legs here; but if he’ll como on and attack them in the rear, we’ll be out and at ’em as soon as we hear the shooting; and if we didn’t polish off the Doppies then, why, we should deserve to lose.”
“Briggs,” said Denham warmly, “of course that’s the plan. You ought to have been in command of the corps yourself.”
“Ah! now your head’s getting a bit the better of you again, sir,” replied the Sergeant, “or you wouldn’t talk like that. What I say’s only second-hand. That’s the chief’s plan.”
“Then why doesn’t he carry it out?” I said indignantly.
“You hold your tongue,” growled the Sergeant. “You’re only a recruit yet, and your head’s getting the better of you too.—Yes, Mr Denham, that’s the Colonel’s own plan, and he’s tried it every night for the last twelve nights.”
“What!” I cried.
“Yes, my lad; called quietly for volunteers, and sent out twelve of our lads; but so far there don’t seem to be one that has got through, and the game gets expensive. There, I must go down again now and get to duty. I saw you two coming up while I was going through the exercise, and I’m very glad to see you both looking so much better.—Well, Joe Black,” he said as he turned away, “how’s Mr Moray’s horse?”
“Um? Coat shine beautiful,” said Joeboy.
“And enough to make it, my lad, seeing the way you rub him down.”
“Denham,” I said that night as we lay wakefully gazing up at the stars, “do you feel any stronger yet?”
“I don’t know. I seem to fancy I do. Why?”
“I thought you did because you’ve been so quiet ever since we had that talk with the Sergeant. I feel stronger.”
“Why do you ask?” he said.
“Because I’ve been thinking that I ought to do that job, and you ought to be on the lookout again, to come to my help if I succeed.”
“No,” he said quickly; “it’s a job for two. I’d go with you.”
“But I should take Joeboy.”
“Then it’s a job for three, Val; we can take our time, and the slower we go perhaps the better. If we get stopped by the Boers, we’re wounded and getting away from the fighting.”
“Yes, that might do. We do look bad.”
“Horribly bad, Val. You look a miserable wreck of a fellow.”
“And you, I won’t say what,” I retorted, a little irritably.
“So much the better. When shall we go—to-night?”
“No. Let’s have a good sleep to-night, and talk to Joeboy about it in the morning. To-morrow night as soon as it’s dark we’ll be off,” I said.
“The Colonel won’t let us go if we volunteer.”
“Of course not. Let’s go without leave; but that will look like deserting.”
“I don’t care what it looks like so long as we can get through and bring help.”
“The same here.”
“But we ought to steal away to-night,” said Denham.
“No; let’s have Joeboy. Ha!” I said, with a sigh of relief. “I seem to see my way now, and I shall sleep like a top.”
“I’m so relieved, Val, old chap, that I’m half-asleep now. Quite a restful feeling has come over me. Good-night.”
“Good-night,” I replied; and I have some faint recollection of the rays of a lantern beating down and looking red through my eyelids, and then of feeling a soft hand upon my temples. But the next thing I fully realised was that it was a bright, sunny morning, and that Denham was sitting up in his sack-bed.
“How do you feel?” he cried eagerly.
“Like going off as soon as it’s dark.”
“So do I,” he said. “I’m a deal better now. What’s the first thing to do—smuggle some meal to take with us?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Yes, perhaps we’d better take some; and, I say, we must have bandages on our heads as well as the sticking-plaster.”
“Of course. Then, I say, as soon as ever we’ve had breakfast we’ll talk to Joeboy.”
“Exactly,” I replied. “He’ll be half-mad to go, and when we’ve said all we want to him we’ll come back and lie down again.”
“Oh! What for?”
“So as to rest and sleep all we possibly can, for if all goes well we shan’t have a wink to-night.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” said Denham.
“There’s one more thing to think about.”
“What’s that?”
“Our going off without leave,” I said—“you an officer, I a private.”
“Oh! I say, don’t get raising up obstacles.”
“I don’t want to,” I said; “but this is serious.”
“Very, for us to run such risks; and of course it isn’t according to rule. But it’s an exception. Let’s argue it out, for it does look ugly.”
“Go on,” I said, “for I want my conscience cleared.”
“Look here, then; what are we going to do?”
“Try and get help, of course.”
“Then I consider that sufficient excuse for anything—in a corps of irregulars. Old Briggs would say it was mutinous in the regular army. To go on: if we asked leave, the Colonel or Major would say we were mad, and that we are not fit. Then— Oh, look here, I’m not going to argue, Val. I confess it’s all wrong, only there’s one thing to be said: we’re not going to desert our ranks, for we’re both on the sick-list; and, come what may, I mean to go and bring help somehow. You’re not shirking the job after sleeping on it?”
