Read the book: «The Kopje Garrison: A Story of the Boer War», page 4
Chapter Five.
The Boer Prisoners
It was to this village and kopje, turned after its long occupation into what proved to be an impregnable stronghold – one which so far, to the Boers’ cost, maintained its promise – that Drew Lennox and Bob Dickenson returned after their unfortunate fishing expedition, the colonel, a bluff, sun-burnt, stern-looking officer, meeting them with a frown as they came up. “How many men hurt, Roby?” he said.
“Only one, sir. Dickenson had his ear nicked by a bullet.”
“Humph! Might have been worse, my lad,” said the colonel. “Show it to the doctor. – Where are your fish, Lennox?”
“In the river, sir,” said the young officer, with a shrug of the shoulders. “How was that?”
The young man briefly explained, and the colonel nodded his head.
“Look here,” he said, “we want some change from our monotonous fare; but if you two had come back loaded with salmon I should have forbidden any further fishing – so of course I do now. I can’t afford to have my officers setting themselves up as butts for the Boers to practise at.”
“We have taken fifteen prisoners and their horses, sir,” interposed Captain Roby, making an effort to turn aside the wrath of their chief.
“Yes, Mr Roby, I saw that you had some prisoners,” replied the colonel meaningly; “but, excuse me, I had not finished addressing these two gentlemen.”
“I beg pardon, sir.”
“That will do,” said the colonel. “There, I need say no more. Let’s see the prisoners.”
“I don’t think I like fishing as a sport, Drew, old man,” said Dickenson, rubbing his ear, and then wincing with pain. “Come on, and let’s see the inspection of the enemy. But the boss needn’t have been so gruff. We acted as bait, and he has caught fifteen Boers and their horses.”
“And how are we to feed them all now we have got them?” said Lennox, with a quaint smile.
“Oh, that’s what made the old man so waxy!” cried the other. “I see now. Well, let him set them up and have them shot.”
“Of course; according to our merciless custom,” said Lennox sarcastically; and directly after the two friends closed up to where the prisoners were being paraded, their horses, clever, wiry-looking little cobs, being led up behind them by some of the men.
It was almost the first time that the young men had been in such close contact with the sturdy, obstinate enemy they had so long kept at bay, and they stared eagerly at the rough, unshorn, ill-clad, farmer-like fellows, for the most part big-bearded, sun-tanned, and full of vigour, who met their gaze defiantly, but kept on directing uneasy glances at the other officers, more than once looking eagerly at their led horses as if mentally weighing whether by a bold rush they could reach their steeds, spring upon them, and gallop away.
But a glance round showed them the impossibility of such a proceeding, for they were unarmed and surrounded by men with fixed bayonets, while, in addition, every pony had an armed man holding its bridle; and as their shifty eyes were turned from one to another in a questioning way, the prevailing thought seemed to be that any such proceeding would be mad in the extreme, and could only result in their being shot down.
The inspection did not take long, and the colonel turned away to confer with the group of officers who followed him.
“The sooner we get rid of these fellows the better,” he said, “for we can’t keep them here. What shall I do?” he continued, in response to a question from the major of the regiment. “Make them take the oaths to be on parole not to bear arms against us again?”
“Ready for them to go and break their word,” grumbled the major.
“Of course; after what has passed we can’t trust them a bit. But we can’t keep them here an hour; half-an-hour is too much. They will see far more of our weakness and the state of our defences in five minutes than I like.”
He turned to the heavy, big-bearded man who seemed to be the leader, and asked if he would take the oath not to fight against the Queen again.
The man started and looked relieved, for he grasped all that was said to him – words which came while he was still in doubt as to what their fate was to be, his ideas tending towards a volley of rifles fired at ten paces.
The next minute he was interpreting the colonel’s words to his comrades in misfortune, and with a meaning smile each man willingly made the promise in Dutch that he would take no further part in the war.
“Look here,” said the colonel to their leader; “make them fully understand that if they are again taken in arms against the Queen – ”
“They have no Queen,” said the Boer leader surlily. “This is the Transvaal Republic.”
“Indeed!” said the colonel sternly. “This is not the Transvaal Republic, but a part of the British Dominions now; and remember that you all owe allegiance to Her Majesty the Queen-Empress, whose laws you have now sworn to obey.”
The man scowled.
“And if, as I was telling you, any of you are again found fighting against our troops, you will not be treated as people at war against us, but as rebels liable to be tried by a short drum-head court-martial, and shot out of hand. Do you understand?”
