"I will not spend all my time sleeping, you bet."
It was a desperate life our heroes led after this day, and might have
broken even their spirits, only for the hope they had of accomplishing
their escape.
After passing a week at Pretoria, they were sent up the country to
Nylstroom, where some heavy road-making was being done. This they did
not object to, as it was so far on the way to Rhodesia. They were glad
also to find that they were not separated.
Here they were treated with all the ignominy and harshness that the
stupid and merciless Boers could invent to make their captives sick of
existence. They were put into a cell where only natives were confined,
and not allowed any bedding whatever. If they could find space enough
to lie down, that was all the comfort they were permitted to have.
This, of course, was intended to degrade them as far as possible, and
doubtless would have been a terrible punishment to a Boer.
But our heroes, being more liberally brought up, did not find the
company of those Kaffirs half the infliction that some of their late
white companions had been. The captive savages were cleaner and more
wholesome, both outwardly and inwardly.
They were men most of them, whose only crime had been that of conquered
enemies. Tall, powerful warriors they had been once upon a time, with
spirits still untamed, and hearts filled with undying hatred toward
their harsh oppressors.
As soon as these prisoners discovered that Ned, Fred, and Clarence were
English, and filled with the same hatred as they had, they received them
into their ranks, and treated them with all the kindness and
consideration which they were able to show.
Several of them formed a blood bond with our heroes, which made them
allies and friends for life.
One clear benefit in this companionship was that these Kaffirs thus
pledged would be faithful to them. Indeed, amongst the whole gang,
there was not likely to be a traitor or a spy. These poor wretches had
nothing to gain by treachery, for their condition would not be a whit
improved. They all knew the Boers from bitter experience, and abhorred
them as much as they respected their English conquerors.
By daybreak they were marched out to their work under the escort of an
armed and mounted force of warders. The food served out to them was
mealie porridge with salt, and not too much of that. From the hour our
heroes entered Nylstroom, they were constantly in a famishing condition.
Yet they had to labour as navvies all day long under the broiling rays
until sundown, with hardly any intermission except the short time
allowed for their midday meal. The overseers rode about abusing them in
German and Low Dutch, and plying their cowhide whips over the backs of
those who fainted or shirked their work. It was worse than slavery, as
these Boers did not care whether the prisoners lived or died. If they
resented the savage stroke by so much as a look, they were tied up and
flogged almost to death. If they showed fight, they were at once shot
down and flung to one side like carrion.
Our heroes could not have endured the whip even with their hopes of
liberty buoying them up, therefore they laboured with a will, and gave
the brutes no chance of chastising them. Sometimes the whip cracked
over their heads, but fortunately for their future, it did not descend
on their backs.
The reason for this was that their friends outside had managed to get at
these venal wretches, and paid them a weekly sum to spare the young men
that last outrage.
They were all the more closely watched for this very reason so that they
might not escape. During the day this would have been impossible, as
before they could have run a dozen steps, they would have been shot
down.
They had passed a fortnight of this wretched existence, when, one day,
as Ned looked up, he saw a party of horsemen riding past. Amongst them
was Philip Martin, who, catching his eye, pointed quickly north, and
then patted his horse.
Ned knew what that meant. They were to run northward when their chance
came, where friends and horses would be in readiness.
His heart bounded as he read the signals and saw his friend gallop past
him. Then he bent and plied his pickaxe with renewed energy.
In spite of their semi-starvation, the hard labour did not hurt our
heroes. Already they had got over the utter exhaustion that made them
so helpless when they reached their cells. They had lost flesh
woefully, but their muscles were becoming tough and hard as steel, and
their skins tanned and sun-proof. They did not fear but that they would
be able to run once they got the chance.
Their cell was a small one, with corrugated iron on two sides and
mud-cemented walls on the other two. Each night they were carefully
searched before being locked in, so that it was impossible for them to
smuggle in any tool.
Still, now that Ned had seen help so close at hand, he did not despair.
What he could not get in himself might be sent to him from the outside.
That night he told his chums what he had seen, and their spirits rose
wonderfully at the news.
"They will be on the outlook, I am sure, therefore we must let them know
whereabouts we are located." After some consultation the idea struck
them to hang out a bit of rag from one of the narrow air-holes. If they
did this that night, it was almost sure to be noticed and understood by
those on the watch outside.
There were fifteen Kaffirs in this cell besides themselves who would
have to be trusted. The lads had seen enough of them to risk taking the
lot into their confidence.
"Cocoeni," he whispered to a strong young fellow, who had vowed
friendship with him, "would you like to escape?"
"You bet, baas," replied the Kaffir, who understood and could speak a
little English.
"And the others, will they help us?"
"Yes, baas; you may trust us all. We shall all help you if you show us
how."
"I have friends outside who, when they know where we are, will give us
some instrument to break out of this."
"Good. And what can we do to let them know?"