At the sight the Boers with one accord turned back, while Poynter pulled in his panting steeds and walked them towards the British camp. Soon they were surrounded by friends. There were hurried questions and explanations, and as soon as it was known that two of the plucky garrison of Ladysmith had escaped, actually bringing a prisoner with them, cheer after cheer rent the air. Then a horseman was sent forward, and when Jack and his friend drove calmly into General Buller’s camp the road on either side was lined by soldiers and blue-jackets all shouting a welcome.
Some refreshment was provided, and afterwards Poynter hurried off to the general’s quarters, while Jack was offered a bed in an officer’s tent, and at once turned in, as he had been awake all night.
On the following morning they were the lions of the camp. Their names were published in the orders for the day as having performed a service of signal danger and great merit, and before the sun had risen an hour they were besieged by an army of correspondents, all eager to hear news of Ladysmith and the narrative of their own escape.
Jack and Poynter held quite an informal reception, for officers flocked to have a chat with them, and for the greater part of the day their attentions were busily engaged in answering the hundreds of questions put to them. As for Jack, just when he believed that he had secured peace at last, and could enjoy the luxury of an hour’s quiet before dinner, he was suddenly attacked by a world-famous war-correspondent, who had waited till all his friends were satisfied and till he could get the adventurous despatch-rider to himself. Seated in front of our hero, pen and note-book in hand, this genial man, who had seen perhaps far more of war than the oldest veteran in our forces, skilfully extracted all his news, and by dint of careful questioning even managed to get from the bashful and retiring Jack an account of his early escapade in front of Kimberley.
“Ah, when I was a youngster like you,” he exclaimed, with some animation, “that despatch-riding was just the kind of work that would have suited me! Mind you, Mr Somerton, I don’t forget for one moment that it is really most risky work and requires a deal of pluck, but that is just where the fascination of it all comes in. I suppose, now that you have done so well, you will be given a commission, and that should suit your tastes, being, as you are, the son of an old officer!”
“Yes, I hope some day to have a commission in the service,” Jack answered thoughtfully, “but I fancy I should prefer it after the war is over. You see, if I were made a subaltern now I should no doubt see lots of fighting, but I should be tied and hampered to a great extent. I cannot forget that I left friends in Kimberley whom I promised to call upon again, and now that I am safely out of Ladysmith, with nothing in particular to do, I feel all the more inclined to turn my face that way.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Excuse me,” laughed the genial correspondent. “Of course I had not forgotten that you have friends on the Western border, and no doubt you are anxious to meet one of them at least again. Don’t mind my chaff, Somerton. It’s the sign of true friendship when one’s friends remember one. As to your leaving for Kimberley, I certainly advise you to do so, for you are not likely to see much fun hero; and besides, anyone not belonging to the regulars or volunteers is to be rigorously excluded from General Buller’s camp. Ladysmith is a precious tough nut to crack, and to be honest and perfectly candid, I do not believe we shall break our way through the Boers till we have distracted their attention to other quarters, and caused them to weaken their forces here. We are playing a big game, and while we keep Joubert and the Boer army before us by feints and attacks in deadly earnest, we are anxiously awaiting reinforcements to drive them out of Cape Colony, and if possible invade their own territory.”
“In that case,” answered Jack, “I shall leave as early as possible and join the troops under Lord Methuen; they are twelve miles south of Kimberley, and barred from reaching the town by General Cronje and the impregnable heights of Magersfontein and Spytfontein. Perhaps a despatch-carrier will be wanted, for Mafeking if not for Kimberley, and I shall offer my services.”
A few minutes later, after thanking Jack, the war-correspondent retired to his own tent to write up his despatches, and send them across the telegraph cables to the head offices of the London newspaper for which he worked.
Jack joined the officers of one of the regiments at dinner, and afterwards retired to rest. On the following morning, on mentioning to one of the staff of the general that he was about to set out for Kimberley, a letter was given him describing him and his services, and recommending that he be employed as a despatch-carrier.