How sped they at Annerley, when the war-cry rang loud and clear in the
silence of that night in Kafirland?
Daveney and Ormsby were pacing the stoep in silence; Frankfort sat
within the entrance-chamber, his head buried in his hands.
That unearthly cry was a relief to his paralysed heart: he started up,
his host and Ormsby lifted the latch of the door as he put his hand upon
it to go forth. Mrs Daveney and Marion stood by the bedside of the
unfortunate Eleanor, who, pale and motionless as marble, lay insensible
to the yells of the savages on the hills, or the voices of the poor
settlers under the windows.
Mr Daveney was too good a soldier to be absolutely surprised; but so
stealthy had been the Kafirs in their movements, that not even a distant
scout had been seen for many days.
They were near at hand now, however: the mountains far and near shone
with the fiery telegraphs of the warrior tribes. The master of the
house summoned his people to arms, and bade the women and children come
from the wagons to the interior of the building. It has been shown that
the settlement was backed by hills, intersected with gullies or kloofs;
one of these, by which Zoonah had approached, was wide and dense: it
will also be remembered that redoubts had been thrown up; but the space
enclosed was so vast that there were barely sufficient hands to defend
all points in rear. The front was well protected by a fortification of
wagons, drawn up in line with great precision; from these wagons the
settlers were able to check the enemy in his advance; and a small
six-pounder, brought in former days from an abandoned fort, filled the
gap between the steps and the avenue.
In rear of the house, within the trellised passage, was a little _corps
de reserve_ of young men and matrons, the latter being in charge of
spare ammunition, and provided each with a brace of pistols, which they
had earned the use of by experience. It was of course certain that the
Kafirs would make their first attack on the cattle, and as the herdsmen
at sunset were driving in the animals from their pastures, the enemy
poured down the hills in hundreds; by this cunning manoeuvre they at
once cut off the communication between the settlement and the cattle
herds; indeed the latter, of whom some were Kafirs, mostly deserted, the
Hottentots flying off to conceal themselves where they could--they were
not worth following while plunder was to be got; so the poor cows and
oxen and bleating sheep were driven off by the detachment of the enemy
told off for the purpose, and the others advanced, their dark faces
reddened with ochre, their crane plumes waving, and their assegais and
muskets ready poised for the onslaught.
Mr Daveney had adopted the wise precaution of dividing his flocks and
herds, only sending half to pasture at a time; for, with so large a
population to feed, and at such a distance from any emporium of
provisions, it was necessary to husband the stock with peculiar care.
Thus the kraals in rear of the vineyard were tolerably well filled at
present, and the chief object now would be to keep the enemy at bay,
lest he should carry the redoubt, and rush in upon the cattle.
But few shots had been exchanged between the herdsmen and the Kafirs;
but, as the marauders carried off the plunder in triumph, a chief
appeared, clad in leopard skin, and riding a noble white charger.
Advancing at a smart canter, he was cheered by the cry of
"Izapa,"--"Come on"--from the hill-sides, and, followed by those who had
assisted in capturing the cattle, he passed the left of the buildings,
turned sharp with his face towards the kraals, and bade his people
advance; they did so, made a dash at the redoubt, were suffered to set
foot on the top, and were received with a rattling volley of musketry,
which tumbled them within the defences sooner than they had bargained
for. A shout of laughter rose from the Annerley garrison, a yell of
defiance burst from the savages.
Then the chief on the white charger drew back, rallied his forces,
paused for the reinforcements which rushed down the hills in all
directions, lighting their brands at the fires as they passed, and
having formed them in a phalanx, of which he was the centre, the mass
pressed forward, shouting their wild war-cry, and brandishing aloft
their weapons of steel and flame. The blaze on the mountain slope gave
all this a demoniacal aspect; the horrible screams, the excited, rampant
gestures of the Kafirs, the dropping fire of musketry from Annerley, and
the occasional hearty English cheer answering the war-cry, all combined
to make as terrific a scene as the most imaginative eye or ear could
conceive.
As yet the enemy reserved his fire.
Two women stood suddenly face to face in the entrance-room of the house.
"My sister, my little sister!" shrieked the girl.
"My child, my child!" gasped out the elder.
"I left her beside you sleeping in the wagon," said the girl.
"I woke frightened," said the pale mother, "and thought you had taken
her--you did, you did--where is she?"
"I laid her beside you," again answered the girl.
