Part 73 (1/2)

”My dear boys, trust me,” he said. ”I want to see you stout men, not cripples on crutches, and- How dare you, you black-looking scoundrel!”

”Joeboy!” we shouted together excitedly. ”Jump in. Hurrah!”

As the doctor had spoken we noticed Joeboy's black face, with gleaming eyes and grinning mouth, rising above the big box at the end of the wagon. He wanted no further orders, but swung himself in lightly.

”Um?” he exclaimed. ”Boss Val, Boss Denham right?”

”Yes,” I cried, holding out my hand, which he took. ”Joeboy, you frightened me; I thought you were killed.”

”Um? Joeboy killed? What for? Been look all among the dead ones and broken ones; um dead quite.”

”Who's dead?” I cried.

”Um? Ugly white boss captain, Irish boss Boer. Joeboy meant to kill um, but um run away too.”

”That will do,” said the doctor. ”Just listen to my orders before I go off to the poor fellows waiting for me. You two are not to set foot to the ground. Promise me. I'll let you keep that black fellow to lift you about. He will do so, I suppose?” he added, turning to me.

”He will. He'd be only too glad.”

The doctor rose, nodded, and went away; and soon after we had visits from the colonels of both the regiments, and from the young captain who had saved us from the zeal of his men, all these visitors congratulating us warmly upon our escape, and praising Joeboy for his bravery.

That afternoon we were on the march in what Denham called our peripatetic hospital; but he was not happy. Pain and disappointment seemed always uppermost in spite of the friendly attentions we received from his brother-officers.

”Yes, it's all very good of you,” he said sadly; ”but fancy being laid aside now, after the Boers have been thrashed and there's nothing to do but give them the finis.h.i.+ng-cuts to make them behave better in the future.”

As days glided by, Denham, to his surprise, learned that there was no more fighting to do.

First of all, our little forces of the Light Horse and the infantry were depressed by the news that the General, with the main body, had met with a terrible reverse from the Boers, whose peculiar way of fighting had stood them in good stead and made up for the qualities they lacked.

Thus the making of history rolled on; and, to the rage and indignation of the fighting-men, the order went forth that there was to be peace; that the troops were to be withdrawn, volunteers disbanded, and everything settled by diplomacy and treaty. I need not go into that matter; my father only shook his head and said that such an arrangement could never mean lasting peace.

”I'm glad the fighting is over, my boys,” father said to Denham, who was sharing our new temporary home.

”Oh, Mr Moray,” he replied, ”how can you talk like that?”

”Because I am a man of the ploughshare and not of the sword. I want to get back to my quiet farming life again, and that is impossible while war devastates the land.”

”But you'll never start a home again in the old place?”

”Never,” said my father-”never.”

”No,” I said; ”the Boers ruined you. They ought to be made to pay.”

”Not ruined, Val,” said my father, ”though the burning and destruction meant a serious loss; but I had not been idle all the years I was there, and I dare say we can soon raise a home in Natal, where we can be at peace. Nature is very kind out here in this sunny, fruitful land; and I dare say when Mr Denham comes to see us, as I hope he will often do in the future, we can make him as comfortable as in the past days when the farm was younger, and perhaps find him a little hunting and shooting within reach.”

”You'll come, Denham?” I said.

”Come? Too much, I'm afraid. I'm to have no more soldiering, I hear. I've been corresponding with my people, and asking my father if it is possible for me to get into the regulars. He wrote back 'No,' with three lines underneath, and said I must go back to stock-raising till my country wants me again to unsheath the sword.”