Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > Dash from Diamond City > This page
A Dash from Diamond City, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 15. A Despatch-Rider's Work |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER FIFTEEN. A DESPATCH-RIDER'S WORK "Hurrah!" cried West, as soon as they were once more well out in the open, their horses breathed, and ready to answer to any demand made upon them by their riders. "Keep abreast, and open out more. Faster! faster! We have only a short start this time." "But we'll make the best of it," cried Ingleborough, between his teeth. "Bend down well! The firing has begun!" "It is speaking for itself," said West grimly, as the buzzing whirr of the bullets began again, while faintly heard there came, half smothered by the thudding of their own horses' hoofs, the clattering of Boer mounts being led out over the stones of the ravine in which they had been hid. "See any more of the old party?" cried West, as they rode well out now on to the level. "No; we've turned off so much that they are quite in our rear." "Then the way's clear for the river?" "If we can reach it, lad," said Ingleborough; "and if we do it may be in flood, or impassable where we hit it." "Or a hundred other things," cried West angrily, as they tore along at full gallop now, with the bullets flying round them. "Don't begin to prophesy evil! I say we're going to leave the Boers far behind and escape." "I can't look at our chance in the same flowery light as you do, my boy," replied Ingleborough. "My breakfast wasn't good enough to inspire me with so much hope, and I should advise you to open your haversack." "Nonsense! I could not eat now!" "But you must be ready to if you don't begin, my lad. My advice is that you get ready to eat those sandwiches, for you mustn't let the good verbal meat inside get into the enemy's hands." Ingleborough had hardly spoken before his horse suddenly checked, throwing him forward upon its neck and nearly sending him off. But he clung to it desperately, while the poor beast's next act was to rear up, pawing hard at the air. In spite of the difficulty, Ingleborough shuffled himself back into the saddle, speaking encouraging words to the shivering animal, which kept on pawing at the air for a few moments and just gave its rider time to throw himself off sidewise before it went right over backwards, struck out with all four legs in the air, and then subsided--motionless. West drew rein instantly as he tore by, and cantered back, reckless of the whistling bullets which were flying around. "Beg their pardon!" cried Ingleborough, struggling to his feet after a heavy fall. "I retract my words." "Hurt?" cried West excitedly. "Rather! Ground is pretty hard!" "Here," cried West, leaping off; "jump into my saddle, and I'll hold on by the mane and run." "Nonsense! Absurd! Don't be a fool!" cried Ingleborough angrily. "The game's up for me! Jump up and gallop again! Don't let the brutes take you too." "Likely!" said West, taking out his handkerchief and beginning to fold it bandage fashion. "Your head's bleeding. Let me tie this round." "Let it bleed!" cried Ingleborough angrily, and picking up his soft felt hat, which had fallen in the dust, he stuck it on tightly. "That's bandaged!" he said. "Now then, be off before it's too late." "Of course; that's just what you would have done!" said West quietly. "Never mind what I would have done," cried Ingleborough angrily. "Ride for your life!" "Do you take me for a Dutchman?" said West coolly. "Oh, you fool--you fool!" cried Ingleborough, stamping his foot angrily. "You'll be too late! No, they're dismounting. Now then, up with you and make a dash." West gave a glance to right and left, to see that some twenty of the enemy had leaped from their horses and were advancing, while twice as many more, who covered them with their rifles, came slowly on, shouting to him the Dutch for "Hands up!" The position was perilous, though the chances were even still about being taken or riding clear if he went at full gallop; but West did not stir. "No, thankye, old fellow," he said. "It would be such dull work riding alone. What do you say to taking cover amongst the bushes?" "Bah! Cover for the front, and none for flank or rear!" "We could squat down back to back," said West coolly, "and shoot a few of them first. I want to fight the brutes with their own weapons." "Once more, will you make a bolt of it?" cried Ingleborough faintly. "No--I--will--not!" said West slowly and distinctly, and then, making a dash, he caught his comrade round the waist, letting him sink gently down upon the sand and stones, for his legs had given way and his face turned ghastly. "Thanks, old man," said Ingleborough, with a feeble smile and his eyes looking his gratitude. He lay still now, with his countenance seeming to grow fixed and hard; but West opened his water-flask and poured a few drops between the poor fellow's lips, when he began to revive at once, and lay perfectly still while his comrade removed his hat and proceeded to bind the ready-folded handkerchief tightly about the bleeding wound, caused by sharp contact with a stone when he fell. "West," groaned Ingleborough, recovering now a little, "once more, lad, think, think; never mind me! Mount; never mind the firing; ride for your life!" "Once more, old fellow," said West, through his teeth, "I won't leave you in the lurch!" "But the despatches, lad. I am only one, and they are to save a thousand." "Ah!" cried West, springing to his feet as if the object of his journey had been driven out of his head by the excitement of the moment, and he took a step towards his horse, just as, to his intense surprise, Ingleborough's mount suddenly threw up its muzzle, made a plunge, and found its feet, shook itself violently, and whinnied, as if it had just recovered from being stunned. "Here, make one effort," cried West, seizing the steed's bridle and leading it to where its rider lay. "Look--your pony's all right again! Can you mount?" "No," said Ingleborough faintly, as he made an effort to struggle