The elder one burst through the group that crowded the room, and put her
hand to the door-latch. Ormsby stood sentry there. "No one can pass,"
said he; "the house is closed while the enemy advances." The woman
raised her hands imploringly, her lips moved, and she had just power to
articulate the words, "My child!" Ormsby's heart had been softened by
gentle companionship--he opened the door, the pale woman rushed upon the
stoep, flew down the steps--soon they heard her laughing hysterically;
"Let me in, let me in," she cried. Ormsby opened the door again, and
she entered, bearing her infant in her arms. Something followed her
overhead; a sharp whizz made all draw back; the door was slammed to, but
not before a bullet had buried itself in the wall beyond--the little
child pointing to the splintering bricks, with a merry laugh.
Then the occupants of Annerley knew that the enemy encircled the
settlement; the shots soon began to answer each other swift and sharp.
That part of the building which was commanded by the hill in the rear
was defended by a wall of earth some twelve feet high; fortunately, the
hill sloped abruptly and was lower than the rest, so that there was no
great range for assegais, and the enemy's shots were fired at random--
they told, however, among the cattle, and the chief on the white horse,
watching his opportunity, made a dash at a side gate, and succeeded in
forcing an entrance to the kraals between the vineyard and the redoubt.
The confusion that followed is indescribable; the settlers fearing to
fire on the besiegers, lest they should kill the cattle; the beasts
lowing, the sheep bleating, horses flying about wild and terrified, and
the Kafirs yelling, whistling, shouting, and goading the frantic animals
forward with their weapons, till they fairly succeeded in clearing the
stock-yard, the spectators on the ridges above dancing about between the
fires, and mocking at the poor settlers, four of whom had fallen,
severely, if not mortally, wounded.
May was flitting about, perfectly reckless of the flying bullets, and
when the Kafirs cheered their comrades, he would wait for a pause, and
then set up a laugh of derision, crying out, "Shoot higher, shoot
higher;" while, in fact, the balls were whizzing many feet above the
heads of those at whom they were aimed. Now May would crouch behind the
redoubt, single out his man, get him in a certain position, where the
fires glaring on brim lit him up as a mark, and then, with an original
remark, a grin, and a gibber, would bring him down, draw a long breath,
cut a caper, and anon, lying at frill length, would load his musket in
the dark, and go to work again, _con amore_.
The enemy in front meanwhile were busy in trying to dislodge the poor
farm-people, who had tied their _span_ (team) oxen to their wagons, and
drew closer every moment to the building. Frankfort stood on the stoep
directing the defence, and striving, by keeping the Kafirs at bay, to
prevent bloodshed as far as possible; but the chief on the white horse,
having seen the cattle from the kraals safely whistled off, resolved, in
the true spirit of rapacity, to have more, and, with a phalanx of his
warriors, advanced at a rapid pace up the avenue.
Then Frankfort, standing on the upper step of the stoep, said, in a
clear, calm, but most decided tone--
"Man the gun."
And four men, who had been trained to the deadly exercise, took their
stations.
The firing from the wagons ceased; in the rear all was comparatively
still, for the enemy was resting on his arms, and the settlers were
carrying in their wounded. The Kafirs, unprepared for the reception it
was deemed necessary to greet them with, came up, quivering their
assegais, and shouting their war-cry. In their imagination, the
settlers were paralysed--they were within seven hundred yards of the
wagons.
"Fire!" said Frankfort.
The word rose strong and clear above the savage chorus.
A dazzling flash!--a wreath of smoke--a roar--a sharp sound of a ball
cleaving the air, and the dark mass of human beings burst asunder like a
splintered oak.
The shrieks of startled men rose to the sky, that, lurid as the vaults
of the infernal regions, burned fiercely overhead, and the
compassionate-hearted Frankfort shuddered at the shout of exultation
uttered by the settlers as they saw the havoc the discharge of the gun
had effected, and the dispersion of the enemy in front.
It may be imagined that Daveney's mind had been so disturbed by the
renewal of anxiety about his daughter, as to render him scarcely fit to
meet the emergencies of the hour; hence the surprise of the
cattle-kraals, an advantage the Kafirs fortunately cared not to improve,
since they quitted their ground as soon as they had collected the stock.
The aperture was immediately closed and manned with steady hands, and,
as the besieged were beginning to suffer from the enemy on the hills,
and the water irrigating the vineyard was discovered to be cut off, the
magistrate deemed it advisable to draw the rear guard within the house;
the front was not likely to be attacked again, the gun occasionally
making play along the avenue.
