"Ha!" ejaculated Dickenson, with a sigh of relief, and he turned away to
creep to where Lennox lay, finding him still plunged in the same state
of stupor.
"One ought to lay him in the shade," he thought; but there was very
little that he could do beyond drawing a few pieces of the thorn bush
together to hang over his face. He then took out his handkerchief to
lay over the bush, but hastily snatched it away again. "Bah!" he
muttered. "It's like making a white bull's-eye for them to fire at."
Then he crept back to his position, with the bullets still whizzing
overhead or striking up the dust, and he almost wondered that no one had
been hit.
"I hope Mr Lennox is better, sir," said the sergeant respectfully.
"I see no difference, sergeant. But what does that mean?"
"What we used to call `stalking horse,' sir, down in the Essex marshes.
Creeping up under the shelter of their mounts."
"Then they are getting nearer?"
"Yes, sir. Don't you think we might begin to pay them back? We could
hit their ponies if we couldn't hit them."
"Yes, sergeant, soon," replied the young officer, carefully scanning the
enemy's approach; "but I think I'd let them get a hundred yards, or even
two, nearer before we begin. The business is simplified."
"Is it, sir?"
"I mean, there's no question of retreating now that the ponies are gone.
It's either fight to the last, or surrender."
"You mean, sir, that there were three things to do?"
"Yes; and now it's one of two."
"Isn't it only one, sir? I think the lads feel as I do, right-down
savage, and ready to fight to the last."
"Very well," said Dickenson; "then we'll fight to the last."
The sergeant smiled, and then for a time all lay perfectly still, fully
expecting that one or other of the many bullets which came whizzing by
would find its billet; but though there were several very narrow
escapes, no one was hit, and though the enemy in front had greatly
lessened the distance, their bullets struck no nearer. But the men grew
very impatient under the terrible strain, and all three kept on turning
their heads to watch their officer, who lay frowning, his rifle in front
and his chin supported by his folded arms.
"Ah!" came at last, in an involuntary sigh of relief from all three, as
they saw Dickenson alter his position after the enemy had made a fresh
and perceptible decrease in the distance between them by urging their
ponies forward, the men's legs being strongly marked, giving the ponies
the appearance of being furnished with another pair, as their riders
stood taking aim and resting their rifles across the saddles.
But no order to fire came from Dickenson, who still remained quiet.
Then all at once:
"Sergeant," he said, "I've practised a great deal with the sporting
rifle, but done very little of this sort of thing myself. I'm going to
try now if I can't stop this miserable sneaking approach of the enemy."
The men gave a hearty cheer.
"I'm sorry for the poor ponies," he said, "for I think this range will
be well within the power of the service arm."
"Yes, sir, quite," said the sergeant promptly.
Dickenson was silent once again, and they saw him taking a long, careful
aim at the nearest Boer. The effect of his shot was that the pony he
had aimed at sprang forward, leaving a Boer visible, facing them in
astonishment before he turned to run.
"Fire!" said Dickenson, and three shots followed almost instantaneously,
while the running Boer was seen lying upon the earth.
"Be ready!" said Dickenson, aiming now at another of the ponies, and
paying no heed to six or seven replies from the exasperated Boers.
The pony now fired at reared up, and in the clear sunshine the man who
was aiming across it was seen to be crushed down by the poor animal's
fall, and he did not rise again.
Once more Dickenson's rifle rang out, and he shifted it back now to his
right, to fire his fourth shot almost without aiming. As the smoke
cleared away by the time the young officer had replaced the exploded
cartridges, one pony could be seen struggling on the ground, another was
galloping away, while two men were crawling backward on hands and knees.
"It seems like butchery, sergeant," said Dickenson, taking another long
aim before firing again. "Missed!"
"No, sir: I saw the pony start," said the sergeant eagerly. "There,
look at him!"
For the two men cheered on seeing the pony limp for a few yards and then
fall, just beyond where his master was lying stretched out on his face.
"Poor brute!" said Dickenson in a low voice.
"He didn't say it was butchery when that chap was knocking down our
mounts at quarter this distance," said the sergeant to himself. "But,
my word, he can shoot! I shouldn't like to change places with the Boers
when he's behind a rifle."
Just then the men cheered, for three more of the enemy who had been
stalking them were seen to spring into the saddle, lie flat down over
their willing mounts, and gallop away as hard as they could to join
their comrades.
