Chapter Twenty Five.
The Escape.
When the night swiftly settled down, a ring of fires sprang up about the little camp, and the warriors seated round chanted their battle songs with many a burst of merriment. But in the camp thus hemmed in there was silence—the silence of despair. Though they had beaten their foes off the victory would not lay with them, as they had to abandon their waggon, the home of many happy days; their possessions, which became more valuable with each day’s move from civilisation; and had to face the hardships and dangers of progress through savage country on foot, themselves their own porters.
“Is there no hope of holding out?” asked Webster.
Hume glanced significantly at Miss Anstrade, who, with head averted, was listening, with evident nervousness, to the ominous chants of the Zulus.
“We must escape,” he muttered.
“At least, let us scuttle the ship before we leave her, lay a train to the powder-room, and blow her up.”
“And so tell them that we have left the camp. No; I’m afraid we must leave everything standing. I have made four large bundles, and we can take away enough to last.”
Blankets and rugs, rolled up and tied at their ends, were slung like horse-collars over their shoulders and across their breasts, rifles were picked up, bundles tied on with the ox rheims; and so prepared they waited the return of Sirayo, who had gone off scouting into the night. And as they waited their first regret at leaving gave place to a nervous anxiety to be off, for the darkness brought to them a thorough sense of the insecurity of their position. A rustle in the leaves of the huge tree rising above them like a dome made them look up apprehensively, lest some daring savage was already in lurking amid the branches, and when at last Klaas signalled the approach of Sirayo, they stepped forward eagerly to meet him.