Among the defences, Daveney had erected a small block-house, or square
tower of stone; this was well provisioned, and contained the principal
stores of ammunition. This building was now under the command of Mr
Trail, who, with some of the younger hands, kept the enemy in check from
attacking the trellis-work uniting the vineyard with the house.
Bitterly, indeed, did the good man deplore the necessity for action; but
there was no alternative, and he calmly directed the movements of his
subordinates in keeping off the Kafirs, who drew near with lighted
brands. The house, built of stone and roofed with zinc, would have
withstood an attack by fire; but the destruction of property and
inconvenience attending the ignition of the outworks would have been
very serious.
To this block-house Mr Daveney determined to remove his still
insensible daughter as soon as a lull in the siege permitted it; and the
chief attraction being withdrawn, it was likely the enemy would retire
for a time; indeed he would probably have done so before; but the
destruction, at a single blow, of so many of the band, elicited a thirst
for revenge, which the abler warriors declared their intention of
satisfying, swearing, by the bones of the great chief Gwanga, that they
would "eat up" the white man's kraal, and trample the inmates to dust!
Banishing for the time his own domestic anxieties, Daveney went from man
to man of his little garrison, and, returning with them from the redoubt
to the house, concentrated his rearward force, and, drawing up a body of
men in line, poured forth a heavy volley of musketry just as the enemy,
having rushed down the hills, had succeeded again in reaching the top of
the parapet. This daunted the Kafirs considerably, and they drew off in
skirmishing order, dragging their dead and wounded with them; and thus
encumbered, the rage of the fight moderated, and the settlers had time
to wipe the smoke and blood from their faces, take breath, and refresh
themselves with some water, which Mrs Trail, aided by Fitje, served out
to them as carefully as if it had been wine; for she believed, like
others, that this was but the beginning of a long season of tumult and
bloodshed.
Mr Daveney ascended the staircase leading to his daughter's apartment;
he carried no light, for day was approaching. A shadow flitted by,
noiseless and swift, and he heard the latch of a side door, which had
been unbarred, lifted quickly, and the door cautiously closed. He
thought little of it; but, on mustering the attendants, it was
discovered that little Sana, Eleanor's especial _protegee_, was missing.
She was Zoonah's sister, and, having been present at the scene which
followed the examination of the assegai, had, in the confusion,
possessed herself of the weapon, and, gliding along a vegetable garden
flanking one end of the house, soon escaped to a kloof in the hills;
and, ascertaining Zoonah's route from some of the scouts, followed his
footsteps for two days, when she came up with him on the banks of a
river, whence they could perceive, on a distant elevation, an encampment
of British troops. She related the issue of Zoonah's manoeuvre, and he
departed, and told Lyle, as will be shown, how his mission had
prospered.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Poor Eleanor!
"She lay upon her pillow, pale," her cheek ashy white, and cold as clay.
The expression of utter hopelessness is seldom blended with that of
terror, for the grave of Hope is generally that of Fear also. But this
poor young creature seemed to have been singled out by Fortune as a
worthy victim for her angry caprices in every phase. Yes, utterly
despairing, she lay moaning softly, like a child that can scarce
comprehend its pain; but the large eye, usually so soft and downcast,
now shone with a wild lustre, and glanced rapidly and uneasily around.
Even her father's tread alarmed her--her lips quivered with affright,
and she gazed long at him before she could quite believe it was he.
Marion was sobbing, as though her overcharged heart would burst. Mr
Daveney took Eleanor's cold hand within his agitated palm. She tried to
smile in his face; it was the saddest smile you can imagine. Mrs
Daveney, overwhelmed with anxiety on her husband's account, had, on
Eleanor's recovering from her death-like trance, descended to the
trellised passage, and there watched the progress of the siege, till, on
the wounded being brought in, she had shared with Mrs Trail and Fitje
their duties towards them; poor Fitje running out at times to call May,
that she might employ him within--May sometimes answering her summons,
but oftener disobeying.
There were no cases requiring surgical skill--alas! those whose wounds
had disabled their limbs lay dead within the redoubt, speared by the
assegai of the relentless savage. Three had fallen, never to rise
again, and within the house rose the wailing sounds of "lamentation and
mourning and woe!" They reached the upper apartments. Eleanor's senses
were awakened at the cry of sorrow from the women.
