The wounded men--a couple of dozen all told, many of the injuries being
only slight--were rapidly lifted into the light wagons while the horses
and mules were given water, and all went well, the more slightly hurt
cheering and joking their bearers, and making light of their injuries in
the excitement of the triumph.
"Mind my head, boys," said one; "it's been knocked crooked."
"And my leg's loose, you clumsy beggar; it's there somewhere. Don't
leave it behind."
"I say, Joey, I've got a hole right through me; ain't it a lark!"
"Here, you, sir! Take care; that's my best 'elmet. I want it for a
piller." And so on, and so on.
Only one man groaned dismally, and that was Corporal May.
"I say, mate; got it as bad as that?" said one of the bearers.
"Oh! worse--worse than that," moaned the corporal. "I'm a dead man."
"Are you, now?" said one of his fellows in the company. "I say, speak
the truth, old chap; speak the truth."
"Oh!" groaned the corporal. "Why am I here--why am I here?"
"I dunno," said the bearer he looked at with piteous eyes. "I never was
good at riddles, mate. Can't guess. Ask me another.--There you are,
lifted as gently as a babby. You're only a slightly; I do know that."
The corporal was borne away, still groaning, and the man who had spoken
last handed him some water.
"Cheer up, corporal," he said; "you'll be back in the ranks in a week."
Meanwhile the bearers were busy in the shelter where Captain Roby lay,
flushed, fevered, and evidently in great pain, while his brother
officers stood round him, eager to do anything to assuage his pangs and
see him carefully borne to the wagon in which he was to travel.
"How are you, Roby?" said Dickenson, softly laying a powder-blackened
hand upon the injured man's arm, while the bearers stood waiting to
raise him.
The question and the touch acted electrically, Roby started; his eyes
opened to their full extent, showing a ring of white all round the iris;
and he made an effort to rise, but sank back.
"You coward--you miserable cad!" he cried. "You saw me shot down--I
implored you to help me to the rear--and you chose that time to show
your cowardly hate--you, an officer.--Coward! You ran--you turned and
ran to save your beggarly life--coward!--coward! Oh, if I had
strength!--I'll denounce you to the colonel. Cur!--coward!--cur!--I'll
publish it for all the world to know."
Dickenson started at first, and then listened to the end.
"All right," he said coolly. "Don't forget when you write your book."
"Lift him, my lads, gently; we have no time to spare," said the major
sternly; and as Roby was borne away, shouting hoarsely, "Coward!--cur!"
Captain Edwards said sharply in a whisper, so that the men should not
hear:
"Dickenson! Is this true?"
"Oh! I don't know," was the reply. "I recollect the bugle sounding,
and then I was too busy to know what I did till it sounded `Cease
firing!' I know I was out of breath."
"Take no notice," said the major quickly. "The poor fellow's raving.
Coward! Tchah! Be ready, Dickenson. You've found the sergeant?"
"All ready, sir."
In a very few minutes the ambulance-wagons were off again, with their
attendants ordered to go at a steady walk, and, if an attack was made,
to keep the red-cross flag well shown, and avoid the line of fire if
possible.
And still there was no alarm given from the top of the kopje of the
Boers' approach.
A short time was allowed for the ambulance to get ahead, during which
the officers had another look at the Boer wounded, the major ordering
water to be given to the men. Next a few sheaves of abandoned rifles
were cast into the wagons to be burned, and a final look was given to
the preparations already made for the destruction of the camp.
At last, while the long line of captured stores was crawling over the
veldt, and a great number of the other oxen which had wandered off to
graze were, according to their instinct, beginning to follow their
companions as if to make for Groenfontein, the order was given for the
men to fall in ready for the march back.
All was soon in order, and the major turned to Dickenson, who stood
aside with Sergeant James, waiting to perform their dangerous task.
"I was going to appoint four more men to fire the wagons," said the
major, "but with the preparations you have made the flames will spread
rapidly, and you two can very well do it; and as soon as the fire has
taken hold you can light the fuses yonder."
