"Can this possibly be you, Tom?" exclaimed Frank Jamieson in utter
astonishment, when, in the squalid, half-clad figure lying huddled up
against the wall of the hut, he recognised his friend and comrade Tom
Flinders. "How came you here? It was officially reported in camp that
you were killed when our corps attempted to retake the waggons on the
18th. I am most--"
"Would that the report were true!" interrupted Tom in dejected tones;
for he felt so completely broken down that not even the unexpected sight
of his friend could rouse him. "I should be out of my misery then.
These black devils have beaten and kicked me about like a dog; they've
insulted and starved me, and driven me half-mad by keeping me without
drink. Now I suppose they'll finish up by torturing us both to death."
And, unable to control himself any longer, for he was quite hysterical
from exhaustion, pain, and thirst, the poor lad burst into tears.
In an instant Frank Jamieson was down on his knees beside his prostrate
friend, and, taking a spirit-flask from the pocket of his blouse, he
raised Tom's head and made him swallow a small quantity of brandy; he
then produced a handful of moss-biscuit from another pocket and pressed
him to eat it. But Tom shook his head, saying: "No, thanks, Frank, I'll
not take it; you may want it yourself before long. Food is not
plentiful in this miserable hole, I can assure you."
"Nonsense, man!" retorted the other, seeing that, in spite of his
refusal, Tom cast a hungry look at the biscuit. "Eat it at once, or
I'll pitch it away." Then, as Tom devoured the biscuit, Frank said:
"I think our lives are safe, though we may be detained prisoners for
some time. The truth is I have a friend at court, who will do all he
can for us."
"But you're not a prisoner, Frank?" inquired Tom (upon whom the sup of
brandy and mouthful of wholesome food had already had a most beneficial
effect), as he regarded his comrade with a puzzled look.
"You cannot for a moment suppose that I came here willingly!" laughed
Jamieson. "What makes you ask such an extraordinary question? I hope
you don't think that I am a _deserter_!"
"Why, you don't _look_ like a prisoner," Tom rejoined. "In the first
place, the Caffres have left you your clothes; and secondly, they don't
appear to have made free with the contents of your pockets; whereas,
they've stripped pretty nearly every rag off my back, and knocked me
about into the bargain. How is it they let you off so easily?"
"Well, as I told you before, I have a friend at court," Jamieson
answered. "It fortunately happened that Untsikana, the chief into whose
clutches I fell, is an old acquaintance--in fact, about two years ago I
saved his life; and moreover, he was under great obligations to my poor
father--"
"_Poor_ father!" echoed Tom. "I hope the captain is--"
"The dear old governor is dead, Tom," interrupted Frank with a deep
sigh. "I thought you knew it. When last seen he was fighting by your
side."
"So he was, but he was all right when I got knocked over. Are you sure
he is killed?"
"There can be no doubt of it, I grieve to say. Untsikana saw his body,
and also that of poor Patrick Keown. The corps was almost annihilated--
counting the fellows that were with me, there are not more than thirty
left."
Their conversation was now interrupted by the entrance of two Caffre
warriors, one of whom was Untsikana himself Frank, who could speak the
Caffre language fairly well, at once appealed to him on Tom's behalf,
and with such success that the chief not only provided him with food and
drink, and water to bathe his wounds and bruised limbs, but also
procured him an old tiger-skin kaross and a pair of "veldt schoon," to
take the place of the garments of which his captors had stripped him,
and which had been distributed amongst the dusky inhabitants of the
kraal, so that there was no recovering them.
"Who shall say there is not _some_ good in a Caffre?" observed Frank
Jamieson as he dressed the wound on his friend's head; "come, Tom, you
must acknowledge that."
"Your acquaintance Umpty-dumpty, or whatever his name is, is certainly
not half a bad chap," replied Tom, whose customary good spirits were
returning. "But he is a wonderful exception to the rule. I wonder what
they'll do with us?" he added. "Turn us into white slaves, I expect!"
"Impossible to say," his friend answered. "I must sound Untsikana on
the subject when he next pays us a visit. I might induce him to aid us
in making our escape!"
"Not you," Tom rejoined with a shake of the head. "That would be
testing his gratitude rather too much. By the way, when and how did he
take you prisoner?"
