Part 77 (1/2)

A light burned in Claverton's tent as they were about to enter, and, pausing for a moment, the figures of the two men were thrown out into full relief.

Crack!

A bright jet shoots out of the gloom just beneath the shadowy outline of the ridge overlooking the camp, and the sharp report rolls away in dull echo upon the night. Then another flash, and, amid the roar that follows, Claverton and his companion both experience a strange, jarring sensation, for a bullet has pa.s.sed, with a shrill whiz, between them, narrowly missing the head of either.

”Good shot that, whoever it is,” remarked Naylor, coolly, while his companion, who had quickly extinguished the light, was by his side again. ”There'll be tall cannonading for the next half-hour, and tolerably wild shooting, too.”

And there was. The effect of the double shot upon that camp--which fancied itself so secure--was marvellous. In a moment every man had seized his piece, and was standing eagerly peering into the gloom in the direction of the shot--and not merely that, for many discharged their weapons haphazard--and presently, as Naylor had said, the cannonading waxed alarming. The frontier corps, beyond a few shots fired on the impulse of the moment, had remained cool; they knew the futility of blazing at random into the darkness, and had too much respect for themselves and their reputation to be made the subject of a practical joke played by one or two skulking Kafirs. But the camps of the Fingo and Hottentot levies were like a disturbed ants' nest; and heeding the voices of their officers no more than the wind, those startled and panic-stricken auxiliaries poured a terrific fire into the darkness, and the air was aflame with the flash of their wild, reckless volleys as they blazed away--round after round--as fast as ever they could reload.

It was in vain that their officers strove to restrain them--their voices were lost in the constant bellow of musketry. Now and then they would knock down a refractory n.i.g.g.e.r or two within reach, but it had no effect upon the others, and confusion reigned supreme.

”Well, Lumley, here's a lively kettle of fish.”

He addressed, turned, perspiring and despairing in his frantic attempts to restore order.

”Good G.o.d! Claverton, is that you? Now just look at these d.a.m.ned fools. Drop that, will you?” he roared, bestowing a violent kick on one of his men who was blazing away without even bringing his piece to his shoulder. The fellow gave a yell of pain and made off.

At length the confusion began to abate. Seeing no further sign of an attack upon the camp, and their ammunition having decreased alarmingly, the native auxiliaries ceased firing by degrees, each man, as he did so, sneaking off looking very much ashamed of himself.

”d.a.m.ned fools, in sooth,” a.s.sented Claverton, when the uproar had calmed down. ”But, Lumley, I wish you'd just turn up that fellow Smith--Vargas Smith. There's something I want to see him about at once.”

”Certainly. Here, pa.s.s the word there for Corporal Smith,” he called out.

”Oh, he's promoted, then?”

”Well, yes. A sharp fellow, you know; helps me no end.”

But Corporal Smith was not forthcoming. He was nowhere to be found, in fact. He was not on guard, for he had been in the camp not long before the alarm, they said, but now there was no trace of him.

”How long before?”

Well, it might have been half an hour since he was seen, certainly not much more.

”Not less?”

No, not less. On that point they were all ready to swear.

”Even as I suspected,” thought Claverton to himself. And he waited some time longer talking to Lumley, and ironically bantering some of his former men for their contribution to the recent chaos.

”A set of smart fellows you are, eh, old Cobus?” he said, addressing one of the sergeants. ”Blazing away all night at the stars and bushes.”

”Nay what, kaptyn,” rejoined the old Hottentot, shamefacedly. ”You see a lot of us shooting like that must hit somebody. We shall find many of the _schelms_ lying there in the morning.”

”Many of the _schelms_? Devil a bit. One or two of your own sentries, perhaps.”

”No--Kafirs, kaptyn.”

”Bah. There won't be a leaf or a twig left on the bushes within a circle of two miles, perhaps, but if you find a single Kafir lying within it, I'll engage to eat him.”

There was a roar of laughter, half deprecatory, half of intense amus.e.m.e.nt, from the group of listeners who had drawn near, at this sarcastic hit. But just then a diversion occurred in the shape of the reappearance of the missing Corporal Smith.

”Hallo, Smith; where the devil have you been?” cried Lumley.

”Been on guard, sir,” was the reply, in a tone which seemed to add, ”and now shut up.”