"Men signalling from the top of the kopje," said Captain Edwards.
"That means the enemy in sight," said the major coolly. "Signal to them
to come down."
As the captain turned away to attend to his orders the major held out
his hand to Dickenson.
"Do your work thoroughly," he said gravely, "and then follow as fast as
you can. I will leave pickets behind to cover you."
Dickenson nodded, but said nothing, only stood fingering a box of
matches in his pocket and watching the major hurrying down the
encumbered slope of the kopje to join the men awaiting the order to
march.
"Sentries on the top coming down, sir," growled the sergeant; and
Dickenson nodded again, turning to watch the two men running actively
along and leaping from stone to stone, till they were pretty close to
the drawn-up force, when the bugle rang out, the voices of the officers
were heard, and the retiring party went off at a good swinging march.
Dickenson watched them for a few minutes without a word, while the
sergeant stood with his rifle grounded and his hands resting upon the
muzzle, perfectly calm and soldierly, patiently waiting for his orders,
just as if he and the sergeant were to follow as a sort of rear-guard
instead of to fulfil about as dangerous a task as could fall to the lot
of a man, knowing too, as he did, that the enemy had been signalled as
advancing--a body of men armed with the most deadly and far-reaching
rifles of modern times.
"About time now, sergeant," said Dickenson coolly.
"Yes, sir; 'bout right now, I should think."
"I want them to have a fair start first," continued Dickenson; "and I
can't help feeling a little uneasy about the enemy's wounded, for there
will be an awful explosion."
"Oh, they'll be all right, sir. Make 'em jump, perhaps, and think
they're going to be swept away."
"I wish they were farther off," said Dickenson; and then he uttered an
ejaculation as he started aside, an example followed by the sergeant,
who chuckled a little as he exclaimed:
"Wish 'em farther off, sir? So do I."
For, following directly one after the other, two shots were fired from
the shelter where the wounded Boers had been carefully laid in safety, a
couple of them having evidently retained their rifles, laying them under
cover till they could find an opportunity to use them.
"That's nice and friendly, James," said Dickenson coolly. "Forward!--
under cover."
"I feel ashamed to run, sir," said the sergeant fiercely.
"Look sharp!" cried Dickenson, for two more bullets whistled by them.
"I don't like bolting, but it seems too bad to be shot down by the men
we have been getting into safety."
"And fidgeted about, sir," said the sergeant grimly. "I wish you'd give
me orders to chance it and go back and give those blackguards one apiece
with their own rifles. It must have been them the captain meant when he
was letting go about cowards and curs."
"Very likely, poor fellow!" said Dickenson, marching coolly on till they
were covered from the Boers' fire. "There, they may fire away now to
their hearts' content," he continued, as he halted at the end of the
prepared wagons. "Wind's just right--eh?"
"Beautiful, sir; and as soon as the blaze begins to make it hot you'll
find the breeze'll grow stiffer. It's a great pity, though."
"Yes; I wish we had all this at Groenfontein."
"So do I, sir; but wishing's no good. I meant, though, it's a pity it
isn't dark. We should have a splendid blaze."
"We shall have a splendid cloud of black smoke, sergeant," said
Dickenson, taking out his box of matches. "Ready?"
"Ready, sir," replied the sergeant, and each held his match-box as low
down in the paraffin-barrel as the saturated hay would permit, struck a
match, and had to drop it at once and start back, for there was a flash
of the evaporating gas, followed by a puff of brownish-black,
evil-odoured smoke, which floated upward directly.
"Bah! Horrible!" cried Dickenson, coughing. "My word, sergeant!
there's not much doubt about the Boers' camp blazing."
"Serve 'em right, sir, for using such nasty, common, dangerous paraffin.
Here comes the wind, sir: what did I say?"
For the soft breeze came with a heavier puff, which made the forked
tongues of flame plunging up amongst the thick smoke begin to roar, and
in a very few seconds the fire was rushing through one of the tilted
wagons as if it were a huge horizontal chimney.
