Wilmshurst of the Frontier Force Part 23

With avidity he filled the joined palms of his hands with the brackish and otherwise unpalatable liquid and raised it to his lips. He drank deeply, unmindful of millions of unseen germs in his almost frantic efforts to relieve the pangs of his parched throat.

Then completing his stock of hardly-gained water Wilmshurst turned to retrace his way, aware that during his stay a steady breeze had suddenly sprung up. Under its influence the dangers of the pa.s.sage through the embers were greatly increased, for, fanned by the wind, numerous mounds of debris had flared up again, while the volume of smoke had spread in density, blowing straight into his face.

For some moments Dudley stood irresolute; then seized by a sudden inspiration he ran down wind, plunging through the charred wreckage.

He was going directly away from that part of the kraal still held by his comrades. His new direction led towards a part of the hostile investing lines, but he preferred to run the risk of being sniped at six hundred yards to fighting his way through the now steadily burning debris.

As he expected, his pa.s.sage through this part of the devastated village was relatively easy. Being the first of the huts to take fire this section had almost burnt itself out. Occasionally he had to dodge round a heap of still burning timber. The heat was almost unbearable, while the smoke penetrating his lungs made him gasp and cough violently; so much so, that twice he had to place his precious water-jars on the ground and clutch at his throat in his distress.

At length a line of blackened, calcined posts told him that he had emerged from the kraal, and that he was on the line formerly occupied by the stockade. For another fifty or sixty yards he held on, until the smoke cleared considerably; then changing direction, he began to circ.u.mvent the abandoned line of defence until he came to the still held position.

It was not long before several bullets, whizzing perilously close, warned him that the enemy had spotted him through the eddying wreaths of vapour. Others, striking the earth with a dull thud, ricochetted within a few inches of his feet.

Bending, until his jars were almost b.u.mping on the ground, the subaltern summoned his remaining energies in a final spurt and doubled almost recklessly towards his goal.

Through the smoke he heard the sharp challenge of one of the sentries.

He tried to reply, but no sound came from his parched throat. The man raised his rifle, when his sergeant, recognising the dishevelled, swaying form of Second-Lieutenant Wilmshurst, ordered the man to recover arms. Then a white mist swam before the subaltern's eyes, and, retaining sufficient presence of mind to place the hardly-won jars of water upon the ground, he stumbled inertly into the arms of the Rhodesian sergeant.

CHAPTER XVIII

IM THE ENEMY'S POSITION

It was not long before Wilmshurst regained consciousness, to find that his precious stock of water was being boiled under the direction of the patrol-corporal. With admirable restraint the men, knowing that the subaltern had risked a horrible death for the sake of his black sergeant, had put the whole of the liquid to boil, insisting that a fair distribution would be made when the water was fit for drinking. A little over two gallons was not much among so many, but it would just a.s.suage their thirst until the steadily-declining heat of the smouldering ruins permitted access to the well.

Producing his pump-filter, for Bela Mos.h.i.+ had taken particular pains to leave it in a safe place before the sortie, the subaltern strained the liquid. It was warm and insipid, yet it was now free from contamination, and Bela Mos.h.i.+ drank it with avidity.

A suspicion of his broad smile flitted across his face as he took the life-giving draught.

"You tink me lib for die, sah?" he enquired whimsically.

"No fear!" replied Wilmshurst, knowing that to a remarkable degree a "n.i.g.g.e.r" can control his ability to live or die. He had known of a black man who, grievously upset in a quarrel, declared that he was going to die, and promptly lying down and turning his face to the ground, the man was a corpse within half an hour. "You get well one time quick, or me berry angry."

The subaltern's reply reminded him of a doting parent talking to a small child in baby language. Bela Mos.h.i.+ was a mere child in certain respects, and the mild threat had its effect. "Den me tink me lib, sah," he said.

With this a.s.surance Wilmshurst left to s.n.a.t.c.h a few hours' much-needed rest. The bulk of the white men comprising the garrison were behind the earthworks. Occasional sharp bursts of rifle firing came from the bush, but no reply was made by the defenders of the kraal. Ammunition was too scarce and precious to be thrown away at haphazard firing upon an unseen foe. The Germans' remaining machine gun was unaccountably silent. Perhaps it had failed, after the manner of automatic weapons.