“No,” I said emphatically. “Now for breakfast, and then we’ll have a talk with Joeboy.”
Chapter Forty.
Joeboy is Missing Again.
“What a breakfast!” groaned Denham half-an-hour later.
“Never mind,” I said; “we’ll get something better, perhaps, to-morrow.”
“That we will, even if we commando it at the point of the sword, which is another way of saying we shall steal it. I say, though, the thought of all this is sending new life into me.”
“I feel the same,” I said; then we sat back waiting till the doctor visited us, examined our injuries, and expressed himself satisfied.
“Another week,” he said, “and then I shall dismiss you both. Nature and care will do the rest.”
The doctor then left us; and, watching for an opportunity, we called to one of the men passing the hospital, and told him to find the black. However, ten minutes later we found that this might have been saved, for the Sergeant paid us a morning call, and on leaving promised to go round by the horses and send Joeboy to us.
“What news of the messengers?” we asked. The Sergeant shook his head sadly, and replied, “Don’t ask me, gentlemen. It looks bad—very bad. The Boers ain’t soldiers, but they’re keeping their lines wonderfully tight.”
“That’s our fault,” said Denham. “We gave them such lessons by our night attack and the capture of the six wagons and teams.”
“I say,” said the Sergeant, and he looked from one to the other.
“Well, what do you say?” cried Denham.
“Doctor been changing your physic?”
“Why?” I said.
“Because you both look fifty pounds better than you did yesterday.”
“It’s the hope that has come, Briggs,” cried Denham, his face lighting up.
“Haven’t got a bit to spare, have you, sir?” said the Sergeant; “because I should like to try how it would agree with my case, for I’m horribly down in the mouth at present. I don’t like the look of things at all.”
“What do you mean?” asked Denham.
“I had a look round at the horses, sir, last night.”
“Not got the horse-sickness, Briggs?”
“No, sir, not so bad as that; but, speaking as an old cavalry man, I say that they mustn’t be kept shut up much longer. But there, I shall be spoiling your looks and knocking your hope over. Good-morning, gentlemen—I mean, lieutenant and private. Glad to see you both look so well. I’ll tell Joe Black you want him.”
“Yes, he’d upset our hopefulness altogether, Val, if it wasn’t for one thing—eh?” said Denham as the wagon-tilt swung to after the Sergeant. “But, I say, that fellow of yours ought to be here by now.”
“Yes,” I said. But we waited anxiously for quite an hour before the man we had sent came back.
“Can’t find the black, sir,” he said.
“Did you go to the horses?”
“Yes, sir, and everywhere else.”
“You didn’t go to the butcher’s?” I asked.
“Yes, I did; but he hadn’t been there.”
“Perhaps he’s gone out with the bullock drove.”
“No,” said the man; “the oxen are being kept in this morning because the Boers have come a hundred yards nearer during the night. They’re well in opposite the gateway, and the Colonel’s having our works there strengthened.”
“The Sergeant didn’t say a word about that,” Denham said to me.
I shook my head, and turned to the messenger.
“Is he asleep somewhere about the walls?” I asked.
“No; I looked there,” was the reply. “He always snoozes up on the inner wall, just above the water-hole. There’s a place where a big stone has fallen out and no bullets can get at him. I looked there twice.”
“Hasn’t fallen down one of the holes, has he?” said Denham.
“Not he, sir,” replied the man, laughing. “He’d go about anywhere in the dark, looking like a bit o’ nothing, only you couldn’t see it in the darkness, and never knock against a thing. It’s his feet, I think; they always seem to know where to put theirselves. He wouldn’t tumble down any holes.”
“Keep a sharp lookout for him, and when you see him send him to me directly.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the man. “I dessay he’ll turn up in the course o’ the morning. He’s always hiding himself and coming again when you don’t expect it.”
“I say, Val,” cried Denham as soon as we were alone, “we didn’t reckon on this. Why, if he doesn’t turn up our plan’s done.”
“Not at all,” I said.
“Eh? What do you mean? We couldn’t go without him.”
“Indeed, but we could; and what’s more, we will,” I said firmly. “I would rather have had him with us; but we’re going to-night—if we can.”
Denham seized my hand and wrung it warmly.
“I like that,” he said; “but you shouldn’t have put in that ‘if we can.’”
