Chapter 16 | After a Rest | A Dash From Diamond City

West started up into wakefulness the next morning from a dream in which he was galloping for his life with the Boers in full pursuit, and then he sighed and wondered when and how he had dropped asleep, for he could only recall being miserable, awake, and puzzled as to what to do, and then all seemed to have become blank till he was awakened by his captors’ busy stir and the crackling of the fires being lighted.

West’s first steps were to see to his companion, who did not seem to have moved, and the first feeling was one of satisfaction; but directly afterwards he felt uneasy, for Ingleborough seemed to be unnaturally still, and a shiver ran through him as he leaned over where his friend lay on the floor of the wagon, to place a hand upon the injured man’s forehead below the bandage which made him look so ghastly.

Then came reaction as it was proved that the sufferer had only been in a deep sound sleep.

For Ingleborough’s eyes opened, to gaze at him wonderingly.

“What’s the matter? Oh, it’s you, Noll!”

“Yes; you startled me!”

“Eh? What did I do?”

“You lay so still!”

“Did I? Oh, of course. I’ve been very fast asleep, I suppose. What time it is—nearly sundown?”

“No, it’s morning—sunrise.”

“I’m blessed! What, have I slept all night?”

West nodded and smiled.

“Soundly, I suppose!” he said. “But how are you?”

“Horribly stupid and muddled! I don’t quite make out! Oh yes, I do now. I came down such a quelch that it knocked all the sense out of me, and my head feels all knocked on one side. But tell me: what about the despatch?”

“I have it all right so far!”

“That’s good. Where are our ponies?”

“Tied up yonder to the wheel of a wagon.”

“That’s good, too, lad! Then all we’ve got to do is to help ourselves to them the first chance and ride away.”

“Yes,” said West drily, “the first chance; but will there be a first chance?”

“Why not? It’s of no use to look at the black side of things! Where there’s ill luck there’s always good luck to balance it, and we’re bound to have our share of both. We had the bad yesterday; the good will come to-morrow, or next day, or the day after—who knows? We were not killed. You had your ear nicked and I had a bad fall which will cure itself as fast as the slit in your ear grows up. I call it grand to have saved the despatch! Are they going to give us any breakfast?”

“Hah!” sighed West; “you’ve done me good, Ingle. I was regularly in the dumps.”

“Keep out of them, then!” was the reply. “You didn’t expect to get your message delivered at Mafeking without any trouble, did you?”

“No, no, of course not! Then you think we might make a dash for it some time?”

“Of course I do; but I don’t suppose the chance will come to-day. Let’s hope that our next move may take us nearer our goal, for I don’t suppose the Boers will take us with them. They’ll send us prisoners to Pretoria, I suppose; and we must make our dash somewhere on the road.”

Ingleborough was right: the chance for the dash did not come that day, nor the next, nor the next. For the Boer commando did not stir from the natural stronghold which had been made its halting-place. In fact, two fresh parties, for which there was plenty of room, joined them, and a good deal of business went on: men going out on expeditions and returning: wagons laden with provisions and ammunition and two big field-pieces arriving, as if the force was being increased ready for some important venture—all of which busy preparation took place under the eyes of the two prisoners, who, while being fairly well treated in the way of rations, were carefully guarded.

“One would like to know a little more what it all means!” said Ingleborough. “As it is, one seems to be quite in the dark!”

“And we’re doing nothing!” sighed West. “Oh, it’s terrible! I must begin to stir, even if it is only to bring about another check.”

“What would be the good of that?”

“Ease to one’s brain!” said West passionately. “Here have I been trusted with this mission and am doing nothing, while all the time the poor fellows at Mafeking must be watching despairingly for the despatch that does not come.”

“Look here, old lad,” said Ingleborough sympathetically; “when a fellow’s chained down hand and foot it’s of no use for him to kick and strain; he only makes his wrists and ankles sore and weakens himself, so don’t do it! Believe me, the proper time to act is when they take you out of your chains! It’s very depressing, I know; but what can’t be cured—”

“Must be endured. I know, Ingle; but here we are prisoners, and I can’t help getting more hopeless.”

“But you must! Things can’t go on like this much longer! Either our troops will come here and attack the Boers, or the Boers will go and attack the British. Just have patience and wait!”

“But here we are, just as we were nearly a week ago, and nothing has happened.”

“Oh yes, something has!” said Ingleborough, with a smile. “I’ve got well again! The first morning I couldn’t have mounted my pony and ridden off even if they had brought it to the end of the wagon here and said: ‘Be off!’ To-day I could jump on and go off at full gallop. Do you call that nothing?”

“No, of course not!” said West. “There, you must forgive me! I’m very discontented, I know; but you see why.”

“To be sure I do! I say, though, you’ve been at that satchel! The sandwiches are gone.”

West nodded.

“Haven’t eaten them, have you?”

“No, they’re sewed up in the belt of my jacket. I did it two nights ago, and I’m living in hopes that they will not search us again.”

“That’s it, is it? Well, I’m glad you did that! There, keep a good heart; something is sure to happen before long!”

“I only hope it may; even evil would be better than this miserable state of inaction. I think till I feel half-mad.”

“Well, we won’t hope for the evil, only for something in the way of change, if it’s only to pay a visit to Pretoria gaol.”

“What!”

“Only so as to get some news to give to old Norton when we get back. It will interest him. I wonder whether he’s keeping his eye on Master Plump-and-Pink. Well, I am blessed!”

“What is the matter? Are they making a move?” cried West excitedly, for Ingleborough had sprung to the end of their wagon prison to stand looking out.

“Someone has!” cried Ingleborough angrily. “Look here! Why, old Norton must have been asleep.”