Part 42 (1/2)
”Where from? Answer quickly, or I fire!”
”From Mafeking, with despatches,” Jack replied unsuspectingly.
”Advance, friend, and give the countersign!” the sentry now called out; and as soon as Jack and Riley had approached within ten yards he shouted, ”Halt! Lay down your arms at once--you are prisoners!”
”Trapped, by Jove!” shouted Jack, s.n.a.t.c.hing at his rifle; but before he could lift it a dozen other dark figures rose beside the sentry and covered him with their weapons. To resist would have been madness, and a minute later Jack and his friend were disarmed and being taken back towards the Boer camp at Magersfontein, Riley still mounted on his pony.
”What hard luck!” cried the latter bitterly. ”We were within a couple of miles of our friends, and after all the trouble we had taken we deserved to get in safely.”
”Yes, it was rough luck,” Jack agreed cheerfully. ”But it is the fortune of war, and there is no use worrying about it. I should not have minded so much if I had had a fight for it. To be taken without firing a shot is humiliating. But now we have nothing to do but to escape. I've managed that once before, and I'll do it again if the chance comes.”
”Then I hope you'll take me with you,” said Riley eagerly. ”I've no special wish to spend my days a prisoner in Pretoria.”
Soon after sunrise that morning the two prisoners were brought into the enemy's camp, and Riley was at once taken to the hospital and placed in charge of a Scotch surgeon who had been commandeered by the Boers. Jack was taken across to a large bell-tent, standing apart from the others in an open s.p.a.ce, and ushered into it. It was most elaborately furnished.
The floor was carpeted, and there was a handsome bra.s.s bedstead and a writing-table, seated behind which was a short, shabby, and vindictive-looking man, with iron-grey beard and whiskers, unkempt and undipped, and almost concealing a powerful-looking mouth, and eyes which flashed fiercely at the stranger Englishman. It was General Cronje, a man who had taken a prominent part in the first Boer war, and who had earned for himself the contempt of all Englishmen for his treacherous behaviour.
”Who are you?” he demanded, looking searchingly at Jack's face.
”I am Jack Somerton, a despatch-rider, and now a prisoner in your hands,” Jack answered coolly. ”Where are your despatches?”
”I don't know, general,” was Jack's calm reply, for, sharp of wit, he had torn and scattered his papers on the veldt the instant after being taken prisoner.
”Search him!” cried General Cronje. And then, as soon as Jack's clothes had been thoroughly examined, he ordered him to be taken away.
Careless of the black looks with which the general favoured him, Jack swept his hat off and stalked unconcernedly out of the tent. He was then taken across to a large wagon laager, and given in charge of an armed sentry.
Ten days pa.s.sed quietly, and during that time he was well treated, and was on good terms with his captors. On the 14th of the month there was a sudden stir in the camp, and mounted men galloped in and out.
”What is the matter?” Jack asked the young sentry who was in charge of him.
”Our scouts say that your countrymen are moving,” the Boer replied.
”General French--that is what you call him, I think,--has been active.
He and a lot of English guns and hors.e.m.e.n marched on Sunday to Ramdan, and next day pushed on to the Riet river. There was a fight, and we gave way, as it is not policy to prevent a foolish man running his nose into a trap. I hear he is now at the Rondeval Drift, on the Modder River, where we are again playing with him. Some fools here say he threatens our flank, but our general knows better. You will see, we shall eat up your general, and then we shall march south to Cape Town.”
Jack did not correct him, but smiled secretly, hoping and believing that the big movement of which he had carried the first tidings to Kimberley and Mafeking was at last actually begun. He knew that for more than a month much work had been going on in the British camp, and if the news he had just learnt were really true, it was extremely probable that Roberts and his troops were about to strike that blow at the Boer forces which should mean the turning of the tide, and a full compensation for all the care and thought taken in making their preparations.
On the following morning a wild-looking Boer galloped up to General Cronje, who was sitting smoking and sipping coffee outside his tent, and in an excited voice informed him that the British had crossed the Modder and had captured five laagers, full of stores, 2000 sheep, and a large number of cattle.
Jack happened to be near the general at the time, and his guard, who was a friendly young Boer, interpreted what was said.
At first the news evidently caused the general some excitement, and he rose to his feet and walked restlessly up and down. Then he suddenly sat down, lit his pipe again, and smiled sourly.
”Let them take the laagers,” he said in a rasping voice. ”What does it matter? We shall take them back again. These Englishmen are brave, but they are fools, and have no cunning. You shall see. We will turn on him and eat up completely this General French and his men.”
Three other Boer leaders were standing near at hand, and as Cronje finished speaking, two of them nodded sagely and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed: ”Ja, Ja! we shall take the English soldiers. They are not wise.”
The third, however, who was a Free State burgher, differed.
”These English are not such fools as you think,” he said shortly. ”I tell you, there is a big force advancing on our flank, and unless we do something, and at once, we shall ourselves be captured.”