“Obliged to,” I replied. “We may be stopped.”
“Oh, but I shall give the password.”
“We may find even that will not be enough. The orders are very strict now. Besides, if we did not come back the guard would report us missing, and then there’d be great excitement at once.”
“What would you do, then?” he asked.
“Take a lesson out of that Irishman’s book.”
“Knock two or three sentries on the head with a stone?”
“No, no,” I cried, laughing. “Get a couple of reins, tie them together, and then slide down from the wall.”
“Good!” exclaimed Denham; and, after a pause: “Better! Yes, that will do. Start from the far corner?”
“No, from just up here where Joeboy arranged the stones. We can tie up to one of those big ones that you stand on to look over. You feel strong enough to slide down?—it isn’t far.”
“Oh yes.”
“Then, once on the ground, we can crawl away. That’s how I mean to go all along.”
“What about the tethering-ropes?”
“We’ll go and have a look at our horses towards evening, slip the coils over our shoulders, and bring them away. No one will interfere.”
“Val,” he cried, “you ought to be a commissioned officer.”
“I don’t want to be,” I said, laughing. “I want the war to be over, and to be able to find my people, and settle down again in peace. This fighting goes against the grain with me.”
“But you always seem to like it, and fight like a fury when we’re in for it.”
“I suppose it’s my nature,” I said; “but I don’t like it any the better.”
We said no more, but waited anxiously in the hope that Joeboy would return, and waited in vain, the time gliding by, some hours being passed in sleep, till we were suddenly aroused by firing. There were two or three fits of excitement in the course of the afternoon, and a smart exchange of shots which at one time threatened to develop into a regular attempt to assault the fort; but it died out at last, direct attack of entrenchments not being in accord with the Boers’ ideas of fighting. It is too dangerous for men who like to be safely in hiding and to bring down their enemies as if they were wild beasts of the veldt.
No Joeboy appeared, and in the dusk of evening we went across the yard, had a good look at our horses, stopped patting and caressing them for some time, then went back to the hospital unquestioned and, I believe, unseen, with the coils of raw-hide rope. From that time everything seemed to me so delightfully easy that it prognosticated certain success.
The doctor came at dusk and had a chat; then the Sergeant looked us up to tell us that he had seen nothing of Joeboy, but that the butcher told him he had missed some strips of beef hung up in the sun to make biltong, and that he believed the black had taken them.
“Why?” I asked sharply.
“Because he was so fond of eating; and he said the black would be found curled up amongst the stones somewhere in the kopje among the baboons, sleeping off his feed.”
“It isn’t true,” I said warmly. “Joeboy wouldn’t steal unless he knew we were starving, and then it would be to bring it to his master and his master’s friend.”
“That’s what I like in you, Val,” said Denham as soon as the Sergeant had left us. “You always stick up for a friend when any one attacks him behind his back.”
“Of course,” I replied angrily.
“Don’t be cross, old man,” he cried. “I didn’t mean to insult you by calling a black fellow your friend.”
“That wouldn’t insult me. Joeboy is a humble friend, who would give his life to save mine.”
“I wish he was with us, then, so as to make a present of it to somebody if we should be in very awkward quarters.”
“I can’t understand it,” I said; “but we mustn’t worry about that now. What about arms?”
“Revolvers under our jackets, out of sight, and a few cartridges in our pouches along with the cake and beef we saved.”
“No rifle, bandolier, or sword?” I said thoughtfully.
“Neither one nor the other, my lad. We’re going to get through the lines as sick men tired of it all, and whose fighting is done.”
“Perhaps to be taken as spies,” I said.
“Ugh! Don’t talk about it,” cried Denham. “We’re invalids, and no one can doubt that who looks at your battered head.”
“Or yours,” I replied. “But look here, Denham; we must give up all idea of capturing wagons. What we have to do is to fetch help.”
“Yes, I think so too—get through the Boer lines and find the General’s quarters. The other idea was too mad.”
We sat in silence for a while, till we felt that the time had come; then we passed our coils of rope over our chests like bandoliers, and strolled out into the dark court, to saunter here and there for a few minutes, listening to the lowing of the oxen or the fidgety stamp of a horse annoyed by a fly. Here Denham exchanged a few words with some of the men. Finally, after a glance at the officers’ quarters, from which a light gleamed dimly, Denham led the way to the rough ascent, and with beating heart I followed right up on to the wall. So intense was the darkness that we had to go carefully, not seeing the first sentry till he challenged us and brought us up.
Denham gave the word, and stood talking to the man, who lowered his rifle and rested the butt on the stones.