"Did you get singed, sergeant?"
"No, sir. It just felt a bit hot. Hullo! what's that?"
For a horrible shrieking and yelling arose from the direction of the
wounded Boers.
"The crippled men," said Dickenson. "They're afraid they are going to
be burned to death. We ought to go and shout to them that there's
nothing to fear."
"Yes, sir, it would be nice and kind," cried the sergeant sarcastically;
"only if we tried they wouldn't let us--they'd shoot us down before we
were half-way there."
"Yes, I'm afraid so," said Dickenson, who stared almost in wonder at the
terrific rate at which the fire was roaring up and sweeping along,
threatening, as wagon after wagon caught, to cover the kopje with flame.
"Perhaps, sir," said the sergeant, with a grim smile, "it would be a
comfort to the poor fellows' nerves if we sent up the ammunition-wagons
now."
"Whether it would or not, sergeant, we must be sharp and do it, or with
these flakes of fire floating about we shall not dare to go near our
fuse."
"That's what I'm thinking, sir," said the sergeant.
"Forward, then;" and the pair went on at the double to the spot where
the train was laid, the fuses being some distance from the
ammunition-wagons, and on lower ground sheltered by great stones.
The next minute the pair were down on one knee sheltering their
match-boxes from the wind behind a big rock, with the train well in
view, for those who laid it had not scrupled to use an abundance of
powder.
"I did not reckon about this wind," said Dickenson. "As fast as one of
us strikes a light it will be blown out."
"That's right, sir."
"And we shall never get the fuse started."
"We must try, sir."
"Yes," said Dickenson. "Here, it must be one man's job to fire the
train; the explosion will send off the next wagon."
"And no mistake, sir. We ought to have had a lantern to light the fuse
at. But you get lower down, sir, and I'll set off the whole box of
matches I've got here, chuck it into the train, and drop behind this big
stone."
"That seems to be the only way to get it done," replied Dickenson.
"Yes, I'm sure of it, sir," said the sergeant.
"All right, then; run down and get behind that piece of rock. I'll do
it directly."
"No, no, sir; let me do it," pleaded the sergeant.
"'Tention!" roared Dickenson. "Quick! No time to lose. Off at once."
The sergeant's lips parted as if he were about to say something, but
Dickenson gave him a stern look and pointed downward towards the stone,
when discipline ruled, and the man doubled away to it, grumbling and
growling till he was lying down panting as if he were out of breath.
"I could have done it better myself," he said hoarsely; and then, "Oh,
poor lad, poor lad! If--if--"
There was a sharp crack, followed by a pause filled up by the shrieking
and yelling of the wounded Boers. Then the sergeant felt that he must
raise his head and see how matters were going on; but he refrained, for
there was a peculiar hissing noise. Dickenson had taken about twenty
matches out of the box he carried, held them ready, and ignoring the
fuse, he struck the bundle vigorously, stretched out his hand, which was
almost licked by the flash of flame, and applied it to the thickly-laid
train.
For a few moments there was no result, the wind nearly blowing out the
blazing splints; but just as the young man was hesitating about getting
out more matches--_phitt_! There was a flash as the powder caught and
the flame began to run in its zigzag course right along the ground
towards the nearest ammunition-wagon.
Turning sharply, Dickenson laid his hands upon a block of loose stone,
vaulted over it, and dropped flat upon his face, conscious the while of
the piteous cries of the wounded men.
The next instant there was a tremendous concussion, the stone giving him
a violent blow, and as the sky above seemed to blaze there was a roar
like thunder, then a perceptible pause, another roar, again a pause, and
another roar.
Then for a few moments the young officer lay deafened and feeling
stunned, till beneath the pall of smoke which hung over him he opened
his eyes and saw the sergeant kneeling by his side with his lips moving.
Dickenson stared at him wonderingly, while he saw the horrified look in
the man's face and its workings as he kept on moving his lips, and
finally half-raised his young officer and laid him down again.
