The sound of footsteps was again heard, and I was not surprised this
time when our friendly Boer brought us two good rations of
freshly-roasted mutton and two cakes. These he put down before us
without a word, together with a tin of water, and then left us.
Denham looked at me, and I looked at him, as--each feeling something
akin to shame--we ate the food almost ravenously. Then the afternoon
was passed in listening to the busy movements of the Boers; but we never
once tried to look out of our strange prison.
At sunset, as I looked at the glorious orange colour of the sky, a
curious feeling of sadness came over me, for I realised it was the last
time I should behold the sun go down. There was such a look of calm
beauty everywhere that I could hardly realise the fact that we were
surrounded by troop upon troop of armed men ready to deal out fire and
destruction at a word; but once more my musing was interrupted by the
big Boer. He brought us coffee again, and this time cake and butter.
"There," he remarked as he placed all before us, "make much of it, boys,
for I shan't see you again."
A chill ran through me; but I don't think my countenance changed.
"I'm going away with our men to the other side yonder, and the Irish
captain's coming back. Good-bye, lads," he said after a pause. "I'm
sorry for you both, for I've got two boys just such fellows as you. I'm
sorry I caught you, for you're brave fellows even if you are spies."
"We are not spies," I replied quietly. I was determined to speak now; I
wanted that Boer to look on us as honest and manly.
He shook his head. I repeated the words passionately.
"Look here," I said; "we have been wounded, and were on the sick-list.
We could do no good, so we said we'd try and got through your lines and
fetch help."
"Ah!" cried the Boer slowly and thoughtfully. "Yes, I see. But you
were caught, and I can do nothing, boys. Moriarty will have you shot in
the morning when he comes back, and begin to rage because it is not
done. Well, life's very short, and we must all die. I'm going to fight
to-night, and perhaps I shall start on the long journey too, for your
men fight well. God knows best, lads; and there is no fighting yonder--
all is peace."
He bowed his head down and went out of the wagon without a word. When
Denham asked me a few minutes later what the Boer had said, my voice in
reply sounded hoarse and strange, quite unlike my usual tones.
We were now in darkness. The coffee was cold; the cakes lay untouched.
We were both sunk in a deep interval of musing; but Denham broke the
silence at last.
"Then we have another night of life, Val," he remarked.
"Yes," I replied; "and then the end."
"Look here," he said thoughtfully, after he had taken up the coffee-tin
and drunk; "that Boer said that he was going over yonder to-night to
fight, and that perhaps he would be where we were."
"Yes--dead," was my reply.
"Perhaps, Val. What do the doctors say?--`While there's life there's
hope.'"
"I see no hope for us," I said gloomily.
"I do," Denham whispered in a low, earnest tone. "We've been too ready
to give up hope."