“What, Eileen Russel, daughter of the colonist whose house was bombarded at the commencement of the war!” cried Riley in astonishment. “Yes, his house was attacked,” answered Jack, smiling.
“By Jove, then, you must be the fellow we all heard about!” shouted Riley, seizing Jack by the hand; “and now I understand why I could not make out where I met you before. Of course it was in Mafeking, and I remember you left us, to ride north. Good heavens, man! to think that we have been together all these days and you have never mentioned it! Why, the fame of that beating you fellows gave the Boers close to Kimberley has gone everywhere. Shake hands again, old man, and when we reach Kimberley I shall make a point of seeing this young lady and telling her what a brick you are.”
Two days later Jack and his friend left the English camp, and, passing through the lines of the Canadian troops, who had distinguished themselves for their bravery during the whole campaign, and especially in the attack upon the Boer laager, they trotted across the open veldt to Kimberley.
Tom Salter was the first to meet them, and at once conducted Jack to the house in which the Russels had now taken up their quarters.
“There you are, lad,” he said kindly, patting Jack on his broad back; “the girl’s in there, just crying her eyes out for you, and fancying you’ve been hurt. The news came over yesterday that you had been found in Cronje’s laager, and as nothing was said as to your being dead or alive, she has naturally been in a state of anxiety ever since. You go in, old boy, and I’ll take care of Riley. We’ll come along in half an hour and have a yarn.”
There is no need to tell of the joy of the meeting between stalwart Jack and his future bride. Of this be sure, the half-hour flew by so quickly that it seemed to be only a few minutes before Tom and Riley turned up again.
“What do you think of the town now?” asked the former, eyeing Jack quizzically. “I can tell you, my lad, it’s a tremendous relief to be free from those Boers and have plenty of good food and water again. I shall never forget that day when General French marched in. You’d have thought we were a lot of babies. The street was crammed with yelling crowds of pale, sickly-looking men, who had lived for weeks on less than half the accustomed amount, and I know that many a one was too feeble to choke back his sobs. And the women and the kids—God bless them!—just held up their arms and blubbered. I felt just like a girl. But it’s all over now, and we’re beginning to live like decent folks again, up in the air and daylight.”
“Yes,” Jack agreed, “you have had a terrible experience, and have come out of it wonderfully. Now it will be our turn to advance upon the Boer towns and retaliate.”
Far into that night they chatted, and then, bidding Eileen and Frank Russel good-night, Jack accompanied Tom Salter to his quarters. On the following morning he did not awake with that feeling of strength and vigour to which he was accustomed, and all day long was depressed by a feeling of weariness and lassitude. That night he was in a fever, and on the following morning was too ill to get out of bed.
Four months of hard work and exposure had told upon him. Weakened by his wound and by his stay in Ladysmith, Jack had fallen a victim to the foul water and odours of the Boer laager at Paardeberg, and had been struck down with typhoid fever. From that day, for more than three weeks he lay helpless and almost wholly unconscious, tended by his future wife and by another good Samaritan in the form of a soldier’s wife.