The man nodded.
“Make your companions fully understand it too.”
The Boer leader hesitated as if about to speak, but the colonel turned upon him sharply.
“Quick, sir,” he cried; “I have no time to waste. Tell your companions this, so that there may be no mistake.”
The man stepped back, and his followers pressed round him talking eagerly, several of them understanding English to some extent, and for a few minutes they conversed together excitedly, till, with a shrug of the shoulders, the principal Boer turned and advanced to the colonel.
“Well,” said the latter, “do they fully grasp all this?”
“Oh yes; they know,” replied the man sourly.
“That will do, then,” said the colonel. “No; stop. You are no longer our enemies, and we have treated you well; henceforth act as friends. Go back to your farms, and collect and bring here corn, oxen, and sheep, as much as you like, and I will buy it of you at a good price.”
The Boer brightened up at this.
“In money?” he said. “Not in paper orders?”
“In hard cash, my suspicious friend,” said the colonel, with a look of contempt; “but it’s time you had learnt that our government paper is as good as Transvaal gold.”
“We will be paid in gold,” said the Boer, with a peculiar smile.
“That will do, then,” said the colonel. “Now you can go, and the sooner you set to work to teach your fellow-countrymen to respect the British Government the better for you all. Now, off at once.”
The Boer rejoined his companions, talked with them for a few minutes, and returned.
“Back again?” said the colonel. “Well, what is it?”
“We are waiting to go,” said the Boer coolly.
“Very well; the way is open,” said the colonel. “Off with you, and think you are lucky that we do not keep you as prisoners.”
As he spoke he pointed out towards the open veldt; but the Boer shook his head.
“Not that way,” he said. “We want to cross the spruit to join our friends.”
The colonel hesitated.
“Well,” he said, turning to the major, “perhaps it is not fair to send them out on the karoo.”
“But if you let them join their friends they will be fighting against us again to-morrow.”
“So they will be,” said the colonel grimly, “if we send them in the other direction. You don’t suppose I have any faith in their parole, do you?”
“I did not know,” said the major.
“There, I will send a picket with you to see you safely to the ford,” said the colonel. “Now, off at once, and bring the forage as soon as you can.”
“To-morrow or next night,” said the Boer, with a nod.
“Here, Roby, send a sergeant’s guard to see these people past the outposts. – Now, my good fellow, time is valuable here. Follow that gentleman, and he will see that you are safely passed through our lines. Well, what now?”
“You haven’t given him orders to return us our horses and our rifles.”
“What!” cried the colonel.
“We can’t get about without them,” said the Boer coolly.
The colonel laughed.
“Well, of all the cool impudence!” he cried. “Why, you insolent dog!” he roared, “do you expect we are such children that we are going to give you the means of attacking us again directly you are safe? – Here, Roby, see these fellows out of the lines.”
The colonel turned away and walked back to his quarters, followed by a torrent of abuse, which was promptly checked by Captain Roby, who gave his orders sharply, and the prisoners were marched off in front of the sergeant’s guard with fixed bayonets.
But the incident was not quite at an end, for before a quarter of an hour had elapsed the crackling of rifle-fire was heard in the direction of the ford, towards which men were sent at once. The alarm soon died out on the cause being known, the sergeant reporting that he had approached the ford with the prisoners and displayed a flag of truce, which brought out a party of five or six dozen Boers upon the farther side of the river, into whose charge the prisoners were given. But no sooner were all across and seen to be talking to their friends than there was a rush for cover, and before the sergeant and the outposts stationed there could grasp what the movement meant the enemy’s fire was opened upon them.
“Any one hurt, sergeant?” said Captain Roby.
“No, sir, wonderful to relate. Our lads were too sharp for them, and dropped at once. My heart rose to my mouth, sir, for I thought three of ours were hit; but it was only their sharpness, for they were returning the fire the next moment, and we kept it up as hot as the enemy did till they fell back.”
“Quite time the Boers were taught the meaning of civilised war, Bob,” said Lennox as they returned to their quarters.
“Quite; but I’m out of heart with them,” replied Dickenson. “They’re bad pupils – such a one-sided lot.”
“What about the corn and sheep and beef those fellows are to bring to-morrow or next night?” said Lennox grimly.
“Well, what about it? I’m afraid they’ll be too much offended with the colonel’s treatment to come.”