to his knees, but only fell back with a groan. "Can't! Feel as if my neck's broken and my shoulder numbed. Now will you make a dash while you can?" West hesitated, and duty mastered friendship and humane feeling for his companion. He was but one, and the despatch might deal with the lives of a thousand men in peril of their lives. "Yes, I must go!" he groaned, making for his horse; but he was too late. For though the Boers, apparently from a feeling that they were quite sure of their prey, had advanced slowly and cautiously, each man with his rifle presented and finger on trigger, their movements showed plenty of cunning. They had opened out so as to get round the horses, watching the young man's actions all the time, and when he at last made for his mount they were close up, and rifle-barrels bristled around, every muzzle threatening and grim. "Throw up your hands!" came in chorus from a score of throats, and directly after the same order was given in fair English by two of the ragged, unkempt, big-bearded enemy. West looked fiercely round like a hunted animal brought to bay by the hounds, waiting to seize the first one that sprang, and ground his teeth with rage; but he paid no heed to the men's words. "Throw up your hands!" roared one of the men. "Throw up your own!" said West defiantly, and then to his bitter annoyance he started on one side, for there was a flash, simultaneously a whizz close to his face, and instantly the sharp report of a rifle. Recovering from the sudden shock to his nerves caused by his previous unbelief that the enemy would be so cowardly as to fire upon a perfectly helpless prisoner, West swung himself round to face the man who had fired at him from such close quarters that the flash of the powder had scorched his cheek. The Boer was busily thrusting a fresh cartridge into the breech of his piece, and as he met the young man's eyes he burst out into a coarse and brutal laugh. "Throw up your hands, then, you cursed rooinek!" he cried, "or I'll blow out your brains!" "Not if I die for it!" cried West. "You cowardly cur!" And turning as the Boers closed him in, he continued, with bitter contempt, and speaking in their own tongue: "I suppose you are a specimen of the brave peasant farmers making a struggle for their liberty!" "You keep a civil tongue in your head, young man," growled out one of the party in English, "unless you want to feed the crows!" "You keep your cowardly gang in order first before you dictate to me!" cried West, turning upon the speaker sharply. "Do you call it manly to fire at close quarters upon a party of two?" "No!" said the man shortly, as he turned round and said a few angry words in the Boer jargon--words which were received by some with angry growls, while the major portion remained silent and sullen. "You're not our cornet! Mind your own business, before you're hurt!" cried the man who had fired, taking a few steps towards the spot where West stood, and, seizing him savagely by the throat, he tried to force him to his knees. But he tried only with one hand--his left--his right being engaged by his rifle, and to his utter astonishment the prisoner retorted by kicking his legs from under him and flinging him upon his back. A yell of anger arose from some, and of delight from others, all looking on while the discomfited Boer sprang up with a cry of rage, cocked his rifle, and, taking quick aim, would have fired point-blank at the prisoner had not his act been anticipated by the Boer who had before spoken. Quick as thought he sprang upon his companion, striking the presented rifle upwards with a blow from his own, and then grasping the infuriated man by the collar. "None of that!" he cried fiercely in Dutch. "Cornet or no cornet, I'm not going to stand by and see a cowardly murder done! We've got to fight, brother burghers, but we'll fight like soldiers and men. Our name's been stained enough by what has been done already." "Here, you'd better go and fight for the rooineks," cried the discomfited Boer fiercely. "I'm going to fight for my home and country, brothers," cried West's defender, "the same as you are: not help to murder a helpless boy who has behaved like a brave man." The portion of the force who had seemed disposed to side against the speaker were disarmed by his words, and there was a general cheer at this, while the cause of the trouble growled out: "You're a traitor to your country, and the commandant shall hear of this." "No, no, no, no!" came in chorus. "Serves you right." West made no resistance now, as his defender signed to him to give up his rifle, which, plus the bandolier, was handed over with a sigh, Ingleborough's having already been taken away. The next thing done was to search the prisoners' pockets--watch, purse, and pocket-book being taken away, but the inner belts containing the greater part of their money were entirely overlooked, while West stood breathing hard, his face wrinkled up and an agonising pain contracting his heart, for the Boer who had defended him unbuttoned the flap of his haversack, thrust in his hand, and brought out a couple of cake loaves, and then, one after the other, two carefully wrapped-up sandwiches, standing for a few moments with them in his hand, hesitating, while Ingleborough, who had recovered his senses, darted a meaning look at his suffering companion. "It's all over with our expedition!" he said to himself. "Why didn't poor Noll eat his sandwiches?" The moments were as agonising to him as to West, who could only stand in silence; but, having become somewhat versed in the tricks of those who fought the law through his friendship with Norton, an idea crossed his mind, and turning in a faint appealing way to the Boer who seemed to be holding in suspense the scales of success and failure, he said: "Don't take our bit of provisions away! We're prisoners; isn't that enough?" The Boer fixed him with his eyes, noted his pallid face and the blood trickling down from the cut caused by his fall, and then, as if satisfied and moved by a feeling akin to compassion, he nodded his head, thrust the cake