“How are they to-night?” said Denham. “Quiet?”
“No, sir; they seem to have been having a good eat and drink. More wagons came up from their rear; so the man I relieved told me. It’s been a sort of feast, I think. Wouldn’t be a bad time for a good attack on the beggars, sir. The boys are, as one of them said, spoiling for a fight.”
“Let them wait a bit,” said Denham shortly. “It will come.”
“The sooner the better, sir,” said the sentry; and we went on as far as the next sentry, passing the stones where we had sat to sun ourselves. We talked with this second man about the Boers, received a similar account of the proceedings of the enemy, said “Good-night,” and then strolled back to the stones, to sit down for a few minutes, my heart beating harder than ever.
“Now,” said Denham at last, in a low tone of voice; “off with your rope, and give me one end. I’ll make your line fast to mine, while you secure the other end to that big stone. Tight, mind; I don’t want to fall sixty feet and break my neck.”
“Nor I,” was my reply. “Be sure of your knot, too.”
“Right.”
Then, in the silence, we each did our part of the task, ending by Denham letting the strong thin rope glide over the edge of the great stones which formed the breastwork. The next minute we stood listening to the sounds from the court, and narrowly watched for our sentries. Far out in the darkness a feeble light or two showed where a lantern burned in the Boer lines. Everything seemed to favour our design, even to the end, and I was breathing hard with excitement, waiting to begin. Just then a hand touched my arm and glided down over my wrist. I knew what it meant, and grasped Denham’s hand.
“Good luck to us!” he whispered. “I’ll go first and test the rope—hush! I will. As soon as I’m down I shall lie flat and hold on. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Off!”
Chapter Forty One.
Our Wild Attempt.
Denham’s words sounded so loud that, as I dropped on one knee to hold the knot of the rope round the stone to prevent it from slipping, I felt sure that the sentries to right and left must have heard him speak. But it was only due to my excited way of looking at things. For the next minute, after a preliminary rustling, I felt a peculiar thrill run along the hide rope. This went on while I wondered if my companion had made the joining of the two ropes secure, my imagination working so rapidly that I seemed to see the knot stretching and yielding till one of the ends slipped through the loop of the knot, and—
The thrilling sensation had ceased; and the rope, which felt in my hands like some living, vibrating thing, hung loose. The next moment a kink ran up it and dissolved in my hands. It was Denham’s way of saying “All right,” and I knew my turn had come.
The starting was the difficulty—that creeping over the breastwork, just at a time when my strength was far from at its best; but I tackled the business at once, stepped up on to a stone, seated myself on the top of the breastwork, took tight hold of the rope, raised my legs so that I could lie down, turned upon my face, and then softly swung my legs round so that I could twist my feet about the rope and reduce the weight on my arms. The next minute I was hanging at full length, holding the rope with one hand, the edge of the breastwork with the other, and afraid to move; for, to my horror, tramp, tramp came the sound of the approaching sentry to my loft. The perspiration began to ooze out on my face and temples now, and I prepared for a rapid descent, fully expecting the man would see the rope, stop, and, under the impression that I was one of the Boers trying to get into the fort by escalade, would strike me from my hold with the butt of his rifle.
I might have spared myself the horror of those few moments of anxiety; for even when he came nearer I could not see him, and with my head beneath the level of the rough parapet he could not see me, but passed on. I counted the steps, and at the sixth began to let the hide rope glide slowly through my moist hands.
Soon I felt the knot over my boots stop my progress, and had to slacken the rope off my feet, gliding down till my hands touched the knot. This was, I thought, so very loose that I had either to tighten it or slide quickly down. I chose the latter, and went on so swiftly that my hands were hot with the friction when my feet touched Denham’s hands, as he held the rope, and then the ground. I dropped to my knees at once, then lay, panting as if I had run a mile.
Denham placed his lips close to my ear and whispered, “I was afraid the sentry would see you. Here, give me your knife.”
I answered by taking it out and placing it in his hands, listening, and wondering then what he was about to do, for he rose to his feet, and I heard a peculiar sound as of cutting something and Denham breathing hard.
He was down by me when the noise ceased, and once more his lips were at my ear.
“Get up and join hands,” he whispered. “There’s a light straight ahead, and another about a quarter of a mile to the right. We’ll make for this last one. Mind, not a sound.”
The order was not needed. We rose silently. There, as he had stated, right in front and away to the right, were two of the tiniest sparks of light; they were almost invisible, the nearest being fully a thousand yards off.
