Charge! Part 70

"And we are to go through the agony of lying here and listening all the while, perfectly helpless. Oh Denham, they'll never carry the place-will they?"

"Not unless it's quite a surprise," he replied. "Oh no," he added more confidently; "our lads will be too smart for that."

"They'll try hard," I said, "and fail, losing a great number of men, and they'll come back at daybreak mad with rage."

"And shoot us," said Denham coolly. "That's it."

"Let me try at your knots now."

"No. Listen; the sentries are coming in again."

He was right; for, as if suspicious, the sentries climbed in, four strong, two standing with rifles at the ready, while the others stripped down the top rug and carefully examined our wrists and ankles, then spread the karosse over us once more, uttering grunts of satisfaction as they did so.

Alone again, we lay listening for the movements of the Boer troops: but the sounds had nearly died out.

Then the sentries began to talk together earnestly, and it seemed as if the man on duty in front of the wagon had joined those at the back, with the result that the conversation was becoming excited.

"They're on the lookout after the advance," whispered Denham. "It seems to be very dark outside. I believe it will not be long before we hear the attack begin."

"No; they'll wait till our men are asleep."

"Perhaps," said Denham; "but it must be getting late. Our fellows may be asleep now."

"Yes," I replied, with a sigh; and then irritably, "Why did you do that? You can whisper."

"What do you mean?" he asked after a pause.

"Hitting me on the hands like that. You hurt me dreadfully."

"I didn't-" he began; but I stopped him with an excited "Hus.h.!.+" and lay perfectly still, the perspiration starting out all over me.

"What is it?" whispered Denham, after waiting for some time. "What's that gnawing and tearing sound?"

"Something under the wagon," I replied very softly.

"A lion?" he whispered.

"No; some one as brave as a lion. He has been cutting a long slit in the karosse, and now he has hold of my wrists with one hand, and he's sawing with a knife through the thong with the other."

"Val!" panted the poor fellow wildly.

The hot perspiration on my face turned icily cold at this cry, for I heard a quick movement among the sentries, and two of them sprang up on the wagon to look at us lying there upon our backs beneath the upper karosse, under the yellow light of the lantern. I thought now all was over; the new hope had faded out into darkness; but a measure of confidence returned when Denham, feigning sleep, muttered, and uttered a sob which ended in a low, uneasy groan.

My eyes not being quite shut, I could dimly see through the narrow slit the faces of two of the Boers, one showing his teeth in a grin as they drew back and returned to their companions, when the talking began again. As this went on I felt the sawing movement of the knife being resumed, the two active hands which had been pa.s.sed between the slits in the wagon-bottom working more rapidly. Then there was a pause, and I felt terrible pain as something thin and hard was pa.s.sed under one of the bands before the sawing recommenced. I could hardly repress a cry of pain; but silence meant perhaps liberty and life. I knew, too, that it was a piece of iron that had been thrust in for the knife to cut down upon and save my wrist from a wound.

Just then Denham whispered, "I couldn't help it, old chap; but I cheated them afterwards. Is he still cutting?"

"Yes; he has gone through the reins on my wrists, and has begun at my ankles."

"Val," whispered Denham again, with his face below the great rug, "it's that big black angel of a fellow, Joeboy."

"No," I said softly, though I could hardly utter my thoughts, my voice panting with emotion. "It's not Joeboy: the hands are too small. It's my brother come to our help."

I knew now that my previous night's experience was not a dream, and that Bob really was in the Boer camp with my father, and had crept under the wagon and whispered hope.

"Are there two Val Morays in the world?" murmured poor Denham, with something which sounded very much like a sob.

Lying perfectly still, I made no answer. I knew that the knife had set my ankles free; but they were still tethered, not by raw-hide rope but with insensibility, as if perfectly dead.

"They will come right in time," I thought, my heart meanwhile beating fast. "Bob will tell us what to do. Will it be to make our escape when the attention of the Boer sentries is taken off us by the coming attack upon the fort?"

Then I was listening to a low tearing sound as of the knife pa.s.sing once more through the skin-rug, and directly after I heard Denham begin to breathe hard. I understood what that meant. Making a slight effort, as I lay covered up, I brought my arms out from beneath me, numbed and aching but not powerless, and thrust my left hand inside my flannel s.h.i.+rt, my fingers coming in contact with the b.u.t.t of my revolver.

"My hands are free, Val," Denham whispered faintly.

"Feel for your revolver," I whispered back. "Hist! Careful"-for I could plainly hear the Boer sentries coming towards the wagon again, and the faint cutting noise ceased as the talking stopped.

One of the men placed his hand on the back of the great vehicle, and was in the act of climbing in, doubtless to examine our fastenings again. My left hand now clutched my revolver tightly, though I knew that we could do nothing, in our helpless state, to save ourselves.

"Oh, how hard!" I thought; "just when there was a chance of life!"

Then my breath seemed to stop short, for the sound of a shot came to us from out of the distance where the Boer advance must be. This checked the climbing Boer. Then another shot, and another. He had dropped back to join his companions, who were doubtless gazing towards the fort, where the firing was rapidly increasing into a perfect storm.

I heard no more of the cutting; but Denham whispered that his feet were free, and almost at the same moment a hand felt for my face and then seized my ear as if to pull it down to the owner of that hand.

Understanding what was wanted, I turned over on my right side and laid my ear against the opening, listening.

"Don't try to get up," buzzed into it, and seemed to set my brain whirling. "The Boers are making a great attack on the fort, and you two must try and creep out while the sentries are listening to the firing. Can you both run?"

"We could not stand up to save our lives," I whispered. "Our legs are quite numb and dead."

"Then I must carry you to where father is waiting," was whispered.

I uttered a low sigh of misery, for I knew that was impossible. The Boers must hear the movements, even if so young a lad as my brother had possessed sufficient strength.

"Lie still, and sham sleep," was the advice from below. "Your legs will get better. The Boers won't be back for hours yet. Hark!"

There was no need to speak, for the firing grew louder and louder, as if echoing from the walls of the fort, not much more than half a mile from where we lay; and I was thinking that a terrible a.s.sault might be made, when my brother whispered again:

"The Boers mean to take the place to-night. Now, do as I say. Pretend to sleep. I'm going to fetch father."

He had hardly ceased speaking when there was a rush of feet, and one of our guards scrambled up at the back, rifle in hand; but he contented himself with looking in when he saw us lying apparently unmoved beneath the rug.

"Hear that?" he said loudly.

"Yes," I replied as calmly as I could.

"There'll be hundreds more prisoners to shoot in the morning. Lie still, you two, for if you try to move we'll serve you like jackals on the veldt."