“‘They are saluting you, my brave boy,’ said the General.
“I felt him move in my arms, and I lifted his hand to his head to salute. Then he sighed, then he smiled, and his eyes closed. ‘I’ll wait for you, Abe,’ he said, and he was dead.
“‘Ninety-fourth,’ said the General, ‘the enemy’s in the pass.’
“They came by in columns, and as they passed, they looked at the little chap and saluted, and they went on in silence with their mouths shut.
“They clean frightened the Kaffirs that time; and next day—they buried the little chap—the band playing—and all the regiment in full dress. My little chap—my little chap!” said Abe, in a whisper—“‘I’ll wait for you, Abe,’ he sed. And when he sounds the bugle ole Abe’ll go. Yes, I sit and listen for it.” He sat still, looking toward the sea, and I went quietly away.
Chapter Thirty Two.
The “Red” Kaffirs!
I found Abe Pike one afternoon poring over a newspaper, tracing each word with a horny finger, and laboriously spelling out the long words.