Chapter 29 | Hard Pushed | A Dash From Diamond City

Ingleborough shaded his eyes and turned very grave, for on gazing in the direction pointed out by his companion’s finger he saw a column of horsemen creeping over the veldt as if coming straight for their resting-place, while as they came nearer the eager watchers could make out that the party were guarding a long train of wagons drawn by great teams of oxen. They found that there were two other teams, not of oxen, but of ponies similar to their own, and not dragging the great tilt-covered wagons, but something heavy and comparatively small.

“Guns!” said Ingleborough laconically.

“Yes, and heavy guns too!” cried West.

“You’re right, lad; and they will not come near us. It’s an ammunition train, and they’ll go straight for Mafeking! That’s another false alarm!”

Ingleborough was quite right, for the distant train crept slowly on along the track till it grew dim and distant as the sun sank lower and finally disappeared in the haze of dust. But the troubles of the despatch-bearers were not at an end, and they lay watching the west with its great masses of lit-up clouds, glorious in their colouring, till the last bright lights had died out, before they turned to look in the direction of the east. And then West drew his companion’s attention to the fact that behind them the sky was perfectly clear, and the pale moon, a couple of days past the first quarter, was gradually growing brighter and brighter in what promised to be a perfectly unclouded night.

“Yes,” said Ingleborough coolly; “we shall have a glorious time for our ride.”

“A glorious night for the Boer outposts to take aim at us as we ride in.”

“No,” said Ingleborough coolly. “I think not!”

“What do you mean?” said West, turning sharply upon his companion. “You have some fresh idea?”

“Well, yes. Being in such a pickle as this sets a man sharpening his wits to try and make them keen.”

“Of course. What are you going to do?”

“Wait a bit and see!” replied Ingleborough coolly. “I’m sharpening still.”

West turned away impatiently, to go, stooping as low as he could, towards his pony, which was straggling away, and bring it back to the bushes which had helped to hide them all the day, after which they sat in silence for about an hour, until it was quite plain that the night was as dark as it was likely to be. Then in a nervous excited way he turned to Ingleborough again.

“Yes,” said the latter, without waiting for West to speak; “it will grow no darker unless we wait hours for the moon to set, and by that time I hope we shall be in Mafeking.”

“What do you mean to do then?”

“Mount and ride steadily on at a gentle canter till we get in touch with that ammunition train.”

“But we shall be challenged by their rear-guard.”

“Perhaps,” said Ingleborough coolly; “perhaps not. I reckon on getting pretty close up without. If we are challenged, I want you to do as I tell you.”

“Of course,” replied West. “Anything to fulfil our task!”

“Ready?”

“And waiting!”

“Then mount!”

Their ponies were waiting patiently by their sides, and the next minute they had sprung into the saddles and rode off in the direction taken by the train.

West asked no questions, for he was full of confidence in his long-tried companion, and with the ponies well-refreshed and eager from their rest, they rode steadily on, keeping a sharp look-out for danger, but meeting with no adventure for quite a couple of hours, by which time both felt that they must be getting near to the end of their journey.

But they had nothing to guide them, for they were off the track, and even had they been on, it would have been impossible to follow it in the strange eerie light shed by the quarter-moon. Once they had evidence that they were in all probability going right, for a horrible odour suddenly assailed their nostrils, making them press their ponies’ sides and go past something indistinct at a gallop, holding their breath till they were well beyond what was in all probability the body of some wretched horse or ox that had died of overwork and exhaustion.

“We must keep on now!” whispered Ingleborough. “I feel that we are going right.”

“But the Boer laagers and outposts!” whispered back West.

“Somewhere ahead, lad; but we must leave something to chance. We are, say, within half-a-dozen miles of Mafeking, so I put it; perhaps not more than two or three. Keep a sharp look-out for lights.”

“The enemy’s?”

“Or friends’,” replied Ingleborough. “There’s a good deal of chance now, and we must trust a little to our luck.”

“In other words, you mean make a bold dash?”

“Yes, but not a blind one! I want to put a little gumption into what we do! You’ll trust me?”

“I will!”

“Forward then, and give the ponies their heads!”

West gave vent to a deep low “Hah!” of satisfaction, and away they went, with their mounts seeming to exult in the freedom from pressure on their bits, keeping close together, and bounding along over the level veldt as if perfectly familiar with the way, though their riders knew it to be bespread with pitfalls in the shape of the burrows made by the aardvarks and other animals that made the wide open veldt their home.

The moon shone brightly now, though the light was puzzling, and the distance ahead looked strange and weird; but the pace at which they were going had a peculiarly exhilarating effect upon both of the riders, who seemed to share the excitement of their ponies.

For, guesswork though it was, West felt that Mafeking must lie right ahead, and as they dashed on he began to feel a kind of certainty that if left to themselves their sagacious steeds would take them right into the town.

A good four miles must have been passed over in this way, and at last a fresh sensation began to attack West, filling him with anxiety lest they should be going in the wrong direction. For he argued that they must before now, if right, have come upon signs of the besiegers, and he was in the act of leaning over towards Ingleborough to make him acquainted with his fears, when all doubt was chased away by a loud challenge from his right, followed by a flash and a report.

