Good! My message was safe.
The Kafir shinned up the pole and cut the wire, permitting the British
signals only to come through. I listened intently to the various more or
less interesting messages being exchanged by the enemy. Presently a new
and stronger note broke in--
"Hello! Here, Sergeant-Major Devons. Who are you?"
Devons? Those are the fellows that we fought at Ladysmith. But what--how
comes he here? Listen----
"Here, Heilbron. We're just waiting to leave. Crowds of Boers on the
hills."
"Ah! I say, I've pushed on, quite by myself, for fully twelve miles,"
said the hoarse note of the non-com.'s vibrator. "When I reached
Roberts' Horse the chief said I was d----d lucky to get through!"
"Good on you!" replied his admiring hearer. "This is a bit different
from old Tyneside, ain't it?"
"Cheer up; we shall soon be in Pretoria."
"Confound you!" said I, dashing my fist on the key, "you're not there
yet!"
To prevent myself from interrupting them, advertently or otherwise, I
had taken the precaution to disconnect the battery, so my little
outbreak did no harm.
Then the sergeant-major sent a long message to his chief, Captain
Faustnett, duly informing the latter of the distance he had come, all by
himself, and of what the officer commanding Roberts' Horse had said,
after which the Heilbron man remarked--
"Good-bye, we're off.
Pages:
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86