He is not a gregarious animal the Boer. Except for expeditions of
murder or rapine, when expediency forces him to congregate, he prefers
to wallow in his own sty.
He does not enjoy night-work, either. The night to him is thronged with
"spooks" and other nameless horrors which he does not care to face. He
can murder a Kaffir in the most atrocious fashion, and think nothing
about it as long as the sun shines, but he dreads that Kaffir's "spook"
after the sun sets. Even the uncertain light of the moon doesn't seem
to comfort him greatly.
He has no humour in its sprightly and harmless sense. He can appreciate
rough horse-play and clumsy practical jokes, particularly if there be a
strong leaven of cruelty about them, and he is the joker. As a nation,
the Boers have not wit enough to be sarcastic, although they can be
bitter enough at times, and harsh always. But they are possessed, in
its most childish, morbid, and undeveloped state, of imagination.
During the day they are hard-headed, callous-hearted, keen-eyed men,
ever on the outlook to best their neighbours and grab what advantage
they can. Generations of previous warfare have made them quick and sure
with their aim, perfect horsemen, and the finest skulkers in the world.
By day they are impervious and vulture-eyed, and, according to their own
uncivilised mode of conducting warfare, dogged and resolute, if not
brave. We cannot call a man brave who slinks behind kopjes and
circumvents his enemy only by treachery; yet, when driven into a hard
corner, they will turn and fight with the viciousness of desperate rats.
But at night they are a most timorous and superstitious set of
shrinkers. Every strange sound makes their flesh creep and their hair
bristle. The kloofs, and veldt, and karri are packed with evil spirits,
whose weird revels they no more dare disturb, than would a jackal a lion
while he is feeding. Their God is the Lord of vengeance, their religion
a hotchpotch of rank superstition.
Our heroes did not fear greatly that the cell would be disturbed while
they were out of it. The prisoners were deputed to do the cleaning once
a week, and Saturday was the day ordained for this duty. On Sundays
they were allowed to rest, as according to the Transvaal laws, no
trekking, or work of any kind, was permitted on that day.
It was Thursday now, therefore they were almost positive that after they
were driven out, the door would be locked until their return at sunset.
How wearily the hours dragged on during that day which they fondly
trusted was to be their last in this slavery!
It was dry weather, fortunately being the middle of the winter season,
as Nylstroom in the summer was one of the most malarial districts. Yet
the sun blazed fiercely down upon the exposed and shelterless place
where they worked, and tried them all severely.
The mounted warders even became slothful with their whips as the morning
advanced, and found smoking more to their minds than browbeating their
charges.
Ned and his two chums toiled on even harder than they had ever done
before. They were thrilling with suppressed excitement, and felt glad
of the work that made the hours pass. They scarcely lifted their heads
or rested until the call came for the midday meal.
Mealie-porridge for breakfast, dinner, and supper becomes monotonous;
yet they were thankful enough even for this fare when it was served out
to them. A mad longing for beef had been on them for some days past.
The thought of it blended with their desire for liberty, so that they
could think of little else.
"Oh for a grilled steak!" groaned Clarence and Fred, as they bolted
their unsavoury mixture.
"We'll have it, if all goes well, for breakfast," whispered Ned, to keep
up their courage.
It was a lovely dream, and they hugged it, and kept their tongues moist
all the afternoon with the sweet anticipation.
It was astonishing to watch their companions the Kaffirs during that day
of suspense. They wore their customary sullen and apathetic
expressions, as if hope had no abiding-place in their bosoms. Not even
by so much as a flash in their lurid eyes could any one have guessed
that they were thinking of liberty. The only sign our heroes could note
was their extra patience and endurance. When the cowhide ripped across
their bare shoulders, they did not even give a quiver. It might have
been a fly landing on the back of an elephant, for all they seemed to
feel.
As afternoon drew on, Ned and his chums began to husband their strength.
They dug the pickaxe and spades more lightly into the baked clay, and
played themselves at working as much as possible.
At last the sun dropped to the horizon, and they were driven back to the
tronk. As they approached, our heroes looked at the walls and building
with keen speculation. The front was the portion occupied by the
warders. A couple of men were supposed to watch the back from opposite
corners, but, as Ned shrewdly surmised, they did not keep a very strict
sentry, otherwise his friends could not have got over the wall as they
had done the night before.
For the few moments that twilight remained in the cell, they examined
the ground and gave their Kaffir friends directions. The poor fellows
listened attentively to their chosen leader, Cocoeni, and showed that
they were ready.
Then darkness came, and they began without delay. To prevent the sounds
being heard, Ned and his chums began to sing; the others also made as
much gabble as they could. In the other cells, which were divided by
the iron sheeting, they could hear the prisoners quite distinctly. It
was to prevent them hearing the pickaxe at work that they were making
the row, but as for the Boers, they had no fear of them troubling to
stop a wrangle or a ditty as long as it was not patriotic. Ned took
care of this by starting and keeping up a few of Sankey's hymns which he
knew. While they were singing they likewise prayed fervently for their
deliverance.
Cocoeni took the pickaxe, as he was the strongest man there. With a few
deft strokes he had broken the hardened surface of the floor; then,
while he dug, the others scooped the earth out of the hole with their
hands. He went down by the side of the wall until he had cleared the
foundations; after this he began to tunnel.
It took them till long after midnight before they got to the outside of
the wall; then they began to dig upwards. They worked very carefully at
this portion, and carried the debris into the cell by relays.
At last they had reached the surface, and as some of the earth fell in
upon them, they were able to see the stars. To their joy this side of
the wall was buried in darkness, for the moon was on the other side.
Ned looked out carefully as soon as the passage was wide enough.
Halfway across the yard the shadow fell, leaving a patch of whiteness
for some fifteen feet between that and the outer wall, which was about
ten feet in height.
At each angle a sentry-box stood clearly revealed. As far as Ned could
see, they were unoccupied. The sentinels had evidently left their post,
and the passage was clear.
One by one they crept out, Cocoeni bringing the pickaxe with him.