That one shot was the opening note of an overture, for directly after the balls began whistling over their heads, and the first reports grew into a loud rattle followed by the trampling of horses and loud shouting.

“It’s all right,” said Ingleborough coolly; “they’re firing at random. It’s impossible to take aim on a night like this! Can you see them?”

“No; only the flashes!” said West excitedly.

“That’s enough! Then they can’t see us! We’re through their lines too, for they’re firing behind us, and I’ll back our horses to beat theirs in a race.”

Reports now began to ring out on their right, and directly after they came from their left.

“Shall we shout?” whispered West.

“No. What for?”

“We must be getting among our own people!”

“No such luck, my lad! Keep steadily on! Ah! Poor beast!”

“What is it?” said West excitedly, as his mount stopped short, obeying its natural instinct and the love of companionship of a gregarious animal. For Ingleborough’s pony had suddenly uttered a peculiar neighing cry, reared up, and fallen backwards.

“Are you hurt?” whispered West again.

“No; I just escaped! Quick; jump down.”

West was on his feet directly, and Ingleborough grasped his arm.

“I’d say ride for it alone, lad,” he whispered, with his lips close to his companion’s ear; “but my way is safest. Now down on your hands and knees and let’s play wild dog or baboon!”

“I don’t understand you!” whispered West.

“Never mind; do as I do!” and the next minute they were going along on hands and knees over the level ground, feeling it quiver with the trampling of galloping horses all round, while the flashing of rifles and the crackling reports seemed to be coming from all directions.

So near to them came some of the horsemen that West felt certain they must be seen; but there was no hail, no whistling bullet, and, wearisome though the way of progression was to the muscles and painful to hands and knees, West kept on side by side with his companion till the firing began to drop off and then ceased, though the hurrying to and fro of horses still went on.

“It was sooner than I intended,” said Ingleborough at last; “but I meant for us to dismount at last and crawl. If we are seen the enemy will take us for hyaenas or dogs.”

He had hardly whispered these words before a shot was fired from, their left, the bullet whistling over them, when to the astonishment of West, Ingleborough uttered a snarling yelp, followed by an excellent imitation of a dog’s bark.

“Do as I do!” he whispered, and the next moment he had thrown himself upon his side and lay perfectly still.

“What folly!” West was disposed to say; but he followed his companion’s example, letting himself sink sidewise like a dying quadruped, feeling the despatch crackle beneath him as he lay listening to the trampling of horses growing more distant, and waiting for Ingleborough to speak.

“Seems a stupid sort of dodge!” said the latter at last; “but I thought it better to let them think we were hyaenas than human beings.”

“But we had a narrow escape of being shot!” replied West.

“Yes, and escaped. If they had taken us for human beings we should have been either shot or taken prisoners. Now we’re safe!”

“Safe, with this bright moon shining ready to show every movement?”

“Then why move until we are safe, lad? The enemy will not come near us so long as they think we are dead animals.”

“But if they make out what we are—how then?”

“How then?” said Ingleborough, with a low sarcastic laugh. “Why, then they’ll behave like Boers, and come and see if there’s anything worth taking in our pockets. They are sweet people! But wait a bit. As soon as they are farther off we’ll continue our journey.”

“Without our horses?”

“Yes; poor beasts! I’m sorry they’re gone; but daybreak will show us that we are close to Mafeking, I feel sure. We’ll crawl on as far as we can, and then get up and run for our lives.”

“Yes; but you know how clever they are at bringing down a running buck!”

“Some of them!” said Ingleborough drily.

“Well, if I am brought down, don’t hesitate a moment: out with your knife, rip open my jacket, get the despatch, and run on.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Of course.”

“What about you? Are you to be left wounded here on the veldt?”

“Yes: until the despatch reaches the proper hands. Then come and save me if you can.”

“I understand,” said Ingleborough drily. “That’s if matters come to the worst! Let’s hope they will not!”

He raised his head a little and had a good look round as soon as he had finished speaking, for all was now very still, and as far as he could make out in the eerie light there was not a Boer within sight.

“Now then,” he said softly; “let’s go on! No, no; not like that. Crawl, man, crawl.”

He only spoke in time, for West was about to spring up. Then their painful imitation of some quadruped recommenced, West following his comrade patiently and unquestioningly till a change seemed to come over the light.

“Morning coming fast!” said West.

“The sooner the better,” was the reply; “for I’m not sure that we are going right.”

“I’m sure we’re going wrong,” said West quickly.

“Why?”

“Because we are going straight for that great wagon laager.”

“Yes; there’s Mafeking, with its corrugated-iron roofs, off to our right.”

“Hah!” ejaculated West, for at that moment there was a flash from the front of the laager they were approaching, followed by a tremendous roar and a hissing sound overhead, as a shell winged its way towards the town, whose outskirts were certainly not more than a couple of miles away.

“We’ve wasted ever so much strength,” said Ingleborough; “but never mind: we know exactly where we are. It’s about two miles’ run to the nearest houses. What do you say—go on crawling, or make a dash?”

