They had had a long and tiring ride, and were soon asleep, wrapped in the blankets which each one had carried strapped behind his saddle.
Just as daylight dawned on the following morning they were startled from their sleep by a succession of loud reports, followed in a few seconds by the screaming of several shells overhead and by an explosion close at hand.
“By Jove, they’ve started already, so we’re in the nick of time!” exclaimed Jack, jumping up and rushing outside the tent, where he was joined by Farney. “What has happened?” he asked an officer, who was passing at that moment.
“Lucas Meyer has occupied Talana Hill,” was the reply, “and he is shelling us with six guns. Wait a few minutes! Our batteries are galloping out, and you will see how soon they will polish those beggars off!”
Hastily slinging their belts across their shoulders and picking up their rifles and blankets, Jack and his friend saddled their ponies, which had spent the night close by, and cantered out of the camp after the British guns, which had already taken up a position.
“That was a close one,” exclaimed Jack calmly a moment later, as a shell whizzed just above his head and plunged into the ground behind, where it failed to explode. “A foot lower and it would have knocked my head to pieces!”
“Ah, there’s many a slip!” laughed Farney light-heartedly. “Look at our fellows! They are giving our friends over there a good peppering.”
Jack turned to watch the British guns, of which there were twelve, and then directed the field-glasses which he had purchased in Ladysmith at the heights of the Talana Hill. There he could see six cannon belching forth sharp spirts of flame, but no smoke, for the latest ammunition was being used.
As he looked, the British batteries spoke out, and the reports were followed by a succession of blinding flashes close by the Boer guns.
For twenty minutes the storm of shell continued to fall, and by that time the enemy had ceased to fire, and their guns stood unattended.