She spoke for the first time.
"The world seems filled with grief," said she, and then looked vacantly
from her father's face to Marion's, and back again, with an air of sad
inquiry.
Mr Daveney took his stricken daughter in his arms; Marion followed.
Mrs Daveney waited for them at the foot of the stairs. Loud cries of
anguish burst upon them. Children were sitting on the floor, weeping
for lost fathers or brothers. A woman had fainted, and her baby tried
in vain to rouse her.
May drew a little cordon round the father and daughters, as they hurried
to the block-house, for shots were still interchanging between the
besieged and the besiegers, and Mrs Daveney, vacating her office in
favour of the matrons who had borne their part in the strife, followed
with Mrs Trail and Fitje, the latter carrying her sleeping infant in
her arms.
The grey light of morning was streaming through the loops of the little
tower. The enemy was evidently on the retreat, and firing as he
retired; and Mr Daveney, having seen Eleanor again laid upon a couch,
and gradually awakening to the consciousness of her mother's presence,
returned to the dwelling to restore order, as far as he could, among the
mourners, the wounded, and the untiring, fighting members of the
community.
Ormsby's first inquiry was for Eleanor--next for Marion; Ormsby was
becoming accustomed to think of others before himself. Frankfort, for
the first time since the beginning of the siege, cast himself on the
sofa, and, after several minutes' deliberation, inquired of Mr Daveney
whether he thought it likely that the troops had taken the field.
"I have not the slightest doubt of it," replied the magistrate; "the
demonstrations we have witnessed to-night are the result of information
from the tribes to the westward that the army is on the march; it will
not be long now before the expresses reach us,--that is, if the savages
do not cut them off. Sir John Manvers is new to this country; I hope he
will be guided by good advisers, and send strong escorts with his
dispatches."
"The escorts will of course return to the camps," observed Frankfort
inquiringly, "or will they proceed further?"
"I shall take advantage of the first arrival," answered his host, "to
communicate with some of the farms in the district; but," he added,
anticipating Frankfort's intentions, "they will return hither with all
possible speed after delivering their dispatches."
"Then," said Frankfort, rising, and clasping his host's hand warmly in
his own, "it will be time for me to go; if my regiment is not in the
field, I doubt not Sir John Manvers will permit me to accompany his
force as a volunteer; or I may be useful to him in heading a band of
burghers--"
All he could say in addition was, "I fear I shall ever remember Annerley
too well. You will, I hope, sometimes think of me as linked to you by
being a sharer of the calamity that haunts your house."
Only the commonplace remarks of life passed afterwards between these two
good men.
Mr Daveney admitted that this was clearly his duty as a soldier.
Three weary days dragged their slow length along ere the expresses
arrived. The Kafirs had occupied the immediate frontier in such
multitudes, that no small force could move; but now, having plundered
the settlements, and disposed of their prey to their hearts' content,
they had dispersed, and spread themselves along the bushy banks of the
great Fish River, waiting their opportunities of crossing into the
colony, which, had they known their own strength, they might have
devastated from the Fish River to the sea.
The dead were decently laid out beneath the mulberry-tree, the bell
swinging heavily in the oppressive air of a sultry autumn day. Here the
mourners gathered round to take a last look of the uncoffined corpses of
the brave. The household, with few exceptions, assembled to listen to
the prayer and exhortation pronounced by the good missionary, for the
pressure of circumstances would not admit of their lingering over the
grave, which was to contain all three. Then the comrades of the poor,
sacrificed settlers, with muskets reversed, formed in funeral order
round the bearers, and Mr Daveney having taken his place as chief
mourner, the sorrowful procession wended its way to the ground which had
been purchased for a chapel; and there, in sad and hurried fashion, the
deep, deep grave was filled.
It was well, indeed, that the master of Annerley had provisioned his
little fortress, the inmates of which amounted to forty persons, the
greater proportion women and children. The defenders of the wagon
barricades had saved their span-oxen, but it would have been imprudent
to kill these unless driven to the necessity, as, without oxen, how were
they to travel, if obliged to desert the settlement?
Daveney himself contemplated removing his family as soon as
circumstances would permit; for, although the buildings were safe, a sad
scene of devastation presented itself when day dawned upon it, after the
terrors of the night attack--broken palisades, scattered thorn-bushes,
the earth torn and bloody with the fearful struggles of men and beasts,
the vineyard laid waste and trampled, assegais half buried in heaps of
rubbish, and sheep that had been stabbed, and left to die, running
hither and thither, mutilated, and bleating piteously. The pretty
trellis-work was battered to pieces, and the walls defaced with
bullet-holes.
