Chapter 25. Twenty-Four Hours' Peace

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_ CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. TWENTY-FOUR HOURS' PEACE

Victory was won for the time being; and as the two groups drew back toward the shelter of the scrub, they could be seen carrying the wounded and those who had fallen. Ten minutes later they were close up to the trees, when a thought struck the captain.

"Quick, Norman, unbar that door. Marian, every one there, keep close. No one is to come out." He then called to German, who followed him into the kitchen, and together they bore out the bodies of the two blacks who had obtained an entrance, one of them still showing signs of life.

They carried one at a time some distance out into the open, having the satisfaction of seeing that the enemy had halted and were watching them, while by the time the second body was lowered on to the grass, the blacks were returning at a swift run.

But long before they were near the besieged were back in shelter, and the enemy, as they came up, contented themselves by yelling and making threatening gestures with their spears before retiring, once more bearing off their two companions.

"And now for preparations for the night attack," said the captain, quietly. "Why, boys, it was like regular warfare. Your advance compelled the enemy to develop his strength and forced on a general engagement.--Come girls, all of you, and have a little fresh air before dark."

And as the door was opened and the fresh evening breeze floated in to waft away the horrible dank odour of burnt gunpowder, it seemed hardly possible to believe that so deadly an encounter could have occurred lately, and no one on their side been even scratched.

"But I should have liked to save some of that mutton," said Rifle, thoughtfully. "It is quite time we had a change."

The hour came for barricading the door only too soon, and once more the watch commenced, half of the tiny garrison lying down, while Aunt Georgie and one of the girls pressed for leave to share the watch, urging that they were not weary, and would perhaps be able to detect by eye or ear the approach of danger.

The captain, who was nearly exhausted by his efforts, reluctantly consented, and lay down for a few minutes, giving orders that he should be called at the slightest alarm, and a few minutes after--as he believed--he sprang up looking puzzled and confused.

For the door was wide open, the morning sun shining in, and there was the sharp crackling of a fire, and the smell of baking bread.

"What is the meaning of this?" he said.

"Only that you've slept all night, father, and never moved," cried Rifle, merrily.

"But I gave orders to be called at the slightest alarm."

"And there never was the slightest alarm," cried the boy, joyfully.--"Hi! Man--Tim--father's awake."

Norman and his cousin came to the door gun in hand.

"See anything?" cried Rifle.

"No.--Morning, father.--I believe they've gone."

"Impossible! But you have not heard them all night?"

"Not once."

"But you should not have let me sleep."

"I ordered them to," said Mrs Bedford, quietly. "Who needed rest more?"

At that moment Uncle Jack and Sam came round from the back, where they had been reconnoitring.

"Ah, Ned," said the former, "heard the news? Too good, I'm afraid, to be true."

"Yes, yes; don't let's put any faith in it," said the captain, and he went out, glass in hand, to scan every patch of scrub.

"Not a sign of them; no fire. But--" He looked round again before finishing his sentence:

"No sheep--no cattle."

"Not a hoof left," said Uncle Munday, grimly. "But that is the most hopeful sign."

"What do you mean?" said his brother.

"They seem to have driven everything away, and gone off with them into the bush."

The captain did not speak, nor relax the watchfulness kept up, but as the day wore on various little things were done to increase the strength of the place, and one of these was to saw off a portion of a spiked harrow which Sam German had made, and force this up into the chimney some six feet above the fire, and secure it there with big nails driven between the stones of the chimney, thus guarding against danger in that direction.

Cows, sheep, pigs, all were gone; but the fowls and ducks were about the place and not likely to be driven away, so that there was no fear of a failure in the supply of food; in fact, they felt that they could hold out in that way for months. For if a fowl could not be caught from its night perch, it could be shot by day and caught up. The danger was the want of water.

So far there was plenty in the tubs, but they dare not use it for washing purposes. It was too valuable, and the captain's brow grew dark as he thought of how they were to fetch more from the river or falls.

"We shall have to go away from here, boys," Tim said, towards evening. "This place will never seem safe again."

"Father won't go," said Rifle. "He never gives up. I wouldn't, after getting such an estate as this. Why, it would be worth thousands upon thousands in England."

"And it's worth nothing here if the blacks spear us."

"They'd better!" cried Rifle, defiantly. "They've had enough of us. You see, they will not trouble us again."

"There!" he cried, the next morning, triumphantly, Lor they had passed a perfectly peaceful night; "the beggars are all gone."

The captain, who was using his glass, heard the boys' words and looked round.

"Don't be too sure, my lad," he said, sadly. "But thank Heaven for this respite."

"Oh, we'll beat them off again, father, if they do come," said the boy, boastfully; and then he coloured beneath his father's steadfast gaze.

"Don't act in that spirit for all our sakes, my lad," said the captain. "All of you mind this: the watchfulness must not be relaxed even, for a moment. Ah! I'd give something if that fellow Shanter had been staunch. He could have relieved our anxiety in a very short time."

"Let me go and see if I can discover any signs of them, father," said Norman.

"What would you say if I tell you I am going?" replied the captain, quietly.

"No, no," cried the boys in chorus. "You might be speared."

"Exactly," said the captain. "No, boys, we are no match for the blacks in trying to track them down."

"They are adepts at hiding, and we might pass through a patch of scrub without seeing a soul, when perhaps a dozen might be in hiding."

"I wish poor old Shanter was here," sighed Rifle.

"Yes: he would be invaluable," said Uncle Jack. That night passed in peace, and the next, giving them all such a feeling of security that even the captain began to think that the lesson read to the enemy had been sufficient to make them drive off their plunder and go; while, when the next day came, plans were made for a feint to prove whether the blacks were still anywhere near; and if it was without result, an attempt was to be made to refill the tubs. The next day some of the vigilance was to be relaxed, and avoiding his wife's eyes as he spoke, the captain said, aloud:

"And then we must see if it is not possible to renew our stock, for none of the poor creatures are likely to stray back home. Not even a horse.--Boys," he said, suddenly, "I'm afraid your friend has to answer for this attack. The love of the horses was too strong for him."

Another twenty-four hours of peace followed, but at the last minute the captain had shrunk from sending down to the nearest point of the river for water, which could only be dragged up by hand after the water-tub had been filled.

Then night came on once more. _

Read next: Chapter 26. "It Was Poor Old Shanter"

Read previous: Chapter 24. "How Many Did You Bring Down?"

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