“Yes,” said Lennox; “so am I.”
Chapter Six.
Pleasant Supplies
Matters looked anything but hopeful at Groenfontein, though the men were full of spirits and eager to respond to any of the attacks made by the Boers, who, with three commandos, thoroughly shut them in, joining hands and completely cutting off all communication.
Time was gliding on without any sign of help from outside, and the beleaguered party would have concluded that they were quite forgotten by their friends if they had not felt certain that the different generals were fully engaged elsewhere.
“Let’s see,” said Lennox one evening; “we’ve been attacked every day since our fishing-trip.”
“That’s right; and the Boers have been beaten every day for a week.”
“And yet they are as impudent as over. They think that we shall surrender as soon as we grow a little more hungry.”
“Then they’ll be sold,” said Dickenson, “for the hungrier I grow the more savage and full of fight I get. You know about the old saying of some fellow, that when he had had a good dinner a child might play with him?”
“Oh yes, I know,” said Lennox. “Well, these children of the desert had better not try to play with me.”
“Ought to have a notice on you, ‘Take care; he bites’ – eh?” said Lennox merrily.
“’M, yes; something of the kind. I say, I wish, though, I could sleep without dreaming.”
“Can’t you?”
“No; it’s horrible. I go to sleep directly I lie down, and then the game begins. I’m at Christmas dinners or banquets or parties, and the tables are covered with good things. Then either they’ve got no taste in them, or else as soon as I try to cut a slice or take up a mouthful in a spoon it’s either snatched or dragged away.”
“Oh, don’t talk about food,” said Lennox impatiently; “it makes me feel sick. There’s one comfort, though.”
“Is there?” cried Dickenson excitedly. “Where? Give us a bit.”
“Nonsense! I mean we have plenty of that beautiful spring water.”
“Ugh!” cried Dickenson, with a shudder. “Cold and clear, unsustaining. I saw some water once through a microscope, and it was full of live things twizzling about in all directions. That’s the sort of water we want now – something to eat in it as well as drink.”
Lennox made an irritable gesture.
“Talk about something else, man,” he cried. “You think of nothing but eating and drinking.”
“That’s true, old man. Well, I’ll say no more about drinking; but I wonder how cold roast prisoner would taste?”
“Bob!” shouted Lennox.
“Well, what shall I talk about?”
“Look about you. See how beautiful the kopjes and mountains look in the distance this evening; they seem to glow with orange and rose and gold.”
“There you go again! You’re always praising up this horrid place.”
“Well, isn’t it beautiful? See how clear the air is.”
“I dare say. But I don’t want clear air; I’d rather it was thick as soup if it tasted like it.”
“Soup! There you go again. Think of how lovely it is down by the river.”
“With the Boers popping at you? I say, this ear of mine doesn’t heal up.”
“You don’t mind the doctor’s orders.”
“So much fighting to do; haven’t time.”
“But you grant it is beautiful down by the river?”
“Yes, where only man is vile – very vile indeed; does nothing all day but try to commit murder. But there, it’s of no use for you to argue; I think South Africa is horrible. Look at the miles of wretched dusty desert and stony waste. I don’t know what we English want with it.”
“Room for our colonists, and to develop the mines. Look at the diamonds.”
“Look at our sparkling sea at home.”
“Look at the gold.”
“I like looking at a good golden furzy common in Surrey. It’s of no use, Drew, my lad; it’s a dismal, burning, freezing place.”
“Why don’t you throw it up and go home, then?”
“What! before we’ve beaten the Boers into a state of decency? No!”
Bob Dickenson’s “No!” was emphatic enough for anything, and brought the conversation between the two young men to an end; for it was close upon the time for the mess dinner, which, whatever its shortcomings, as Bob Dickenson said, was jolly punctual, even if there was no tablecloth.
So they descended from where they had perched themselves close up to the big gun, where their commanding position gave them the opportunity for making a wide sweep round over the karoo, taking in, too, the wooded course of the river and the open country beyond in the possession of the Boers.
But they had seen no sign of an enemy or grazing horse; though they well knew that if a company of their men set off in any direction, before they had gone a quarter of a mile they would be pelted with bullets by an unseen foe.
They had seen the walls and rifle-pits which guarded the great gun so often that they hardly took their attention. All the same, though, soldier-like, Drew Lennox could not help thinking how naturally strong the kopje was, how easy it would be for two or three companies of infantry to hold it against a force of ten times their number, and what tremendous advantages the Boers had possessed in the nature of their country. For they had only had to sit down behind the natural fortifications and set an enemy at defiance.