"What's the matter?" said Dickenson--at least he thought he did--he felt
as if he had said so; but somehow he could not hear himself speak for
the crashing sound of many bells ringing all together.
He did not for the moment realise what had happened, but like a flash
the power of thinking came back, and drawing a deep breath, he tried to
get up, but could hardly stir. Something seemed to hold him down.
"Give me your hand, sergeant," he said, but still no words seemed to
come, and he repeated what he wished to speak; but before he had
completed his sentence, he grasped the fact that the sergeant's manner
had changed, for he rose up, felt behind him, looked at him again, and
seemed to speak, for his lips moved.
"Are you hurt?" Dickenson said, in the same way.
The sergeant's lips moved and he shook his head, looking the while as if
he were not hurt in the least.
"Then why don't you speak?" said Dickenson.
The man smiled and pointed to his ears.
"The explosion has deafened you?" said Dickenson dumbly, for still he
could not hear a word. "What do you mean? Oh, I see."
For the sergeant clapped him on the chest, and then placing his shoulder
against the stone, he seemed to be exerting all his strength to force it
uphill a little, succeeding so well that the next moment Dickenson felt
himself slip, glided clear of the sergeant's legs, and rose to his own,
while the man leaped aside and the great block slipped two or three
yards before it stopped.
"Then I was caught by the stone?" said Dickenson wonderingly. "I felt
it move."
He felt sure now that he had said those words; but in his confused
state, suffering as he was from the shock, he could only wonder why the
sergeant should begin feeling him over, and, apparently satisfied that
nothing was broken, begin hurrying him along in the direction taken by
the retreating force, which, now that the dense cloud of smoke was
lifting, he could see steadily marching away in the distance, but with a
group of about a dozen lingering behind.
Just then the sergeant stopped, unslung his rifle, placed his helmet on
the top, and held it up as high as he could, till Dickenson saw a
similar signal made by the party away ahead.
"They know we're all right," said Dickenson, still, as it seemed,
dumbly: and the sergeant nodded and smiled.
"It was an awful crash. I mean they were terrible crashes, sergeant."
There was another nod, and after a glance back the sergeant hurried him
along a little faster.
"Can you--no, of course you can't--hear whether the Boers are calling
out now?"
The sergeant shook his head.
"Poor wretches!" said Dickenson. "But they were too far off to be
hurt."
The sergeant nodded.
"Here, I can't understand this," said Dickenson.
"You pointed to your ears and signified to me that the explosions had
made you as deaf as a post."
The sergeant turned to him, looking as if he were trying to check a
broad grin, as he pointed to his officer's ears. That made all clear.
"Why, it is I who am deaf," cried Dickenson excitedly; and almost at the
same moment something seemed to go _crack, crack_ in his head, and his
hearing had come back, with everything that followed sounding painfully
loud.
"And no wonder, sir," said the sergeant. "It was pretty sharp. My ears
are singing now. Does it hurt you where you were nipped by the stone?"
"Feels a bit pinched, that's all."
"And you're all right beside, sir?"
"Yes, I think so, sergeant."
"That's good. Well, sir, you did it."
"What! blew up the wagons? Yes, sergeant, I suppose we've done our work
satisfactorily. But do you think the Boers would be hurt?"
"If they were, sir, it was not bad enough to make them stop singing out
for help. I heard them quite plainly after the explosions. Can you
walk a little faster, sir?"
"Oh yes, I think so. I'm quite right, all but this singing noise in my
ears. I say, though, what about the enemy?"
"I don't know anything about them, sir; the kopje hides them for the
present, but once they make out how few we are, I expect they'll come on
with a rush; and the worst of it is, they're mounted. But it'll be all
right, sir. The colonel said he was sending out a covering party to
help us in, didn't he?"
"Yes," replied Dickenson.
"Oh, we shall keep them off. They'll begin sniping as soon as they get
a chance, but they'll never make a big attack in the open field like
we're going over now."