"That is soon told," said Frank. "You must know," he went on, "that the
brigadier broke up his camp at Chumie Hoek on the morning of the 19th,
and marched, bag and baggage, for Block Drift.
"I was with the rear-guard in command of the remnants of our poor old
corps. The enemy came down in thousands from the mountains and attacked
the whole line of waggons, from front to rear, at one time, so that we
had some precious hard fighting all along the route.
"Whilst the head of the column was crossing the Chumie River the rear
waggons were forced to halt for a bit; and then it was that the Caffres
made their hottest attack. The artillery received them with four or
five rounds of canister and grape, which staggered them above a bit and
checked their advance. A troop of the 7th Dragoon Guards then charged
them, and I was ordered to support this charge; because, as no doubt
you've noticed, the Caffres generally break when charged, and then
re-form when the cavalry have passed through them.
"Well, during the charge my old horse `Trumpeter' was killed, and I got
a nasty fall, striking my head against a big stone. When I regained my
feet our fellows were a hundred yards away, and before I well knew where
I was, I was surrounded by a dozen Caffres, who would have quickly put
an end to me had I not recognised Untsikana and called out to him to
save my life. He at once interfered and would not let his men lay a
finger upon me; but, in spite of my entreaties, he carried me off into
the mountains. To make a long story short, I was kept, closely guarded,
in a cave until yesterday morning, when Untsikana brought me on here."
"Did the enemy capture any of the waggons?" asked Tom.
"From what I heard them say, I think they must have got hold of the
hospital stores waggon," answered Jamieson. "I saw three or four
Caffres yesterday in a very miserable state, and Untsikana told me they
had been drinking the white man's medicines. One fellow was terribly
bad, and, from the condition of his mouth and lips, I should imagine
that he must have been eating some sort of _blister_ [a fact]--and a
precious strong sort, too!"
"Hope it agreed with his complaint, whatever that may have been!" said
Tom, grinning at the thought of the wretched Caffre's discomfiture when
the blister began to draw. "But what could have induced the stupid
beggar to taste such a thing?"
"Don't you know that the Caffres have an idea that the white man's
medicines possess extraordinary strength-giving properties?" his friend
replied. "You're not half up in the manners and customs of your
coloured compatriots. They will at any time steal physic in any shape
or form, and swallow all they steal."
"And did your friend Umpty go in for this course of promiscuous
physicking? Though I don't suppose we should have found him so amiable
if he had."
"Well," laughed Frank Jamieson, producing a glass-stoppered bottle from
his pocket, "while I was in the cave I saw Untsikana handling this,
which no doubt he `looted' from the hospital waggon; and he was on the
point of swallowing the contents, when, fortunately for him, I caught
sight of the label and snatched the bottle from his hand."
"Why, what is it?--castor-oil?"
"Castor-oil!--no. He might have drenched himself with that for aught I
should have cared," Frank answered. "This is _chloroform_--the stuff
the surgeons use during operations to produce insensibility. It has
only been in general use a few months, I believe."
"Ah! I heard Dr Fraser talking to old McAlpine about it the other
evening," said Tom. "This is the first time it has been supplied to the
field-hospital. But what did you want to keep such dangerous stuff
for?" he added. "There's enough of it to poison a troop, I should
think."
"To tell the truth, I popped the bottle in my pocket, and forgot that it
was there until this moment. I must throw it away when I have a
chance."
"The sooner the better," said Tom. "A pretty job it would be if you
smashed the bottle in this dog-hole of a place! We should probably drop
off to sleep, and never wake again!"
"I will give the bottle to Untsikana when I see him again," Frank
rejoined, "and advise him to pitch it into the nearest river, or empty
it away in the bush. It _is_ nasty stuff to carry about."
But Frank Jamieson did not see Untsikana again, for the friendly chief
quitted the kraal that very evening to rejoin his brother-warriors, the
majority of whom had by this time crossed the frontier into British
territory, and were committing great ravages and depredations amongst
the Albany farms and settlements--so much so that Colonel Somerset had
to march with the greater number of his troops to Graham's Town, and
from thence follow up the enemy into Lower Albany.