As the first report was heard Denham rose in his stirrups. “Draw swords!” he yelled; and then, “Gallop!”
There was the rasping of blades against the scabbards, three or four closely following digs into the soft sandy ground, with our horses’ muscles quivering beneath us, and then we were off at full speed, tearing after the outposts, which had wheeled round and galloped back, while with our sabres at the ready we went straight ahead.
“Keep together, lads,” cried Denham in a low, hoarse voice; but the order was needless, for, after the manner of their nature, our chargers hung together; and as we raced along it seemed to me that we should pass right through the enemy’s lines without a check.
Vain thought! Away in front, as we galloped on, a low, deep hum seemed to be approaching; and I knew the alarm had spread, and that the Boers were rapidly preparing for us. More than that, we had convincing proof that they were prepared.
Suddenly, flashing, glittering lights, as of hundreds of fireflies playing about a hedge extending right and left as far as I could see, began to sparkle and scintillate; but only for a moment, for now came the crackling roar of irregular firing, the flashes being partially obscured. Then, in a few brief moments more, we were closing up to the long line of riflemen.
“Now for it!” cried Denham close to my loft ear, his voice sounding like a husky whisper as we raced on knee to knee, and then our horses rose, as it were, at a fire-tipped hedge to clear the smoke.
There was a crash, yells of rage and defiance, and we were through, tearing away with the roar of our long line of galloping horses close after us. There was no time to think of danger—of shots from the enemy, or being crushed down by the hoofs of the troopers tearing after us; all was one wild state of fierce excitement, which made me feel as if I must shout in triumph at the result of our successful charge.
Contrary to expectation, there was now a new sound—the buzzing hiss of bullets overhead. Then, away to my left, yet another peculiar announcement of what might happen; for, clearly above the heavy thud of horses’ hoofs and the loud jingle of bits and chains, I could hear a curious zip, zip, zip, zip—a sound I had learned to know perfectly well: it was the striking of the Boers’ bullets upon inequalities of the ground, and their ricochetting to hit again and again, as though a demoniacal game of “Dick, duck, and drake” were being played upon the surface of the ground instead of upon the water from off the shore.
Suddenly some one tore along to the side of our column, and a voice shouted, followed by the clear notes of a trumpet.
The horses wanted no touch from rein or spur. Those right and left of me bore round, and naturally mine went with them. Left incline, and we tore on still in as wild and reckless a race through the darkness as was ever ridden by a body of men.