Part 76 (1/2)
The place where they stood, or rather crouched, was a ring of bush.
Above, rose the great yellow-wood tree, with long, tangled monkey ropes trailing from its boughs. Around, however, all was tolerably open, although the trunks of the large forest trees which overshadowed the spot, shutting out the sunlight, might afford some cover to the foe.
And this openness of the surroundings might yet prove the salvation of the devoted group, who stood there hemmed in by relentless and eager foes.
”We'll hold our own, never fear!” cried Claverton. ”We were in a worse fix that day down by the Bas.h.i.+--you remember, Jack?--when a blast of your old post-horn sent the n.i.g.g.e.rs flying in every direction.”
The wounded man smiled faintly at the reminiscence.
”Give us a revolver, some one,” he said. ”I can still draw a bead lying here.”
”No, you can't. Just lie quiet, old chap, and leave the fun to us this time. The Dutchmen are sure to come up soon, and then we'll turn the tables, as we did that other time.”
It was their only chance. Not for ever could that brave handful hope to hold their own against such desperate odds. They could hear the firing of their comrades on the hillside far away; but these had enough to do to act on the defensive; no relief was to be looked for from them. And now the savages began to call to each other, and scores of dark shapes could be seen flitting amid the semi-gloom of the forest--now running a few yards, now sinking down, as it were, into the very earth, as the well-directed fire of the defenders began to tell, but each time springing up again, and more of them crowding on behind, and advancing nearer--nearer--nearer.
”Now, then, you six, blaze a volley into that low bush there, at the foot of the tree. At least three n.i.g.g.e.rs are lying there,” said Claverton.
They obeyed, and upon the detonation came a loud yell and groans from more than one throat, notifying that the move had been effective. Two bodies rolled out into the open, and two more, badly hit, staggered behind the huge trunk.
”That's it, boys! Hurrah! We'll give them pepper! They won't come to close quarters, not they!” And catching their leader's spirit, the men, all young fellows brimful of pluck, cheered wildly and gazed eagerly round in search of more targets.
There was silence for a moment, and then a crowd of Kafirs could be seen gliding like spectres among the trees.
”Here they come, by Jingo!” muttered several of the group, but the savages hardly seemed to see them. They pa.s.sed on, running, as for dear life, many of them turning their heads to look back. And the reason of this soon became evident, as a strong, harsh voice was heard exclaiming: ”_Nouw kerels, skiet maar! Skiet em doed, die verdomde schepsels_,”
[”Now, boys, shoot away! Shoot them dead, the d.a.m.ned rascals.”] and immediately a tremendous volley was poured into the retreating foe.
Never was any sound more welcome to mortal ear than the harsh, familiar dialect to the ears of the beleaguered group to whom it brought deliverance, and a ringing cheer went up from their midst as they recognised the voice of the old Dutch commandant, who with his men had thus arrived timely to the rescue. Spread out in a long line through the bush the Boers advanced, cautiously but rapidly, shooting down the flying foe in every direction. And another wild cheer went up in reply, as Jim Brathwaite, at the head of his mounted men, charged up the path in the hope of cutting off the enemy's retreat, or at any rate of thinning his numbers while crossing the open ground some two miles beyond.
”Hallo, Claverton!” he cried as he rode past. ”Better fall back, as you're dismounted. The ground's quite clear behind.” And the battle, which had now become a rout, swept on, farther and farther up the pa.s.s.
Indeed our friends had as much as they could, manage in transporting their wounded comrade with all the comfort--rough at best--that they could muster under the circ.u.mstances; but it had to be done, and the poor fellow went through agonies. His pluck and cheerfulness never failed him. ”I say, Claverton,” he remarked, with an attempt at a smile, ”that old humbug McShane will have the laugh of me now. How the old beggar will crow!” But the speaker knew full well that not a soul among the forces now in the field would be more concerned and grieved on his account than the fiery but soft-hearted Irish doctor.
The camp was reached at last; but long before it was reached, the whole force had overtaken them, returning from the pursuit. The bodies of those who had fallen were found, horribly mutilated, and were hastily buried where they fell. But the undertaking had been a failure. The Boer commando had been unable to arrive at the rendezvous in time, owing to the same reason which had delayed Brathwaite's Horse. It had been engaged by a large body of the enemy evidently thrown out for the purpose, and as soon as it had beaten these off it hastened to the relief of our friends, as we have seen. And the upshot of the whole affair was that nearly two thousand rebels, with an immense number of cattle, had succeeded in breaking through, and had gone to join their countrymen in the fastnesses of the Amatola Mountains.
All through that night the wounded man lay, watched in turns by his old comrades, those among whom he had spent his life. A stupor had succeeded the agony which he had first undergone, and now he lay comparatively free from pain and breathing heavily. It happened that there was no surgeon in the camp, McShane being with the larger column some twenty-five miles off; and though three men were galloping across country to fetch him, it had long since become evident to all, even the sufferer himself, that the whole Faculty of Medicine could not save his life. He was doomed from the very first; that ball in the side had decided his fate. So they watched beside him there, and many times in the course of the night would his companions-in-arms steal to the door of the tent to whisper for news, for poor Jack was a favourite with the whole corps. So still and beautiful was the night that it required some extent of imagination to realise the stirring drama which had been enacted the day before, and an hour after midnight the camp was wrapped in slumber and darkness, save for that one faint light burning in the dying man's tent, a meet symbol of the life that was flickering within, fainter, and fainter, and fainter. Away on the slopes of the far Amatola the red signal fires of the savages twinkled and glowed, and above rose the eternal peaks in dark outline.
It was towards dawn. Jim Brathwaite and Claverton alone were in the tent when Armitage seemed suddenly to awake from his death-like stupor.
”Who's there?” he whispered. ”That you, Jim?”
In a moment Jim was at his side.
”Well, look here, old chap, I'm off the hooks this time, and no mistake.
It wouldn't much matter--only--” and he paused.
”It wouldn't much matter,” he continued, as if with an effort; ”but-- Jim--hang it, it's Gertie I'm thinking of. Poor little girl, she'll be left all alone--,” again he seemed to hesitate, and by the light of the dim lantern, it could be seen that the dying man's eyes were very moist.
”You'll look after her a little, now and then, won't you, Jim, for the sake of old times? There'll be enough to keep her comfortably--when everything's realised--that's one consolation. And tell the little girl not to fret. It can't be helped.”
Solemnly Jim promised to carry out his wishes. He was a man of few words, but they were from his heart.