The War of the Axe; Or, Adventures in South Africa

by J. Percy Groves

effected without considerabledifficulty and delay, for the banks being precipitous and slippery, manyof the waggons stuck fast in the bed of the stream, and had to be hauledup on "terra firma" by the soldiers--the bullocks not being equal to thetask.

  All this time the fighting in rear of the column was going on withunabated fury, until at last, the ammunition of the infantry of therear-guard failing, volunteers were called for from the cavalry corps torelieve them. The troopers of the "Black Horse," and of the Cape Riflesreadily responded to the call, and, the required number having beenselected from amongst those who stepped to the front, they dismountedand doubled back to the rear.

  The Caffre chiefs now began to think they had had enough of it; theirlosses had been very heavy, and they had only captured one waggon--which, as it turned out, they had much better have left alone; so theirattacks became less furious, and at length they were finally repulsed.By that time the last of the waggons had been brought across the ChumieRiver, and Colonel Somerset continuing his march reached Block Drift insafety and there established his camp, taking advantage of themissionary buildings. Amongst those who were reported as "missing,"after the day's work was done, was Frank Jamieson!

  Thus ended what may be termed the "opening campaign" of the "War of theAxe."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN.

  OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN INTO THE FIRE.

  When a hard unyielding substance such as a lump of rock, thrown with thefull force of a vigorous arm, hits a man fairly on any part of--what MrSeth Pecksniff, Emperor of servile hypocrites, once described as--"thatdelicate and exquisite portion of human anatomy, the brain," that manmay think himself exceedingly fortunate if he escapes with no moreserious injury than a broken head and a temporary deprivation of hissenses. And such was the first thought that entered the mind of ourfriend Tom Flinders when, some hours after he was struck down in themanner recorded in the foregoing chapter, he found himself capable ofthinking at all--in other words, when he so far recovered from thestunning effects of the blow he had received as to be able to realisethe fact that he was still in the land of the living.

  But though Tom recovered consciousness he certainly did not at oncerecover the full use of his reasoning faculties, otherwise he would havehad "nous" enough to remain beneath the friendly shelter of the waggonuntil he could be sure that the coast was clear; whereas, instead ofdoing this, he must needs crawl out on to the road and take a look roundhim. The consequence of his rashness was that four Caffres, who werestill prowling about, pounced upon him before he had time to offer anyresistance, and, pinioning his arms with leathern thongs, marched himoff in triumph.

  Wounded as he was, breathless and almost insensible, the poor lad washalf-dragged, half-carried by his savage captors, first across theKeiskamma Drift, then up the precipitous mountain side, until, shortlyafter sunset, they reached a small kraal situated on one of the rockyspurs of the Amatolas. Here the wretched prisoner's appearance washailed with loud shouts of exultation by the few men and the numerouswomen and children who inhabited the kraal; and after he had been wellbeaten and loaded with abuse (not a word of which he understood) thethongs that bound his arms were cut, he was stripped of the greaterportion of his clothing, and then ignominiously kicked into a hut, wherehis enemies left him to pass the night as best he might, without a dropof water or the smallest morsel of food.

  That Tom Flinders' reflections as he lay, almost in a state of nudity,on the mud floor of the miserable hut--the interior of which swarmedwith noxious insects and vermin--were not of an agreeable nature may bereadily imagined. A dull feeling of pain racked his weary limbs, histemples throbbed violently, and a burning thirst consumed him, added towhich his mental anguish bade fair to drive him mad.

  He could not help calling to remembrance all that he had heardconcerning the appalling cruelties practised by the Caffres on thoseunhappy creatures who chanced to fall into their hands; and therecollection of these horrors almost made him wish that the piece ofrock had struck him just a little _harder_, or that his captors had putan end to his existence when they discovered him, instead of reservinghim for a doom of protracted and unutterable suffering.

  But Tom was not one to willingly give way to gloomy forebodings, and hestrove hard to change his thoughts; so that presently he found himselfthinking of his parents, especially of his mother, and of their grief athis sad fate; and next he began to wonder what had become of CaptainJamieson and faithful Patrick Keown (for when Tom crawled from beneaththe waggon he had not noticed the mutilated bodies of those brave menlying by the road-side), and of the rest of his comrades--whether any ofthem had escaped, and if so whether they would make any search for him.

