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Charge! - A Story of Briton and Boer, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 42. In The Trap |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY TWO. IN THE TRAP If either Denham or I had felt the slightest disposition to run, it was checked by the brotherly feeling that one could not escape without the other; but even if we had made the attempt it would have been impossible, for the words uttered by the big Boer at my side acted like the application of a spark to a keg of gunpowder. In an instant there was an explosion. Men leaped to their feet, rifle in hand; there was a roar of voices; yells and shouts were mingled with bursts of talking which rose into a hurricane of gabble, out of which, mingled with oaths and curses delivered in the vilest Dutch, I made out, "Spies--shoot-- hang them;" and it seemed that after thrusting ourselves into the hornets' nest we were to be stung to death. The noise was deafening, and as we were held men plucked and tore at us, while the roar of voices seemed to run to right and left all along the line, alarm spreading; with the result that those outside the narrow space where the facts were known took it to be a sudden attack from the rear, and began firing at random in the darkness. In spite of the despair that came over me, I even then could not help feeling a kind of exultation--satisfaction--call it what you will--at the surprise we had given the blundering Boers, and thinking that if the Colonel had been prepared with our men to charge into them at once, the whole line of the enemy for far enough to right and left would have turned and fled, after an ineffectual fire which must have done far more harm to their friends than to their foes, and then scattered before our fellows like dead leaves before a gale. However, we were not to be torn to pieces just then by the infuriated Boers, for we were each held firmly by two burly fellows, while Moriarty, yelling at the excited crowd in his highly-pitched voice, opened and held the lantern on high, so as to get a good look at our disfigured faces. The light fell upon his own as well, and I saw him start and shrink, as if for the moment he fancied that we had returned from the dead. But his dismay was only momentary. Then a malevolent grin of exultation came over his countenance, his eyes scintillated in the lantern light, and he yelled orders to those around till he obtained comparative silence. "Pass the word all along the line," he shouted. "False alarm. Only spies, and we have got them. Cease firing." His words had but little effect for a few minutes; but by degrees the tumult was stilled and the firing ceased. The men about us readily obeyed the Irish captain's orders. "They're old fr'inds of mine," he said, with a peculiar grin--"dear fr'inds who have come after me to join our ranks; and I'm going to make them take the oaths properly." There was a groan of dissent at this, but Moriarty paid no heed; he only showed his teeth at us in a savage grin like that of some wild beast about to spring. "Yes," he continued, "they're old fr'inds of mine--dear fr'inds. That one"--he pointed to me--"is a deserter from our forces, and the other miserable brute is an officer who has been fighting against us and helping his companion. Be cool and calm, dear boys, and as soon as it is light you shall have the pleasure of shooting the young scoundrels. For we're all soldiers now, and we must behave like military min, unless you would like to set a Kaffir to hang them both from a tripod of dissel-booms at the two ends of a rein." "Shoot them! Shoot them!" came in a burst of voices. "Very well, we'll shoot them; but we must do it properly. We'll have a court-martial upon them, and teach the spies to crawl into our camp like snakes." "It's a lie!" I shouted. "We are no spies." "Ah! you understand the beautiful language of my fr'inds," cried Moriarty. "You are not spies, then?" "No, neither of us," I said in Dutch. "Indade?" said Moriarty. "And perhaps you are not a deserter from our troops?" Amidst hootings, groans, and yells, I managed to make myself heard. "No," I said, "I am not a deserter. I am English, and I refused to fight against my own countrymen." A savage yell greeted my plain words; but Moriarty held up his hand. "Let him condemn himself out of his own lips, brethren," he cried.-- Then, to me, "You preferred to fight against and shoot down the people among whom you dwelt?" he cried. "I joined my own people," I replied; "and this gentleman with me is no spy." "What is he, then?" said Moriarty, holding up his hand in the light of the lantern he kept aloft, so as to secure silence. "An officer and a gentleman of the Light Horse." "Indade!" said Moriarty sneeringly. "Then you have both had enough of the British forces, and have desarted to ours?" "No," I said coolly. "We have both been badly wounded, as you can see, and we wanted to break through the lines and get away." "What for?" said Moriarty fiercely. "What for?" "We are too weak to fight," I said. "Bah!" roared Moriarty, "you are both spies; and do you hear? You shall both be shot by-and-by." A yell of triumph, which sounded like a chorus of savage beasts in anticipation of blood, rose from all around. "Get reins and tie their arms behind them, my brothers. They're English, and can spake nothing but lies." As some of the men hurried away to fetch the necessary cords, I turned to one of the big Boers who held me. "Is it a lie," I said, "that my friend has been badly wounded? Is it a lie that I have been hurt?" There was a low growl for reply from one, and the other--the man who had first discovered my presence--only said, "But you are spies." "What are they all saying, Val?" said Denham coolly. "I don't seem to get on at all in this game." "They say we're spies," I replied. "Let 'em. A set of thick-headed pigs. Don't be downhearted over it all, old chap. We played our game well, and we've lost. We're prisoners; that's all. They daren't shoot us." I looked him fixedly in the eyes, but made no reply. "Well," said Denham hurriedly, "it's murder if they do. But I don't believe they will. Whatever they do, we won't show the white feather, Val. I say, shall we give 'em the National Anthem?" "Hush!" I said. "You're a gentleman; don't do anything to insult them; we're in their power." "Yes; but I want them to see that we're ready to die game. I say, Val, we've made a mess of it this time, and we might have been lying comfortably asleep over yonder." "No," I said; "we should have lain awake thinking of how to get help for our friends." "True, O Calif! so we should.