“Tell me all about her and the others, Tom,” he proceeded eagerly. “I have been over in Ladysmith, and ever since I left Mafeking and was taken to Pretoria I have heard not a single word of you.”
“Goodness, Jack! Pretoria and Ladysmith! whatever do you mean?” exclaimed Tom in astonishment. “You left us here to carry despatches to Baden-Powell—and precious sorry hearts you left behind you, my lad, I can tell you—and since then, as we heard nothing of you save that you had reached your destination, we quite believed that you had taken up your quarters with the plucky garrison in Mafeking and were helping them to keep out the Boers. And now you talk about Pretoria and Ladysmith! What does it all mean? Out with it, man!”
“Oh, it’s a long yarn, Tom!” Jack laughed, “and I’ll give it to you this evening, but just now I should like to see the others.”
“Of course you would, old boy!” exclaimed Tom. “Come along, and follow me closely, or else you will have a shower of millets flying around your head. Ah, here we are! Hop down into that trench. Now push on and take the third turn to the right. We are bound to take care of ourselves here, and as our streets are often swept by bullets, and a bursting shell is a common thing, we have dug these shelter trenches.”
Dropping into a deep trench, Jack and his friend pushed along rapidly, halting once, however, and crouching low as a huge shell shrieked just overhead, and, striking a storehouse opposite, shivered it into a thousand fragments, scattering the ruins on every side.
“That’s about the only thing our friends are any good at,” said Tom Salter with a growl. “They’ve sat outside this town for weeks and weeks, and all that time they’ve never given us a chance for a healthy fight. Bless you, they thought that the taking of Kimberley was a simple matter, and when they found that they had got men to deal with, they just sat down to starve us out, or worry us to death with their shells; but assault us, or make anything like a plucky effort to take us, they have never done. But here we are; hop up, old boy. Now, follow me along here to the chamber of horrors; that’s what we call our bomb-proof rooms. There it is; five steps down, and turn to the left.”
Jack descended a flight of wooden steps, and, turning to the left, entered a low subterranean chamber, lighted by a spluttering candle stuck into the neck of a bottle standing upon a table in the centre. It was Tom Salter’s sanctum, in which he and three others lived and sheltered from the Boer shells, thousands of which had fallen into the beleaguered town since the commencement of the siege.
“Now, put your traps down there and have a wash,” said Tom, indicating a bucket of water and a towel; “then I will take you along to Frank and his girl. Halloo! Come in!” he shouted, as a knock was heard just outside the chamber.
The next moment Wilfred Hunter burst in, and rushed up to Jack. The two lads shook hands warmly.
“Back again, Jack? I’m glad to see you, old chap!” Wilfred cried excitedly. “Why, what a whopping big fellow you’ve got; as broad as a house, and taller, I am sure. But come along, I must not forget my message. The Russels want to see you, and ordered me to bring you along immediately. Ah, you lucky dog! I’d give anything to be in your shoes, for she’s the best and sweetest girl that I or any other fellow ever set eyes on!”