A very little while after they overtook the party hanging back till they
came up, Captain Edwards being with the men, ready to congratulate them
on the admirable way in which their task had been carried out.
The brisk walking over the veldt in the clear, bright air rapidly
dissipated Dickenson's unpleasant sensations, and when the main body was
overtaken the young officer would have felt quite himself again if it
had not been for the dull, heavy sense of misery which asserted itself:
for constantly now came the ever-increasing belief that he must accept
the worst about his comrade, something in his depressed state seeming to
repeat to him the terrible truth--that poor Drew Lennox must be dead.
He found himself at last side by side with the major, who as they went
on began to question him about his friend's disappearance, and he
frowned when Dickenson gravely told him his fears.
"No, no," said the major; "we must hope for better things than that.
He'll turn up again, Dickenson. We must not have our successful raid
discounted by such a misfortune.--Eh, what's that?"
"Boers in sight, sir," said Sergeant James. "Mounted men coming on
fast."
"Humph! Too soon," said the major, and he proceeded to make the best of
matters. The ambulance party was signalled to hurry forward, and a
message sent to the little rear-guard with the store wagons and cattle
to press forward with their convoy to the fullest extent. Then, as the
mounted Boers came galloping on and divided in two parties, right and
left, to head off the convoy, the eager men were halted, faced outward,
and, waiting their time till the galloping enemy were nearly level at
about three hundred yards' distance, so accurate a fire was brought to
bear that saddles were emptied and horses went down rapidly. Five
minutes of this was sufficient for the enemy, the men swerving off in a
course right away from the firing lines, and, when out of reach of the
bullets, beginning to retreat.
"Has that settled them?" said Captain Edwards.
"No," said the major; "only made them savage. They'll begin to try the
range of their rifles upon us now. Open out and hurry your men on, for
the scoundrels are terribly good shots."
The speaker was quite right, for before long bullets began to sing in
the air, strike up the dust, and ricochet over the heads of the men, to
find a billet more than once in the trembling body of some unfortunate
ox. But fighting in an open plain was not one of the Boers' strong
points; the cover was scarce, they had their horses with them, and the
little British party was always on the move and getting nearer home.
Several bold attempts were made to head them off, but they were thwarted
again and again; but in spite of his success, the major began to grow
frantic.
"Look at those blundering oxen, Dickenson," he cried. "It's a regular
funeral pace over what will be our funerals--the brutes! We shall have
to get on and leave them to their fate. I'll try a little longer,
though. I say, we must be half-way now."
"Yes; but unfortunately there's a fresh body of the enemy coming up at a
gallop," said Dickenson, who had paused to sweep the veldt with his
field-glass. "Yes, twice as many as are out here."
"What!" cried the major. "Well, there's no help for it; we shall have
to leave the cattle behind. Send a man forward to tell the convoy guard
to halt till we come up, and let the cattle take their chance."
"The men with the wagons too, sir?"
"No," cried the major; "not till we're at the last pinch. We must try
and save them."
The messenger was sent off at the double; and as the retreating party
marched on, the major continued to use his glass, shaking his head in
his annoyance from time to time as he saw the Boer reinforcements
closing up.
"Oh!" he groaned, "if we only had a lancer regiment somewhere on our
flank, just to manoeuvre and keep out of sight till their chance came
for a charge. Make them run--eh, Edwards?"
"Yes," said the captain dryly; "but unfortunately we have no lancer
regiment on our flank."
"No," replied the major; "and we must make the best of it."
"Beg pardon, sir," said Sergeant James to Dickenson; "but don't it seem
a pity?"
"What? To have got so far and not be able to get back unhurt?"
"I was thinking of the cattle, sir," replied the sergeant gloomily.
"Hungry and low as the poor lads are with the want of meat, it seems a
sin to forsake all that raw roast-beef. It's enough to make the men
mutiny."
"Not quite, sergeant," replied his officer as he tramped steadily on.