Then, hand in hand and step by step, we went on through the pitchy darkness straight for the light on our right. We moved very cautiously, for our first fear was that we might be heard from the walls; and, setting aside the extreme doubtfulness of receiving a bullet in the back from a friend, there was the danger of one shot bringing many, as the sentries carried on the alarm, with the result that every Boer in front would be on the qui vive and our venture rendered impossible. But all was perfectly still, while the darkness overhead seemed to press down upon us.
In about ten minutes Denham whispered, “Don’t take any notice.”
When he had spoken there was a faint, rustling sound, and I knew he had thrown something from him, to fall with a dull sound upon the ground.
“Bother!” he whispered. “I didn’t think it would make such a row.”
“What was it?” I asked.
“About a dozen feet of hide rope. I cut it off as high as I could reach; but, my word, wasn’t it hard!”
“Why did you cut it?”
“So that no Boer, exploring, should run against it and take it into his head to climb up. How do you feel?”
“Rather hot.”
“So do I. We’re precious weak yet. Now, look here; we’ll keep on walking as long as we dare; then we must go down on hands and knees; last of all, we must creep on our chests, helping ourselves along with our elbows.”
“It will be very slow work,” I said.
“Yes, but it’s the only way. We shall do it, for it’s gloriously dark. If we come suddenly upon a sentry we must drop on our faces and lie still till I see the way to circumvent him.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Not all yet. If we get close up you’ll have to take the lead; and the thing to do is to get close up among the sleeping Boers. That means safety, for if any one wakes up and speaks you must answer in Dutch, with your face close to the ground.”
“It seems very risky,” I said.
“So did your going to cut out six wagons with their teams; but you did it. Now, don’t talk; come on.”
We moved forward again very slowly in what seemed to be a tedious journey, though I knew perfectly well that, taken diagonally, it could not be more than twelve hundred yards, it having been reckoned that the Boers’ advance-parties were about a thousand yards from the walls of the fort. But we were getting nearer, for the lights seemed to grow, not brighter, but less dim, and during the last few minutes we had noticed a third light away to the right. I wanted to say that we were getting pretty near to the enemy at last; but talking was now out of the question, and I had to telegraph to my companion, by a pressure of the hand, that we must be on the alert.
Then, with a suddenness that startled my composure, I heard an impatient stamp close by on my left, followed by the sound of reins jerked, and an angry adjuration growled out in Dutch between the teeth by a mounted sentry. He was invisible; and, taking advantage of the startled movements of the horse consequent upon the punishment it had received, Denham dragged heavily upon my right hand with his left, when, as I yielded, he bore off to his right, walking very slowly, till we had left the sentry some distance behind.
Directly after that incident Denham seemed to alter our course again, and once more we were walking straight for the dim lantern. This went on for a short time, and then we had another check, for the sound of tramping feet arose to our right—not the regular beat, beat of well-drilled military, but a rough, heavy, anyhow walk of about a dozen men. They were very near, and the chances were that, whether we stood still, went back, or hurried forward, they might come right upon us. But my companion did not hesitate. He chose to advance, hurrying me forward half-a-dozen steps, and then lay down upon his face. For a few moments I thought we were discovered, and that our attempt was a failure; but the men just missed us, going on twenty or thirty yards, and then a gruff Boer called “Halt!”
From what followed we knew that guard was being changed.
Everything was still succeeding, for, instead of walking right upon a dismounted sentry, we had passed him to our left, and learned not only where the new one was placed, but that we had succeeded in passing the outer line of mounted men and an inner one of foot.
As if telling me of the delight he felt, Denham’s pressure on my hand was like the working of some military code; and I responded the best way I could, as we lay listening to the resumed tramp of the guard.
Just as Denham signalled me to rise, there was a sharp crack, a flash of light, and we dropped down again, to look in the direction of the flash, and saw a pair of big hands lighted up as they were held lantern fashion; and, directly after we had glimpses of the lower part of a bearded face, at first seen distinctly, then it grew darker, and again seen plainer as its owner puffed at the big pipe he was lighting. Then all was in darkness once more, and the pungent smoke of coarse tobacco floated to our nostrils.
We started again, crawling on all-fours side by side, and pressing close like sheep so as to keep in touch; but always forward now towards the lantern, which seemed suddenly to be very near.
Denham’s lips were close to my ear directly, and he whispered, “We must keep more away from the light. Now you take the lead, crawling very slowly. I shall keep up by touching your heel regularly. If I leave off, stop till I begin again.”