“It’s our turn now,” Lennox said to himself, “and we could laugh at them for months if only we had a supply of food.”
“Let’s try this way,” said Dickenson, bearing off to his left.
“What for? It’s five times as hard as the regular track, and precipitous.”
“Not so bad but what we can do it. We can let one another down if we come to one of the wall-like bits too big to jump.”
“But it’s labour for nothing. Only make you more hungry,” added Lennox, with a laugh.
“Never mind; I want to make sure that an enemy could not steal up in the dark and surprise the men in charge of the gun. I’m always thinking that the Boers will steal a march on us and take it some day.”
“You might save yourself the trouble as far as the climbing up is concerned. This is the worst bit; but they could do it, I feel sure, if our sentries were lax. I don’t think they’d get by them, though.”
“Well, let’s have a good look what it is like, now all the crags are lit up.”
They were lit up in a most wonderful way by the sun, which was just about to dip below the horizon, and turned every lightning-shivered mass of tumbled-together rock into a glowing state, making it look as if it was red-hot, while the rifts and cracks which had been formed here and there were lit up so that their generally dark depths could be searched by the eye.
“Do you know what this place looks like?” said Dickenson.
“The roughest spot in the world,” replied Drew as he lowered himself down a perpendicular, precipitous bit which necessitated his hanging by his hands, and then dropping four or five feet.
“No! It’s just as if the giants of old had made a furnace at the top of the kopje, and had been pouring the red-hot clinkers down the side.”
“Or as if it was the slope of a volcano, and those were the masses of pumice which had fallen and rolled down.”
“So that we look like a couple of flies walking amongst lumps of sugar. Well, yours is a good simile, but not so romantic as mine. That’s a deep crack, Drew, old chap. Like to see how far in it goes?”
“No, thanks. I want my dinner,” said Lennox.
“Dinner! Mealie cake and tough stewed horse.”
“Wrong,” said Lennox; “it’s beef to-night, for I asked.”
“Beef! Don’t insult the muscle-giving food of a Briton by calling tough old draught-ox beef. I don’t know but what I would rather have a bit of cheval—chevril, or whatever they call it – if it wasn’t for that oily fat. But we might as well peep in that crack. Perhaps there’s a cavern.”
“Not to-day, Bob. It’s close upon mess-time.”
“Hark at him! Prefers food for the body to food for the mind. Very well. Go on; I’m at your heels.”
They descended to the more level part of the granite-strewn eminence, acknowledged the salutes of the sentries they passed, and soon after reached the mean-looking collection of tin houses that formed the village – though there was very little tin visible, the only portion being a barricade or two formed of biscuit-tins, which had been made bullet-proof in building up a wall by filling them with earth or sand. The tin houses, according to the popular term, were really the common grey corrugated iron so easily riveted or screwed together into a hut, and forming outer and partition walls, and fairly rain-proof roofing, but as ugly in appearance as hot beneath the torrid sun.
Groenfontein consisted of a group of this class of house ranged about a wide market-square, while here and there outside were warehouses and sheds and a few farms.
Bob Dickenson said it was the ugliest and dirtiest place that ever called itself a town; and he was fairly right about the former. As to the latter, it might have been worse. Its greatest defect was the litter of old meat and other tins, while there were broken bottles enough to act as a defence when attacked by strangers.
The Boer inhabitants had for the most part fled; those who were left lived under the protection of the British force, which they preferred to being out on commando, using rifle, and risking their lives.
The empty houses left by the former inhabitants had at once been taken possession of for officers’ and soldiers’ quarters; the long warehouses and barns for stabling; and a big wool warehouse, happily containing many bales of wool, had been turned into mess and club room, the great bales making excellent couches, and others forming breastworks inside the windows and the big double doors.
Here the officers off duty lounged and rested, and here upon this particular night they were gathered round the social board to dine, each officer with his own servant; and it is worthy of remark that with officer and man, rifle, revolver, and sword were racked close at hand.
“Round the social board” is a most appropriate term, though not quite correct; for, while social in the highest degree, quite a brotherly spirit influencing the officers present, the board was really two, held together by a couple of cross-pieces and laid upon barrels, while the seats were of all kinds, from cartridge-boxes to up-ended flour-barrels, branded Na. and Pa. and Va., and various other contractions of long-sounding United States names, which indicated where the fine white flour they once contained had been grown and ground.