On the other hand, although the captured machine-gun was liable to jam after a few rounds, owing to its having become overheated, the Huns were ignorant of the fact, and thus the practically useless weapon was a strong moral factor in favour of its captors.

Dudley slept for a solid four hours, to awake considerably refreshed to find that some one had spread a double ground-sheet above him, so as to form a tent, for the sun was now directly overhead.

"Hullo, Rupert!" he exclaimed, upon seeing his brother. "How goes it?"

"Feeling quite my old self," was the reply. "A fellow can buck up even in present circ.u.mstances after being penned up by a mob of rascally Huns."

"What happened to you?" asked Dudley.

Rupert shrugged his bent shoulders.

"Don't ask me," he replied. "Some day I'll tell you--if we get out of this sc.r.a.p."

"Did you hear what became of Robert MacGregor?" persisted Dudley.

"A thundering good old pal!" declared his brother heartily. "If he'd not been obliged to go back to Rhodesia I don't think I would have been landed in a German prison. I'd give a lot to shake old Bob by the hand again."

The subaltern regarded his brother intently. Rupert, he saw, was speaking quite naturally and without any trace of sarcasm. It was clear that he had not the slightest idea of the double, nay multi-dyed treachery of Ulrich von Gobendorff.

"Dash it all!" he soliloquised. "I can't enlighten old Rupert just now. Revelations must come later--if, as he remarked, we do come out of this business alive."

About four o'clock in the afternoon the irritating rifle fire ceased.

Fifteen minutes pa.s.sed without a shot winging its way from the dense scrub; and although one or two of the defenders boldly stood upon the parapet to draw the enemy, their tempting position brought no response.

"Guess we'll hike out and bring in some water," declared one. "No time like the present, and we are as dry as a bone."

"Very good," agreed the patrol-commander. "Only look sharp about it.

This lull in the firing may mean that the Boches are up to some of their knavish tricks."

Accordingly five men, each carrying four jars, set off to the well.

The dangers that Wilmshurst had encountered were now over, and in a short s.p.a.ce of time the five returned. Although they had been in full view of the enemy positions throughout, their progress had not been molested by so much as a single shot.

"The blighters are saving it up for us for to-night," declared a trooper. "Wonder if a couple of us could steal through their lines and make our way to the main column? A few squadrons would make Fritz sit up."

"No use unless we were mounted," objected another; "and a fellow couldn't hope to dash through their lines at full gallop. He'd be chock full of bullets before he got within fifty yards of them."

"I'd risk it, anyway," a.s.serted the first speaker. "Either mounted or dismounted I reckon I'd do it as soon as it gets dark. But I'm hanged if I can understand why Fritz is so horribly quiet and well-behaved."

"That's what we'd all like to know," added the sergeant. "I'm that curious that I fancy taking a stroll that way myself."

Shortly afterwards a party of villagers were collected and set to work to bury the bodies of those who had fallen in the futile a.s.sault. The natives, contrary to expectation, performed their tasks without let or hindrance from the enemy, although the men engaged in the work offered a tempting target.

With the fall of darkness the mental attention of the garrison became acute. At every slight or unaccountable sound the men strained eyes and ears and grasped their rifles to meet an imaginary rush. Just before midnight a shot rang out, the flash of the rifle being clearly discernible at a point immediately fronting the scene of the most formidable attack on the previous night.

"They're coming, boys!" exclaimed the patrol-commander. "Ten rounds rapid when I give the word, then independent firing. Don't waste a single shot."

Only the click of the rifle-bolts and the quick breathing of the men broke the stillness. Even the natives, awed by the impending a.s.sault, were silent as they handled their bows and long-hafted spears.

"Hear anything?" whispered the patrol-commander, edging close to Wilmshurst.

"Nothing," replied the subaltern.

"They're coming, sir," exclaimed a deep voice.

The subaltern raised his binoculars and swept the intervening s.p.a.ce.

The powerful night-gla.s.ses revealed no sign of the approaching enemy.

Again a flash, followed by the sharp report of a rifle, the bullet knocking splinters from one of the cross-pieces of the stockade--and then utter silence.

"Dashed if I can stick this!" declared Wilmshurst. "I'll go out and sec what's doing. With luck I'll be back in an hour."