I nodded, though it occurred to me directly afterwards that he could not see the nod; but I showed him that I fully understood by bearing off to the left, crawling steadily and softly, and feeling Denham’s hand come tap, tap regularly upon my heel. All the time I had a presentiment that the Boers must be lying around by the hundred.
In another minute I knew we must be close to oxen, for I could hear them ruminating; and, convinced that a wagon would be before us, with perhaps a dozen men underneath, I bore still more to my left, with Denham following close, till I stopped once more, knowing that horses must be just in front.
I made a short pause now, longing to ask my comrade’s advice; but I dared not whisper. So, feeling that probably there would only be about fifty yards of perilous ground to pass over before we had cleared the Boer lines, I did what I imagined was best—bore off a little to the right as I advanced—my idea being to get back towards the oxen and pass softly by the side of the wagon which I believed must be close at hand.
“They’ll be asleep,” I thought, “and I may get past.”
It was all a chance, I knew; but we had been lucky so far, and I hoped that fortune would still favour us. In this spirit I still kept on, crawling now very slowly, till suddenly I let myself subside, for my hand had come in contact with the butt of a rifle lying on the ground.
Denham too must have taken the alarm, for I felt him drawing steadily at my heel, which I read to mean retreat. But I felt there was no retreat, knowing that we had crept right in among a number of sleeping men. So I let myself slowly subside, lying on my chest; and in the effort to cross my arms and let them rest beneath my chin my left elbow struck sharply against a sleeper’s face, making him start so violently that he kicked his neighbour, and in an instant there was a furious burst of Boer Dutch oaths and imprecations.
“Quiet!” said a deep, severe voice in Dutch. “There, you’ve roused the patrol.”
My heart sank, for there was the hurried tramp of footsteps approaching, and, worse than all, the gleaming of a lantern, which lit up the heavy body of a man lying right across the way I sought to go, while right and left, and within a foot of me, were two more burly figures. They were all in motion now, and as the lantern was borne closer it was thrown open, and, in what one of my neighbours would have called an augenblick, I saw in the background on one side the tilt of a wagon, and on the other the dim forms of horses.
My agony, in spite of feeling Denham’s hand pressing firmly on my heel, seemed to have culminated; but the worst was to come, and I shivered, for a high-pitched voice cried in Dutch:
“Hwhat’s all this? Didn’t I tell ye to loy still and slape till it was time to start? Why, ye blundering, thick-headed idiots, you have made enough noise to rouse the Englanders.”
Denham pressed my heel now so that it was painful; but I did not stir, only listened to the grumbling apology of the two men.
“Don’t go to sleep again,” said the abusing voice. “We start in an hour, if you haven’t put the enemy on the alert.”
Just then the light was softened, for the door of the lantern was closed and the fastening clicked.
Then I felt that all was over, for the man on my left suddenly started up and seized me by the arm.
“Open that lantern again, Captain Moriarty,” he cried. “I want to see who this is we’ve got here.”
“Yes,” said another voice; “two of them. I’ll swear they weren’t here when we lay down.”
Chapter Forty Two.
In the Trap.
If either Denham or I had felt the slightest disposition to run, it was checked by the brotherly feeling that one could not escape without the other; but even if we had made the attempt it would have been impossible, for the words uttered by the big Boer at my side acted like the application of a spark to a keg of gunpowder. In an instant there was an explosion. Men leaped to their feet, rifle in hand; there was a roar of voices; yells and shouts were mingled with bursts of talking which rose into a hurricane of gabble, out of which, mingled with oaths and curses delivered in the vilest Dutch, I made out, “Spies—shoot—hang them;” and it seemed that after thrusting ourselves into the hornets’ nest we were to be stung to death.
The noise was deafening, and as we were held men plucked and tore at us, while the roar of voices seemed to run to right and left all along the line, alarm spreading; with the result that those outside the narrow space where the facts were known took it to be a sudden attack from the rear, and began firing at random in the darkness. In spite of the despair that came over me, I even then could not help feeling a kind of exultation—satisfaction—call it what you will—at the surprise we had given the blundering Boers, and thinking that if the Colonel had been prepared with our men to charge into them at once, the whole line of the enemy for far enough to right and left would have turned and fled, after an ineffectual fire which must have done far more harm to their friends than to their foes, and then scattered before our fellows like dead leaves before a gale.