The mess cook had done the best he could, and provided some excellent bread, but it was rather short in quantity. As to the meat, it was hot; but there were no dish-covers, which Bob Dickenson said did not matter in the least, for during the past few weeks they had been careful to draw a veil over the food.
But of water, such as needed no filtering, there was ample, ready for quaffing out of tin mug, silver flask, cup, or horn.
“And the beauty of our tipple now is,” said Bob, “that it never does a fellow the least harm.”
It was a favourite remark of his, “an impromptu” that had been much admired. He made the remark again on this particular evening, but his tones sounded dismal.
“It’s a great blessing, though,” he added; “we might have none. Yes, capital water,” he continued, draining his cup and setting it down with a rap on his part of the board. “Just think, Drew, old man, we might be forced to sit here drinking bad champagne.”
“I don’t want to drink bad or good champagne, old fellow,” said Lennox; “but I do wish we had a barrel of good, honest, home-brewed British ale, with – ”
“A brace of well-roasted pheasants between us two – eh?”
“No; I was going to say, a good crusty loaf and a cut off a fine old Stilton cheese.”
“J-Ja!” sighed the next man.
“Never mind, gentlemen,” said the colonel; “what we have will do to work upon. When we’ve done our work, and get back home, I’ll be bound to say that John Bull will ask us to dinner oftener than will do us good. What do you say, doctor?”
“What do I say, Colonel Lindley?” cried the doctor, putting down his flask-cup. “I say this Spartan fare agrees with us all admirably. Look round the table, and see what splendid condition we are all in. A bit spare, but brown, wiry, and active as men can be. Never mind the food. You are all living a real life on the finest air I ever breathed. We are all pictures of health now; and where I have a wound to deal with it heals fast – a sure sign that the patient’s flesh is in a perfect state.”
“It’s all very fine,” said Bob Dickenson in a low voice to those about him. “Old Bolus keeps himself up to the mark by taking nips; that’s why he’s so well and strong.”
“Nonsense!” said Lennox sharply. “I don’t believe he ever touches spirits except as a medicine.”
“Who said he did?” growled Dickenson.
“You, Bob; we all heard you,” chorused several near.
“Take my oath I never mentioned spirits. I said nips.”
“Well, you meant them,” said Lennox.
“I didn’t. Don’t you jump at conclusions, Drew, old man. I meant nips of tonics. Old M.D. has got a lot of curious chemicals in that medicine-chest of his, and when he’s a bit down he takes nips of them.”
“I don’t believe it,” said a brother officer, laughing. “Old Emden, M.D., take his own physic? Too clever for that!”
The darkness had closed in soon after the officers had taken their seats – early, after tropic fashion – and one of the messmen had lit four common-looking paraffin-lamps, which swung from the rafters, smelt vilely of bad spirit, and smoked and cast down a dismal light; but the men were in high spirits, chatting away, and the meal being ended, many of them had started pipes or rolled up cigarettes, when an orderly was seen to enter by the door nearest the colonel’s seat and make quickly for his place.
There was a cessation of the conversation on the instant, and one motion made by every officer present – he glanced at the spot where his sword and revolver hung, while their servants turned their eyes to the rifle-stands and bandoliers, listening intently for the colonel’s next order: for the coming of the orderly could only mean one thing under their circumstances – an advance of the Boers.
They were right. But the increased action of their pulses began to calm down again; for instead of standing up according to his wont and giving a few short, sharp orders, the colonel, after turning towards the orderly and hearing him out, merely raised his eyes and smiled.
“Wonders will never cease, gentlemen,” he said, and he sent a soft, grey cloud of cigarette smoke upward towards the roof of the barn. “You all remember our prisoners, brought in after Lennox and Dickenson’s fishing expedition?”
There was an eager chorus of “Yes” from all present save the two young officers mentioned, and they were too eager in listening to speak.
“Well, gentlemen, I told those men that the wisest thing they could do was to go back to their farms, give up fighting, and collect and bring into camp here a good supply of corn and beef.”
“Yes, sir, I heard you,” said Captain Roby, for the colonel paused to take two or three whiffs from his cigarette.
“Well, gentlemen, you will hardly credit the news I have received when you recall what took place, and be ready to place some faith in a Boer’s sound common-sense.”