"But look forward; it doesn't seem to make any difference. The
baggage-guard has halted, but the oxen are marching on, following the
wagons steadily enough."
"Yes, sir; as the old lines used to say that I learnt at school, `It is
their nature too.'"
"I suppose the enemy will divide, take a long reach round, and get ahead
of the convoy."
"Yes, sir, that'll be their game. They'll make for that patch of
wood and rocks in front, occupy it, and force us to make a
what-you-may-call-it."
"Detour?" said Dickenson.
"That's it, sir."
"Yes," said Dickenson thoughtfully; "they'll be able--mounted--to make
it before we can."
But the major seemed to think differently, for he sent fresh men on to
hurry the convoy, his intention being to occupy the rough patch of a few
acres in extent, hoping to keep the enemy at bay from there till the
promised help came from Groenfontein.
"Yes, I know," he said impatiently when Dickenson joined him for a few
minutes to receive fresh orders. "It's distant, and we shall be without
water; but it must be done. They must not even stampede the cattle."
"The major says the cattle must be saved, sergeant," said Dickenson as
he doubled and rejoined his little company.
"Does he, sir?" said the sergeant cheerfully. "Very well, sir, then we
must do it. Beg pardon, sir; might be as well for you to go on and say
a few words to the lads to cheer them up."
"They're doing wonderfully well, sergeant."
"That's true, sir; but we want 'em to do better. They don't see the
worst of it. It's all very well to appeal to a soldier's heart and his
honour, and that sort of thing; but this is a special time."
"What do you mean? This is no time for making speeches to the brave
fellows."
"Of course not, sir. But just you say in your merry, laughing way
something about the beggars wanting to get our beef, and you'll see what
the lads can do. Taking a bone from a hungry dog'll be nothing to it.
The lads'll shoot as they never shot before, for there isn't one of them
that isn't thinking of roast and boiled."
Dickenson laughed, and went on at once along the little column, saying
his few words somewhat on the plan the sergeant had suggested, and it
sent a thrill through the little force. They had just come up with the
convoy guard, who heard what he said, and somehow or other--how, it is
as well not to inquire--several of the great lumbering beasts began to
bellow angrily and broke into a trot, which probably being comprehended
by the drove in front, they too broke into a trot, which in turn was
taken up by the spans in the wagons, and the whole line was in motion.
The drivers and forelopers who led the way made for the cover, and at
the word of order that passed along the line the men doubled, cheering
loudly the while, and sending the bullocks blundering along in a cloud
of dust.
"Steady, there! Steady!" shouted the major. "Never mind the cattle.
The lads will be winded, and unable to shoot."
"Yes," panted Captain Edwards; for while this had been going on, the
enemy, now tripled in number, were repeating their former evolution, and
two clouds of them taking a wide sweep round were nearly abreast of the
little force, evidently on their way to seize the patch of bush as a
shelter for their horses while they dismounted, occupied the cover, and
dealt destruction to those who came on.
The major saw the uselessness of his manoeuvre now, and was almost ready
to give it up; but still he had hopes.
"The cattle will screen our advance," he said, "and the enemy are bound
to ride right round on account of cover for their horses. I believe
even now that we can get to this side as soon as the Boers get to the
other, and we must clear the bush at the point of the bayonet."
The men soon knew what was required of them, and they kept on steadily
at the double. But minute by minute it grew more evident that the fast,
strong ponies of the enemy, long as the sweep being taken on either side
proved to be, must get to the cover first; and, to the despair of the
officers, while they were still far distant in the deceiving, clear air,
they saw the two big clouds of the enemy, as if moved by one order like
a well-trained brigade of cavalry, swing round right and left and dash
for the thick patch of dwarf trees dotted with rocks.
"We're done, sergeant," said Dickenson breathlessly.
"Yes, sir," said the man coolly; "they've six legs to our two. I'm
sorry about that beef, for I'd set my mind on a good meal at last."