However, we were not to be torn to pieces just then by the infuriated Boers, for we were each held firmly by two burly fellows, while Moriarty, yelling at the excited crowd in his highly-pitched voice, opened and held the lantern on high, so as to get a good look at our disfigured faces. The light fell upon his own as well, and I saw him start and shrink, as if for the moment he fancied that we had returned from the dead. But his dismay was only momentary. Then a malevolent grin of exultation came over his countenance, his eyes scintillated in the lantern light, and he yelled orders to those around till he obtained comparative silence.
“Pass the word all along the line,” he shouted. “False alarm. Only spies, and we have got them. Cease firing.”
His words had but little effect for a few minutes; but by degrees the tumult was stilled and the firing ceased. The men about us readily obeyed the Irish captain’s orders.
“They’re old fr’inds of mine,” he said, with a peculiar grin—“dear fr’inds who have come after me to join our ranks; and I’m going to make them take the oaths properly.”
There was a groan of dissent at this, but Moriarty paid no heed; he only showed his teeth at us in a savage grin like that of some wild beast about to spring.
“Yes,” he continued, “they’re old fr’inds of mine—dear fr’inds. That one”—he pointed to me—“is a deserter from our forces, and the other miserable brute is an officer who has been fighting against us and helping his companion. Be cool and calm, dear boys, and as soon as it is light you shall have the pleasure of shooting the young scoundrels. For we’re all soldiers now, and we must behave like military min, unless you would like to set a Kaffir to hang them both from a tripod of dissel-booms at the two ends of a rein.”
“Shoot them! Shoot them!” came in a burst of voices.
“Very well, we’ll shoot them; but we must do it properly. We’ll have a court-martial upon them, and teach the spies to crawl into our camp like snakes.”
“It’s a lie!” I shouted. “We are no spies.”
“Ah! you understand the beautiful language of my fr’inds,” cried Moriarty. “You are not spies, then?”
“No, neither of us,” I said in Dutch.
“Indade?” said Moriarty. “And perhaps you are not a deserter from our troops?”
Amidst hootings, groans, and yells, I managed to make myself heard.
“No,” I said, “I am not a deserter. I am English, and I refused to fight against my own countrymen.”
A savage yell greeted my plain words; but Moriarty held up his hand.
“Let him condemn himself out of his own lips, brethren,” he cried.—Then, to me, “You preferred to fight against and shoot down the people among whom you dwelt?” he cried.
“I joined my own people,” I replied; “and this gentleman with me is no spy.”
“What is he, then?” said Moriarty, holding up his hand in the light of the lantern he kept aloft, so as to secure silence.
“An officer and a gentleman of the Light Horse.”
“Indade!” said Moriarty sneeringly. “Then you have both had enough of the British forces, and have desarted to ours?”
“No,” I said coolly. “We have both been badly wounded, as you can see, and we wanted to break through the lines and get away.”
“What for?” said Moriarty fiercely. “What for?”
“We are too weak to fight,” I said.
“Bah!” roared Moriarty, “you are both spies; and do you hear? You shall both be shot by-and-by.”
A yell of triumph, which sounded like a chorus of savage beasts in anticipation of blood, rose from all around.
“Get reins and tie their arms behind them, my brothers. They’re English, and can spake nothing but lies.”
As some of the men hurried away to fetch the necessary cords, I turned to one of the big Boers who held me.
“Is it a lie,” I said, “that my friend has been badly wounded? Is it a lie that I have been hurt?”
There was a low growl for reply from one, and the other—the man who had first discovered my presence—only said, “But you are spies.”
“What are they all saying, Val?” said Denham coolly. “I don’t seem to get on at all in this game.”
“They say we’re spies,” I replied.
“Let ’em. A set of thick-headed pigs. Don’t be downhearted over it all, old chap. We played our game well, and we’ve lost. We’re prisoners; that’s all. They daren’t shoot us.”
I looked him fixedly in the eyes, but made no reply.
“Well,” said Denham hurriedly, “it’s murder if they do. But I don’t believe they will. Whatever they do, we won’t show the white feather, Val. I say, shall we give ’em the National Anthem?”
“Hush!” I said. “You’re a gentleman; don’t do anything to insult them; we’re in their power.”
“Yes; but I want them to see that we’re ready to die game. I say, Val, we’ve made a mess of it this time, and we might have been lying comfortably asleep over yonder.”
“No,” I said; “we should have lain awake thinking of how to get help for our friends.”
“True, O Calif! so we should.—Ugh! You ugly brutes. Tie our hands behind our backs, would you?—Here, Mr Irishman, there’s no need for this. We didn’t serve you so.”