"Well, we've stopped that game for the present, sergeant," said
Dickenson. "Perhaps we may be able to keep them off till night.--But
that's a long way off," he said to himself, "and we've to fight against
this scorching heat and the hunger and thirst."
"Hope so, sir," said the sergeant, in response to what he had heard;
"but--"
He ceased speaking, and pointed in the direction of the patch of scrub
forest where they had passed the night.
Dickenson shaded his eyes and uttered an ejaculation. Then after
another long glance: "Ten--twenty--thirty," he said, as he watched two
lines of mounted men cantering out from behind the patch right and left.
"Why, there must be quite thirty more."
"I should say forty of 'em, sir."
"Why, sergeant, they're moving out to surround us."
"Yes, sir," said the sergeant coolly; "but you won't surrender?"
"Not while the cartridges last."
"Well, there's enough to account for the lot, sir, if we hand in ours
and you do the firing."
The young officer burst into a forced laugh.
"Why, sergeant," he cried, "what do you take me for?"
"Soldier of the Queen, sir, ready to show the enemy that our march at
the Jubilee wasn't all meant for show."
Dickenson was silent for a time.
"Ha!" he said at last, with a sigh. "I want to prove that; but there
are times when holding out ceases to be justifiable--fighting becomes
mere butchery."
"Yes, sir, when forty or fifty men surround four and a wounded one,
shoot down their mounts so as they can't retreat, and then try and
butcher them. It's all on their side, sir, not ours; and the men think
as I do."
Dickenson was silent again, lying there with his teeth set and a
peculiar hard look in his eyes, such as a man in the flower of his youth
and strength might show when he knows the time is fast approaching for
everything to end. Meanwhile the two fresh parties that had come on the
scene were galloping hard to join the enclosing wings of the first
comers, who stood fast, fully grasping what was to follow, and keeping
the attention of their prey by firing a shot now and then, not one of
which had the slightest effect.
"Oh for some water!" groaned Dickenson at last. "Poor Mr Lennox! How
he must suffer!"
"Not he, sir. He's in that state that when he wakes up he'll know
nothing about what has taken place. It's you that ought to have the
drink, to steady your hand for what is to come."
Dickenson made no reply aloud, but he thought bitterly, "When he wakes
up--when he wakes up! Where will it be: the Boer prison camp, or in the
other world?"
The sergeant and the men now relapsed into a moody silence, as they lay,
rifle in hand, with the sun beating down in increasing force, and a
terrible thirst assailing them. Dickenson looked at their scowling
faces, and a sudden impression attacked him that a feeling of resentment
had arisen against him for not surrendering now that they were in such a
hopeless condition. This increased till he could bear it no longer, and
edging himself closer to the sergeant, he spoke to him upon the subject,
with the result that the man broke into a harsh laugh.
"Don't you go thinking anything of that sort, sir, because you're wrong.
Oh yes, they look savage enough, but it's only because they feel ugly.
We're all three what you may call dangerous, sir. The lads want to get
at the enemy to make them pay for what we're suffering. Here, you ask
them yourself what they think about surrendering."
Dickenson did not hesitate, but left the sergeant, to crawl to the man
beyond him, when just as he was close up a well-directed bullet struck
up the sand and stones within a few inches of the man's face,
half-blinding him for a time and making him forget discipline and the
proximity of his officer, as he raged out a torrent of expletives
against the Boer who had fired that shot.
"Let me look at your face, my lad," said Dickenson. "Are you much
hurt?"
"Hurt, sir? No! It's only just as if some one had chucked a handful of
dust into my eyes."
"Let me see."
A few deft applications of a finger removed the trouble from the man's
eyes, and he smiled again, and then listened attentively to his
officer's questions.
"Oh, it's as you think best, sir," he said at last; "but I wouldn't give
up. We don't want to. All we're thinking about is giving the enemy
another sickening for what they've done."
Dickenson crawled away to the other man--away to his right--to find him
literally glowering when spoken to.
"What do the others say, sir--the sergeant and my comrade?"
"Never mind them," replied Dickenson. "I want to know how you feel."
"Well, sir," was the reply, "about an hour ago I felt regular sick of
it, and that it would be about like throwing our lives away to hold
out."
"That it would be better to surrender and chance our fate in a Boer
prison?"
"Something of that sort, sir."
"And how do you feel now?"
"Just as if they've regularly got my dander up, sir. I only want to
shoot as long as we've got a cartridge left. I'd give up then, for
they'd never wait for us to get at them with the bayonet."