At that moment the bugle rang out, for it was madness to press on, and
the men, disappointed of their bayonet-charge to clear the little open
wood, began to draw breath ready for their next order to turn off right
or left and continue the retreat out of rifle-fire as soon as they
could.
"Oh, it's maddening!" cried Dickenson passionately as he unfastened the
cover of his revolver holster.
"Oh no, sir," said Sergeant James. "Case for a cool head. You'll see
now how neatly the major will get us out of fire and take us round. I
wish, though, that our covering party had been within reach."
An order rang out directly for the party to advance left incline, which
meant the giving up of their loot, and the men went on with set teeth as
they saw the two great clouds of Boers growing darker as they pressed in
for the patch of trees; and then there was a cheer bursting from every
throat--a cheer that was more like a hoarse yell, for from both ends of
the little wood, still some five hundred yards away, there was a puff of
smoke, followed by the rattle of a Maxim-gun on the right, a small
field-piece, shrapnel charged, on the left, and directly after a couple
of volleys given by well-concealed men.
The effect was instantaneous: riders and fallen horses and men were
struggling in wild confusion, falling and being trampled down, and those
unhurt yelling in wild panic to get clear. And all the while, as fast
as they could fire, the hidden covering party in the wood were
supplementing the Maxim and gun fire by emptying their magazines into
the two horror-stricken mobs. For they were nothing better, as in a
selfish kind of madness to escape they dragged their horses' heads round
and lashed and beat at them with the butts of their rifles, to begin
frantically galloping back by the way they came.
But the worst of their misfortune had not come. Each wing had to gallop
for some distance within shot of the major's little force, which poured
in volley after volley before "Cease firing!" was sounded, the Boers
having continued their flight right away, evidently making for their
ruined laager, leaving horse and man dotting the veldt.
The men were too busy congratulating each other upon their victory, and
helping to round up the cattle scared by the firing, to pay much heed at
first to the wounded enemy; but as soon as a dozen of the best riders
were mounted on some of the Bechuana ponies which, minus their riders,
had begun to contentedly browse on such green herbage as could be found,
the major set a party to work bringing the wounded Boers into the shade.
"Their own people will see to them as soon as we are gone," said the
major. "What do you make out, Edwards?" he continued to that officer,
who was scanning the retreating enemy through his glass.
"They seem to me to be gathering together for another advance," said
Captain Edwards.
"No," said the major, "they will not do that. This has been too severe
a lesson for them. They'll wait till we are gone, and then come to see
to their killed and wounded. That was a sudden turn in the state of
affairs."
"Ha!" replied Captain Edwards. "I was beginning to wonder how many of
us would get back to Groenfontein."
"Yes," said the major; "so was I."
In a very short time the ambulance party and the convoy, with its great
train of cattle, were once more on their way to the camp, well-guarded
by half the party Colonel Lindley had so opportunely sent to the help of
the expedition, the rest, with the major's little force, following more
deliberately, keeping on the alert for another attack from the Boers,
who waited till their foes were quitting the field before coming slowly
on. But not for a new encounter; their aim now was only to carry off
their wounded comrades and bury their dead.
"Yes," said the major, "they have had one of the sharpest lessons we
have given them during the war. We suffered enough in carrying the
kopje by surprise; this time we have not lost a man."
These last words haunted Dickenson all the way back to the camp, which
was reached in safety, the men being tremendously cheered by the
comrades they had left behind. But in spite of his elation with the
grand addition to their supplies and the two great triumphs achieved by
his men, the colonel looked terribly down-hearted at the long array of
wounded men; while with regard to Lennox he shook his head.
"A sad loss," he said. "I looked upon Drew Lennox as one of the
smartest young fellows in the corps. It's very hard that misfortune
should have befallen him now."
"But you think he'll get back to us, sir?" said Dickenson excitedly.
The colonel gave him a quick look.
"I hope so, Mr Dickenson; I hope so," he said. "There, cheer up," he
added. "We shall soon see."