and the sandwich-like papers back into West's haversack, and let it swing again under the young man's arm. "Lucky for them we're not hungry!" he said, in his own tongue, "or we shouldn't have left them much." "Why don't you make them eat it?" cried the man who had fired. "For aught we know, it may be poisoned." "Bah!" cried their friend, who had done the pair so good a turn; "let them be!" A couple of the Boers then approached with reins, but, in spite of the opposition that had taken place, the man who had taken West's part again interfered, just as they proceeded to raise Ingleborough to bind his hands behind his back. "There is no need!" said the man sharply. "Can't you see that he is too weak to stand? Help him upon his horse, and one go on either side to keep him in the saddle." Then turning to West, he continued: "Mount; but you will be shot down directly if you attempt to escape." "I am not going to leave my friend," said West coldly. "I could have galloped away had I wanted to. Let me walk by his side to help him." The man looked at the speaker searchingly and then nodded, West taking the place of one of the Boers, who placed himself just behind him with rifle ready. Then the little party moved off towards the kopje where the prisoners had been surprised. "How are you?" asked West, as soon as they were in motion. "I feel as if I were somewhere else!" was the half-laughing, half-bitter reply. "All use seems to have been completely knocked out of me, and the hills and kopjes go sailing round and round." "That will soon pass off," said West, and then after a short pause: "Well, we're prisoners after all. It does seem hard now we have got so far! I wonder where they'll send us?" "It does not much matter!" said Ingleborough. "Anywhere will do, if I can lie down and rest till this dreadful swimming and confusion passes off. As soon as it does we'll escape--to eat the sandwiches," he added meaningly. "If we can," said West; "but don't talk about them again! Oh, Ingle, I wish I had your sharp wits." "Pooh! Where there's a will there's a way," said Ingleborough faintly. "You might have escaped, but as you insisted upon being taken to share my lot I was obliged to do something, and now I must do nothing but think of how to get away." The effort of talking was evidently too much for the poor fellow, and West confined himself to keeping him upright in the saddle, from which he would certainly have fallen but for his comrade's willing arm. West was so fully occupied by his task, the two Boers offering not the slightest aid, that he paid no heed to the fact that their captors led them right round to the far side of the kopje, and then through a narrow gap of the rocks into a natural amphitheatre, wherein there was ample room for the formation of a great laager, the wagons being arranged in an irregular ellipse, thoroughly hidden from the veldt outside, while the rocks of the kopje roughly formed a rampart of vast strength, and apparently quite impregnable. West took in all he could as he and his companion in misfortune were led through and within the barricade of wagons to where the horses and cattle were securely tethered, while a burst of cheering saluted the returning party as soon as it was seen that they had prisoners and a couple of likely-looking mounts. It was a surprise, for no one journeying across the veldt could for a moment have supposed that so secure a natural stronghold existed behind the rocky barriers. The next minute the prisoners saw their sturdy ponies tied up to the tail of one of the great wagons, so near that West began to wonder whether when darkness came it would be possible to creep to their side, cut them free, mount, and make a old dash for liberty. But a glance at Ingleborough showed him that this would be impossible, for the poor fellow had sunk over sidewise as soon as he had been lifted out of the saddle, and lay perfectly inert and with his eyes half-closed. West knelt down by him and, taking his slung water-bottle, he raised his injured companion's head a little and began to trickle, a few drops at a time, a little water between the sufferer's lips. He was occupied in this way when he noted that a large group of the Boers had approached, one of whom, a short sturdy-looking individual, with swarthy skin and thick black beard plentifully sprinkled with grey, suddenly said, in good English: "What is the matter with him--shot?" "No," replied West. "His horse was struck, and reared up, and my friend was thrown heavily upon his head." "Oh, is that all?" said the Boer nonchalantly. "Let him sleep it off! But listen, you: we shoot prisoners who try to escape." "I shall not try to escape and leave him," said West coldly. The Boer commandant, for such he proved to be, gave him a keen look and then turned away to speak to one of the men, the result of the orders he gave being that Ingleborough was carried to one of the wagons forming the laager, and West ordered to follow and wait upon his friend, who, after his injury had been carefully bathed and bandaged, sank into a swoon-like sleep, leaving West to sit thinking of their position and pondering upon the fact that the two Basuto ponies were tethered in sight of where he sat, and that he still had the treasured-up despatches safe. His great trouble now seemed to be whether he should conceal the papers about his person or leave them in the haversack carelessly hung from the side of the wagon-tilt, lest he should be searched again and with a more serious result than the loss of watch and purse. Night came at last, with the difficulty still unsolved, and a yet more serious one to keep him awake. It was this: Ought he to wait till well on in the night, and then creep out by the sentry on duty outside, get to one of the ponies, and try and steal away? And the time glided on, with the question still unanswered. There was the horse, and there was the despatch; but there were also the Boers by the hundred, hemming him completely in, and, even if he were disposed to leave Ingleborough to his fate, any attempt seemed to be mad to a degree. _ |
||