The enemy had taken his departure towards the colony, but this was only
suspected, till the fourth day, when the expresses from Sir John
Manvers's camp brought news of his whereabouts.
Then the younger men of the garrison sallied forth to the known
fastnesses for cattle, and brought back a few foot-sore beasts, which
had strayed from the rest; and the good host held a consultation with
Mr Trail, on the re-organisation of the little band under a stout old
settler, no longer able to ride, but quite capable of defending a post.
Marion looked from the loops of the block-house, and saw the departure
of her lover and Frankfort with an aching heart. It was known beyond
doubt that the Kafirs were mustering in the mountains; it was fully
believed that there must be an action; and even this, with such an
enemy, in such a country, could not be decisive.
She consoled herself by contrasting her own lot with that of her
unfortunate sister. Frankfort had not trusted himself to a last
interview with Eleanor; Ormsby's adieu had been as tender to her as to
her sister. Buoyant of spirit as he was, he yet could not help
admitting that the aspect of affairs was very grave.
Marion watched the two young men and their heavily-armed escort as they
traversed the plain through a slanting shower of rain, so determined,
that the space between the sky and earth looked as if it was ruled
slantwise with thick leaden lines. She could not see them long for the
storm, and she was descending from her look-out to her sister's bedside,
when she heard May, who was on the top of the block-house, exclaim,
"More riders--more news!"
A dozen men galloped from the eastward at speed. They brought the
welcome intelligence that Sir Adrian Fairfax had arrived at the mouth of
the Buffalo River with reinforcements from Cape Town, and that the
burghers from the upper districts had rallied round Sir John Manvers.
"Hurrah!" cried May, "we've got the Kafirs in a calabash;" and May was
right--the warriors were in the mountains between the forces of the two
generals; but the cattle, the great source of contention, was far
eastward, under the charge of a chief professedly friendly to England.
Mr Daveney hastened to send Sir Adrian a dispatch announcing his
suspicions of Lyle's confederacy with the rebel Boers, but suggested
that the idea should not be mooted for the present.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The roar of cannon and the sharp rattle of musketry proclaimed to the
settlers at Annerley, on the 18th of March, that the colonial forces to
the westward were engaged with the Kafir warriors.
It thundered on till night; then the fiery telegraphs were lit again
upon the mountain ridges--silence fell--heaven and earth grew dark
again. Morning came, the sun struggled with flying mists, and again the
echoes from shot and shell and musket reverberated from kloof to kloof,
and filled the hearts of the listeners with terror and dismay.
The little bushman kept watch upon the top of the block-house from dawn
till sunset, and Marion shared his vigil for hours. They were strongly
contrasted, were those two beings, both fashioned by God's wise hand.
The girl young, blooming, sunny-haired, and graceful; the bushman
stunted, ugly, and uncouth; nevertheless, they had many thoughts and
feelings in common.
Another day was passing, and still the battle raged; but in the
afternoon there was a lull. The very elements were still, and a soft
rain descended gently.
Still May and Marion kept watch together.
"Express!" shouted May.
Marion's lips were closed rigidly, her teeth chattered within; she knew
not how she reached the lower apartment: her father had left it; the
door stood open; the riders galloped in by the trampled vineyard paths.
"They are beaten, of course?" said Mr Daveney to the captain of the
riders.
"Beaten, but not conquered," replied the latter gravely; "and we have
lost--"
Marion, statue-like, appeared at her father's side.
"A hundred men and five officers," continued the burgher captain.
"We had friends in the action," said Mr Daveney, trying to be firm.
"Can you tell us if they are safe?"
"Their names, sir?"
"Frankfort and Ormsby."
"I have the list of officers killed and wounded," said the man; and
first he looked in his hat, next he fumbled in his capacious pockets,
then he turned his haversack round,--it was not there; examined his
pouch--"No; he was afraid he had lost it." How little could he
understand the agonised suspense of Marion.
He took off his wide-flapped hat again.
"See under the feather," said May.
The bushman's quick eye had detected a paper stuck in the string
encircling the hat; it was the list. May snatched it from him, and
handed it to Mr Daveney.