  "They might as well look for a needle in a bundle of forage," said hehalf aloud.

  But thinking of his absent friends was good for poor Tom, for it madehim remember that he had One Friend who was never absent; and,reproaching himself for his rebellious and ungrateful feelings and hiswant of trust, he rose to his knees and offered up an earnest prayer forpardon, and for deliverance from his savage enemies.

  After which he stretched himself on the floor of his foul prison, and(in spite of his painful condition and wretched surroundings and thepangs of almost overwhelming thirst) he at length fell into a heavysleep.

  Tom remained in a heavy drowsy slumber--half sleep, half stupor--foreight or nine hours, and when at length he opened his eyes it was broaddaylight. On attempting to get up he discovered that his ankles weresecured by a stout cord, though his arms were still free.

  "So the beggars have been paying me a visit during the night," said he,assuming a sitting posture and taking a look round the hut. "I musthave slept uncommonly sound, for them to have lashed my feet togetherwithout rousing me! Halloa! what's this?" he went on as his eye lightedupon a gourd and a few green mealies placed just within his reach."Come, they don't intend that I should die of thirst, after all!" Andeagerly seizing the gourd, which contained about a pint and a half ofsour milk, he drained it to the dregs.

  "I don't remember ever having enjoyed a drink so much!" exclaimed thepoor fellow as he threw down the empty vessel with a sigh. "But oh,don't I wish there had been three times the quantity!"

  The day passed without a soul visiting the prison except one repulsiveold woman, who brought Tom another and larger vessel of milk and somemore mealies during the afternoon, and who, after regarding him withlooks of fiendish malignity, deliberately spat in his face as she leftthe hut.

  "Beastly old crone!" growled Tom as he raised the milk to his lips andtook a long draught. "What on earth did she want to do that for?" headded, putting down the half-emptied vessel.

  By this time Tom was suffering from the pangs of hunger as well as thoseof thirst, and so he set to work on the hitherto neglected mealies, andmanaged to dispose of half of them, untempting though they were.

  Next day our captive hero was left entirely alone, receiving neitherfood nor drink; driven almost to despair he had serious thoughts offreeing himself from his bonds and rushing out upon his foes, regardlessof consequences, but he found he was too weak to make the attempt. Thenhe became quite light-headed, and jabbered and sang to himself, until atlast he fell into a regular stupor; and when he once more awoke toconsciousness he found that there was another prisoner in the hut, andthat prisoner was--Frank Jamieson!

  CHAPTER TWENTY.

  AN UNEXPECTED MEETING--A FRIENDLY CAFFRE.

  "Can this possibly be you, Tom?" exclaimed Frank Jamieson in utterastonishment, when, in the squalid, half-clad figure lying huddled upagainst the wall of the hut, he recognised his friend and comrade TomFlinders. "How came you here? It was officially reported in camp thatyou were killed when our corps attempted to retake the waggons on the18th. I am most--"

  "Would that the report were true!" interrupted Tom in dejected tones;for he felt so completely broken down that not even the unexpected sightof his friend could rouse him. "I should be out of my misery then.These black devils have beaten and kicked me about like a dog;
they'veinsulted and starved me, and driven me half-mad by keeping me withoutdrink. Now I suppose they'll finish up by torturing us both to death."And, unable to control himself any longer, for he was quite hystericalfrom exhaustion, pain, and thirst, the poor lad burst into tears.

  In an instant Frank Jamieson was down on his knees beside his prostratefriend, and, taking a spirit-flask from the pocket of his blouse, heraised Tom's head and made him swallow a small quantity of brandy; hethen produced a handful of moss-biscuit from another pocket and pressedhim to eat it. But Tom shook his head, saying: "No, thanks, Frank, I'llnot take it; you may want it yourself before long. Food is notplentiful in this miserable hole, I can assure you."

  "Nonsense, man!" retorted the other, seeing that, in spite of hisrefusal, Tom cast a hungry look at the