“It will be broad daylight directly,” replied West, “then we shall be discovered, and become the mark for every rifle within range. I say let’s get up and walk steadily on till we see that we are discovered, and then run for our lives.”

“Wait a moment! Do you know how we shall find out that we are discovered?”

“Yes,” said West coolly; “we shall have the bullets whistling about us.”

“Well, you are cool!” said Ingleborough. “That’s it; and in addition we shall have some of the mounted Boers coming at full gallop.”

“Perhaps,” said West; “and perhaps the Mafeking outposts will begin firing to cover us. Now then, I feel breathless to begin, for it’s rapidly getting lighter. Come on!”

They rose quietly, and set off, making straight for the nearest building—a long, low, broad place with a corrugated-iron roof which seemed to be perfectly deserted; but it had one advantage—it was the nearest object to where they were, and it would, if they could reach it, form cover from which they could fire upon any mounted Boer who came in pursuit.

Then with the day broadening rapidly they walked steadily on, with shell after shell arching over their heads, to fall and burst far in advance, right away in the town; but there was no sign of pursuit for quite ten minutes, and not a friend anywhere visible in the outskirts the fugitives approached.

“Now then,” shouted Ingleborough suddenly; “be cool, and as you run unsling your rifle and be ready for a shot, for I’m going to fight to the last.”

“Make for that shed?”

“Yes. Forward; here they come.”

Away they went, for West at his companion’s warning had looked sharply round, to see about a score of mounted Boers dashing after them at full gallop, and the fugitives had hardly got into the full swing of their stride before they heard cracky crack, crack, the reports of rifles far in the rear, and ping, ping, ping, the whistling buzz of the thin bullets, several of which came unpleasantly near.

“Open out half-a-dozen yards,” said Ingleborough, “and lessen their mark! Think we shall reach that shed?”

“No,” said West coolly. “It’s farther off than I thought. Let’s stop at that clump yonder, and lie behind it to fire back.”

“Very well; but they’ll ring round us and we shall be taken in flank and rear.”

“Not till we’ve brought down two of them,” said West, through his teeth.

“Two apiece,” said Ingleborough. “Now then, put on a spurt, and let’s get to that heap, or they’ll be down upon us before we’re half-way to the shed. Run!”

They did run, with all their might; but out on the open veldt distances are horribly deceiving, especially in the early morning light, and to the despair of the fugitives the Boers came rapidly nearer, while the clump of earth for which they made seemed to be as distant as ever. The only thing they made out was that it became more diffused, and they plainly saw that it was a long ridge of earth freshly thrown up, evidently from a ditch beyond.

“Why, it’s a long rifle-pit,” cried Ingleborough. “Run, lad, run; we must do it now!”

But the pursuing Boers were coming on fast, and the fugitives felt that in a minute or so they would be overtaken.

There was something, though, in their favour, for as the enemy converged upon them the firing from a distance ceased, those who were using their rifles fearing to hit their own friends.

“It’s of no use; we can’t do it!” panted West, as Ingleborough, now that there was no need to try and diminish the mark at which the Boers fired, closed in again.

“Not two hundred yards away now!” said Ingleborough hoarsely.

“Let’s turn and have a couple of shots at them!” cried West.

“No: we should be bound to miss. Run, run!”

It was not the distance but the pace that was killing, and Ingleborough was right. To have stopped and turned to fire, with their pulses throbbing, breath coming in a laboured way, every nerve and muscle on the jump, must have resulted in missing; and the next moment the enemy would have ridden over them and they would have been either shot or prisoners.

Knowing this, they tore on till the rifle-pit was only a hundred yards away. The foremost Boers spread out like a fan not fifty yards distant, and came on at full gallop, with the result appearing certain that before the fugitives had torn on despairingly another score of yards their enemies would be upon them.

“My despatch!” groaned West to himself, and then aloud: “Halt! Fire!”

True to his comrade in those despairing moments, Ingleborough obeyed the order, stopped short, swung round, and following West’s example, he was in the act of raising his rifle to his shoulder with his quivering hands, when—

Crack, cracky crack, crack, crack, crack, half-a-dozen flashes and puffs of smoke came from over the ridge of the low earthwork in front, emptying four saddles, while one horse went down headlong, pierced from chest to haunch by a bullet, and the fleeing pair saw the rest of their pursuers open out right and left, to swing round and gallop away back, pursued by a crackling fire which brought down six more before they were out of range.

Meanwhile twice over the big gun from its earthwork far away sent a couple of shells right over the fugitives’ heads on their way to the beleaguered town, and a few seconds later a cheery English voice had shouted: “Cease firing!” Then a dozen men came hurrying out of the rifle-pit where they had lain low, to surround the exhausted pair.

“Hands up!” shouted their leader loudly. “Who are you—deserters?”

“Deserters!” cried West hoarsely, as he pressed his left hand upon his breast and let his rifle fall to the ground. “Despatch—Kimberley—Water—for Heaven’s sake—help!”

He sank upon his knees, for everything seemed to be swimming round him before he became quite blind.

But he could hear still as he swooned away, and what he heard was a hearty British cheer.