Neither Ormsby's nor Frankfort's name was there.
Marion burst into tears of gratitude and excitement.
The burgher spoke truth when he said the enemy was beaten, but not
conquered. May said there were holes in the calabash, and so it was;
the warrior bands were broken, but they infested the colony in all
directions, walking in and out of it as it pleased them, by manifold
kloofs and passes untrod by settlers.
It was Sir John Manvers's division which had been engaged. Sir Adrian
was still to the eastward, preparing to march beyond the Orange River;
the messages of defiance addressed to Sir John Manvers were referred to
him.
The master of Annerley, in utter dread of Lyle's reappearance at no
distant period, determined on retiring, as soon as possible, to the
lower and more civilised districts of the Cape Colony; and Mrs Daveney,
eagerly according with his plan, prepared at once for the journey, which
was to be undertaken as opportunities offered of travelling with
escorts.
Meanwhile comforting letters were received from Ormsby. Frankfort had
joined Sir Adrian's force. Eleanor tried to rouse herself to exertion,
and the day arrived when the family was to quit Annerley for ever.
May, to his infinite joy, was, with Fitje and his child, to accompany
the Daveneys.
"Be not heart-sore, missis," said he to Eleanor; "when the night gets
darkest, day is nearest;" and taking the long whip from Griqua Adam, he
gave the signal for departure by a loud sharp crack, that echoed like
twenty whips up the kloof.
The colonists, men, women, and children, with Mr and Mrs Trail, stood
at the gate of the avenue. Some begged to say "Good-bye" to the young
"missis," and the curtains of the wagon were drawn aside for a minute;
but those who caught sight of Eleanor turned away frightened and
sorrowful at her ghastly looks, and begged the rest not to trouble her.
Her mother was beside her. Eleanor's head was pillowed on her
sympathising bosom. Truly did that mother deplore her own blind,
obstinate folly in trusting her unfortunate daughter's happiness to that
which, had she chosen to look deeply into it, she would have seen was
but a chance of well-doing after all.
Oh! how many are there who _will_ work for themselves, instead of
waiting for Providence's gracious helping hand.
Mr Daveney and Marion were on horseback.
The people pressed forward to say "Farewell." Father and daughter had a
hand for each, and one blue-eyed, fair-haired child would be lifted up
to be kissed.
"Ah!" said an Englishwoman, "bless Miss Marion! she has no pride."
"Troth, an ye'r wrong," interposed an Irish one. "Sure it's herself
that has the real pride--the pride of the lady, that knows she does not
demean herself by showing the good-will to all God's creatures."
The little procession moved slowly and silently across the grassy plain.
The people at Annerley watched it till the glittering bayonets of the
escort were lost in the haze; and when "the master" was fairly out of
sight, Markland, the old settler, put the house in order, and assumed
the command.
Daveney had planned his line of march intending to avoid Sir John
Manvers's camp; but, on the third day's journey, the sound of harmonious
voices swelling in chorus struck on the surprised ears of the party. A
deep glen lay just below; the cavalcade halted; they could see nothing,
for the cliffs overhung the gorge. The sounds drew near--'twas an old
Scotch air, very martial and stirring, especially in that deep solitude.
In front was an opening, an outlet from the glen. Mr Daveney and
Marion rode forward, and looked down.
Soldiers singing on a march! Reader, did you ever hear it? Ah, it is
worth a world of fine, well-taught, scientific melodies! You should
have seen them in this mountain-pass. They were Highlanders, not
kilted, but they wore the "tartan trews."
Beating time with steady tread to the noble chorus, they passed below
the cliff from which Daveney and his daughter Marion watched them.
Truly this had a singular effect in that ravine, so like a Scottish
glen, with mountains looming far and near, and--oh! rare in Southern
Africa--a waterfall tumbling and foaming over hoary rocks.
Softly it rose and fell upon the air, again burst forth in full harmony
as the glen widened, and died away in the shade where the pathway
narrowed between tall hills.
All was still once more, save the murmur of the waterfall. The Daveneys
took their station for the night. The escort formed its cordon round
the little bivouac, and May directed the lighting of the fires and
preparations for the usual sunset meal.
Midnight--Daveney held that watch himself.
"Who goes there?"
"Friends," answered a voice--it was Ormsby's. He was in command of a
company of soldiers. Sir John Manvers was extending his force. The
Daveneys found themselves unexpectedly within the lines of the British
troops.