“Oh yes,” said Moriarty. “Spies like to get all the news they can, and then to run away with their load.”
“After treacherously trying to murder the sentry on duty, and then treacherously striking down two people in the dark.”
“Hwhat!” cried Moriarty fiercely.
“I mean you, you cowardly hound!—you disgrace to the name of Irishman!”
There was the sound of a smart blow, and Denham staggered back against the men who were binding his wrists.
A cheer rose from some of the fierce men around us, a murmur of disapprobation from others, as Denham recovered himself and stood upright, with his chest expanded and a look of scorn and contempt in his eyes.
“Yes,” he said quietly, “you are a disgrace to a great name. I am a prisoner, and my hands are tied.”
“Silence, spy!” cried Moriarty fiercely, and a dead silence fell.
“I’ll not be silent,” said Denham. “Val, if we die for it, repeat my words in Dutch. But if I live I’ll kill that man, or he shall kill me.—Moriarty, you’re a treacherous coward and a cur, to strike a helpless, wounded man.”
“A treacherous coward and a cur, to strike a helpless, wounded man,” I said aloud in the Boer tongue, the words seeming to come from something within me over which I had no power whatever.
Moriarty, white with fury, turned upon me, but one of the two men who held me interfered, saying bluntly, “Let him talk, Captain; his tongue will soon be still.”
“Yes, yes,” said Moriarty, with a forced laugh; “his tongue will soon be still. Putt them in the impty wagon, and bind their legs too. Then put four men over them as guards. You’ll answer for them, Cornet.”
The grim looks of the two speakers and the horrible nature of their words, which meant a horrible death, ought to have sent a chill through me; but just then I was so excited, so hot with rage against the cowardly wretch who had struck my friend, that I did not feel the slightest fear as to my fate; and, obeying the order to march, I walked beside Denham with my head as erect as his, till we were by the tail of a great empty wagon, into which two of the Boers scrambled so as to seize us by the pinioned arms, causing great pain, as they stooped, and then dragged us in as if we had been sacks of corn, and then let us down.
“Look here,” said my captor, speaking from the tail-end of the wagon, “there are four men on duty with rifles, and their orders are to shoot you both through the head if you try to escape. Now you know.”
While he was speaking one of the men who had dragged us in reached out his hand for a lantern, which he took and hung from a hook in the middle of the tilt.
Then he and his companion dropped down from the end of the dimly-lit wagon, and we were alone for a few moments. But the two men who had left us returned directly with two more reins and set to work binding our ankles together as tightly as they could.
“There,” said one of them, in Dutch, as soon as they had finished, “we can see you well from outside, and you know what will come if you try to get away.”
Then we were alone again, and as the curtain of stout canvas at the end ceased to vibrate, Denham as he lay back began to laugh merrily.
“Denham!” I cried.
“I can’t help it, old chap,” he said. “It’s very horrible, but there’s a comic side to it. Blows hit terribly hard.”
“Yes, the coward!” I cried passionately, “to strike you like that!”
“I wasn’t thinking of that, old chap,” he replied. “Yes, that was as nasty a thing as the savage could do; but I was thinking of how hard you can hit a sensitive man with your tongue.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Moriarty! Why, I spoke quite quietly, but if I had given him a cut across the face from the left shoulder with my sabre, which cuts like a razor, it wouldn’t have hurt the brute half as much.”
“Don’t—don’t talk about the business,” I said bitterly.
“Why not? I’m just in the condition that makes my tongue run. But I say, old chap, we’ve made a pretty mess of our scheme. Never told a soul what we were going to do, so we can’t get any help.”
“And left a hanging rope to show our people that we have run away and deserted them in their terrible strait.”
“Yes; that’s about the worst of the whole business, my lad. Well, we meant well, and it’s of no use to cry over spilt milk. I don’t think it will be spilt blood; but it may, and if it does I’m going to die like a soldier with his face to the enemy, and so are you.”
“I’m going to try,” I said simply.
“Then you’ll do it, like a true-born Englishman,” he said cheerily. “How does that song go? I forget. There, never mind. I won’t act like a sham, even if I am where there’s so much Dutch courage. Now, look here, Val.”
“Yes?” I said gravely.
“We’re weak from our long sickness, and done up with the exertion of what we’ve gone through.”
“Yes,” I said; “I feel as weak as a rat.”
“Then we’re going to sleep, so as to be ready to face them in the morning.”
“What!” I said. “Can you sleep at a time like this?”
“My dear old Val, as you said about facing the muzzles of the Dutch rifles, I’m going to try.”