--Ugh! You ugly brutes. Tie our hands behind our backs, would you?--Here, Mr Irishman, there's no need for this. We didn't serve you so." "Oh yes," said Moriarty. "Spies like to get all the news they can, and then to run away with their load." "After treacherously trying to murder the sentry on duty, and then treacherously striking down two people in the dark." "Hwhat!" cried Moriarty fiercely. "I mean you, you cowardly hound!--you disgrace to the name of Irishman!" There was the sound of a smart blow, and Denham staggered back against the men who were binding his wrists. A cheer rose from some of the fierce men around us, a murmur of disapprobation from others, as Denham recovered himself and stood upright, with his chest expanded and a look of scorn and contempt in his eyes. "Yes," he said quietly, "you are a disgrace to a great name. I am a prisoner, and my hands are tied." "Silence, spy!" cried Moriarty fiercely, and a dead silence fell. "I'll not be silent," said Denham. "Val, if we die for it, repeat my words in Dutch. But if I live I'll kill that man, or he shall kill me.--Moriarty, you're a treacherous coward and a cur, to strike a helpless, wounded man." "A treacherous coward and a cur, to strike a helpless, wounded man," I said aloud in the Boer tongue, the words seeming to come from something within me over which I had no power whatever. Moriarty, white with fury, turned upon me, but one of the two men who held me interfered, saying bluntly, "Let him talk, Captain; his tongue will soon be still." "Yes, yes," said Moriarty, with a forced laugh; "his tongue will soon be still. Putt them in the impty wagon, and bind their legs too. Then put four men over them as guards. You'll answer for them, Cornet." The grim looks of the two speakers and the horrible nature of their words, which meant a horrible death, ought to have sent a chill through me; but just then I was so excited, so hot with rage against the cowardly wretch who had struck my friend, that I did not feel the slightest fear as to my fate; and, obeying the order to march, I walked beside Denham with my head as erect as his, till we were by the tail of a great empty wagon, into which two of the Boers scrambled so as to seize us by the pinioned arms, causing great pain, as they stooped, and then dragged us in as if we had been sacks of corn, and then let us down. "Look here," said my captor, speaking from the tail-end of the wagon, "there are four men on duty with rifles, and their orders are to shoot you both through the head if you try to escape. Now you know." While he was speaking one of the men who had dragged us in reached out his hand for a lantern, which he took and hung from a hook in the middle of the tilt. Then he and his companion dropped down from the end of the dimly-lit wagon, and we were alone for a few moments. But the two men who had left us returned directly with two more reins and set to work binding our ankles together as tightly as they could. "There," said one of them, in Dutch, as soon as they had finished, "we can see you well from outside, and you know what will come if you try to get away." Then we were alone again, and as the curtain of stout canvas at the end ceased to vibrate, Denham as he lay back began to laugh merrily. "Denham!" I cried. "I can't help it, old chap," he said. "It's very horrible, but there's a comic side to it. Blows hit terribly hard." "Yes, the coward!" I cried passionately, "to strike you like that!" "I wasn't thinking of that, old chap," he replied. "Yes, that was as nasty a thing as the savage could do; but I was thinking of how hard you can hit a sensitive man with your tongue." "What do you mean?" I said. "Moriarty! Why, I spoke quite quietly, but if I had given him a cut across the face from the left shoulder with my sabre, which cuts like a razor, it wouldn't have hurt the brute half as much." "Don't--don't talk about the business," I said bitterly. "Why not? I'm just in the condition that makes my tongue run. But I say, old chap, we've made a pretty mess of our scheme. Never told a soul what we were going to do, so we can't get any help." "And left a hanging rope to show our people that we have run away and deserted them in their terrible strait." "Yes; that's about the worst of the whole business, my lad. Well, we meant well, and it's of no use to cry over spilt milk. I don't think it will be spilt blood; but it may, and if it does I'm going to die like a soldier with his face to the enemy, and so are you." "I'm going to try," I said simply. "Then you'll do it, like a true-born Englishman," he said cheerily. "How does that song go? I forget. There, never mind. I won't act like a sham, even if I am where there's so much Dutch courage. Now, look here, Val." "Yes?" I said gravely. "We're weak from our long sickness, and done up with the exertion of what we've gone through." "Yes," I said; "I feel as weak as a rat." "Then we're going to sleep, so as to be ready to face them in the morning." "What!" I said. "Can you sleep at a time like this?" "My dear old Val, as you said about facing the muzzles of the Dutch rifles, I'm going to try." _ |
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