Dickenson said no more, but returned to his old place, watching the
galloping Boers, who had now gone far enough to carry out their plans,
and were stopping by twos to dismount and wait, this being continued
till the little English party formed the centre of a very wide circle.
Then a signal was made from the starting-point, and firing commenced.
Fortunately for the party it was at a tremendously long-range, for,
after the way in which the enemy had suffered in regard to their ponies,
they elected to keep what they considered to be outside the reach of the
British rifles; and no reply was made, Dickenson declining to try and
hit the poor beasts which formed the Boer shelter in a way which would
only inflict a painful wound without disabling them from their masters'
service.
"It would be waste of our cartridges, sergeant," he said.
"Yes, sir," was the reply; "perhaps it's best to wait. They'll be
tempted into getting closer after a bit. Getting tired of it if they
don't hit us, and make us put up a white flag for the doctor. Look at
them. Oh, it's nonsense firing at such a distance. Their rifles carry
right enough, but it's all guesswork; they can't take an aim."
The sergeant was right enough; but the bullets were dangerous, and they
came now pretty rapidly from all round, striking with a vicious _phit_!
which was terribly straining to the nerves. And all the time the heat
of the sun grew more painful. There was not a breath of air; and the
pull's of smoke when the enemy fired looked dim and distant, as if seen
through a haze.
The sergeant made some allusion to the fact.
"Looks as if there was a change coming. There, sir, you can hardly see
that man and horse."
"No," said Dickenson sadly, "but I think it's from the state of our
eyes. I feel giddy, and mine are quite dim."
"Perhaps it is that, sir," said the sergeant. "Things look quite
muddled up to me. Now turn a little and look yonder, out Groenfontein
way."
Dickenson turned wearily, and winced, for three bullets came almost
simultaneously, two with their vicious _whiz-z_! the other to cut up the
ground and ricochet.
"Not hit, sir?" said the sergeant anxiously.
"No; but one shot was very near. Yes, I see what you mean: the Boers
are mounting out in that direction. They're coming closer. We shall
perhaps have a chance now," he cried, with more animation.
It seemed, though, that they were going to retire as they came, the
circle being opened on the Groenfontein side and the men retiring in
twos, to go on increasing in two groups, firing rapidly the while; but,
to the surprise of the beleaguered party, the bullets ceased to whiz in
their direction.
A dead silence fell upon the group, no one daring to speak the hope that
was in him for fear of exciting his companions by an idea that might
after all prove only to be imagination. Then all spoke together, and
there was an excited cheer.
"Yes," cried Dickenson; "there's help coming. The Boers are retiring
fast."
"Why, of course, sir," said the sergeant confidently. "The colonel
would be sure to send out to see why we didn't come back. There's a lot
of our fellows out yonder that the enemy is firing at, and we can't see
them for the haze. It is haze, and not giddiness and our eyes."
"No, sergeant; we can see clearly enough. I can make out the advance of
the relief party. Wait five minutes, and I'll see what a few
signal-shots will do."
But before the time mentioned the Boers could be seen steadily
retreating, and the puffs of smoke from the firing of an advancing party
could be made out. Signals followed, and but a short time elapsed
before the Boers were driven off and the rescued party were reviving
under the influence of the water proffered from the relief party's
bottles.
The return to Groenfontein commenced at once, with Lennox carried by
four men by means of scarfs; but he was not the only man who needed this
aid, four more being hit during the return, the driven-off Boers hanging
at a safe distance on flank and rear, sniping at every chance with the
longest of shots, till the outposts were reached, and a cheer welcomed
the rescued men as they marched in.
The motion through the air had gradually revived Lennox, so much so that
when the party was met by the colonel and officers the young lieutenant
was able to reply to a question or two before the doctor intervened.
"Leave him to me for a bit," he said, and had Lennox borne toward the
hut where Roby and the corporal were lying, Dickenson following close
behind.
"The colonel did not shake hands with him," said the young officer to
himself, "and the major never spoke. Surely they don't think--"
He got no farther, for they had reached the hut, when, to the surprise
of all, Roby wrenched himself round to glare at Lennox being carried in,
and then in a harsh, excited voice he cried:
"Lennox here? Coward! Cur!--coward! How dare you show your face
again?"
And at these words Corporal May wagged his head slowly from side to side
and uttered a weary groan.