“Why doesn’t he speak out at once?” said Dickenson in a whisper. “Who wants all this rigmarole of a preface?”
“What is it, colonel?” said the major.
“That Boer, the leader of the little party of prisoners, evidently took my advice,” continued the colonel; “and instead of rejoining his fighting friends, he has gone back to the ways of peace and trade, and they have just arrived at the outposts with a couple of wagon-loads of grain, a score of sheep, and ten oxen.”
The news was received with a shout, and as soon as silence was obtained the colonel continued: “It seems incredible; but, after all, it is only the beginning of what must come to pass. For, once the Boer is convinced that it is of no use to fight, he will try his best to make all he can out of his enemies.”
“Well, it’s splendid news,” said the major; “but what about its being some cunning trap?”
“That is what I am disposed to suspect,” said the colonel; “so, quietly and without stir, double the outposts, send word to the men on the kopje to be on the alert, and let everything, without any display of force, be ready for what may come. You, Captain Roby, take half a company to meet our visitors, and bring the welcome provender into the market-place here.”
“Bob,” whispered Lennox, “if we could only go with Roby! There’ll be a couple of score of the enemy hiding amongst those sacks.”
“Get out!” responded Dickenson. “I never did see such an old cock-and-bull inventor as you are. It’s stale, too. You’re thinking of the old story of the fellows who took the castle by riding in a wagon loaded with grass and them underneath. Then it was driven in under the portcullis, which was dropped at the first alarm, and came down chop on the wagon and would go no farther, while the fellows hopped out through the grass and took the castle. Pooh! What’s the good of being so suspicious? These Boers are tired of fighting, and they’ve taken the old man’s advice about trade.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Lennox firmly. “I wouldn’t trust the Boers a bit.”
“Well, don’t believe it, then; but let’s go and see what they’ve brought, all the same.”
“Yes, certainly; but let’s put the colonel on his guard.”
“What! Go and tell him what you think?”
“Certainly.”
“Thanks, no, dear boy. I have only one nose, and I want it.”
“What do you mean?” said Lennox sharply.
“Don’t want it snapped off, as they say. The idea of the cheek – going and teaching our military grandmother – father, I mean, how to suck eggs!”
“You never will believe till the thing’s rammed down your throat,” said Lennox angrily. “Well, come along as we have no orders.”
And without further discussion the two young men buckled on their belts and followed Captain Roby, who, while the colonel’s other instructions were being carried out, marched his men down to where some of the Boer party, well-guarded by the outposts, could be dimly seen squatted about or seated on the fronts of two well-loaded wagons, whose teams were tying down contentedly chewing the cud. Four more Boers kept the sheep and oxen in the rear of the wagons from straying away in search of a place to graze, for there was a tempting odour of fresh green herbage saluting their nostrils, along with the pleasant moisture rising from the trickling water hurrying away towards the gully where it found its way into the river.
“What do you say to telling Roby to set a man to probe the sacks with a fixed bayonet?”
“It would be wise,” whispered back Lennox.
“Tchah!” sneered Dickenson. “How could a fellow exist under one of those sacks of corn? Why, they must weigh on to a couple of hundredweight.”
“I don’t care; there’s some dodge, Bob, I’m sure.”
“Artful dodge, of course. Here, let’s see if we know the fellows again.”
“Very well; but be on your guard.”
“Bother! Roby and his men will mind we are not hurt.”
As he spoke Dickenson led the way close up to the roughly-clad Boers about the wagons, where, in spite of the darkness, the face of their leader was easy to make out as he sat pulling away at a big German pipe well-filled with a most atrociously bad tobacco, evidently of home growth and make.
“Hullo, old chap!” said Dickenson heartily; “so you’ve thought better of it?”
The Boer looked at him sharply, and, recognising the speaker, favoured him with a nod.
“Brought us some provender?” continued Dickenson; and he received another nod.
“What have you got?”
The Boer wagged his head sidewise towards the wagons and herds, and went on smoking.
“Well done; that’s better than trying to pot us. But, I say, what about your commando fellows? What will they say when you go back?”
The Boer took his pipe out of his mouth and stuffed a finger into the bowl to thrust down the loose tobacco.
“Nothing,” he said shortly. “Not going back.”
“What!” cried Lennox, joining in after pretty well satisfying himself that there could be no danger in the unarmed Boers and their wagons.
“What’s what?” said the Boer sourly.
“You’re not going back?” cried Dickenson, staring.
