The officers needed no telling; and in a few minutes we were off again, first in one direction, then in another, our leader giving up as hopeless the idea of making straight for any particular opening in the dense ranks, but picking out the smaller parties of the enemy—that is to say, mobs not more than double our own strength; and when we could get within striking distance they were punished and scattered like chaff before the wind, in spite of the scattered volleys they sent at us before they fled.
This could not last, of course, for it was always at the cost of some of our poor fellows and of many horses, who had to be left to fall into the enemy’s hands.
At last we managed to charge home right into a body of our foes at least three times our strength—numerous enough, in fact, to surround us as we fought our way through them, thus rendering us more and more helpless; but our men fought desperately, till about half of the corps forced their way through, and, making an attempt to keep well in formation, dashed on.
I was with about a dozen quite fifty yards in the rear, half-mad with pain and excitement, for one of the Boers had clubbed his rifle in the midst of the mêlée and struck at my head. I was too quick for him, wrenching myself sidewise; but the rifle glanced all down one side, giving me for the moment a terrible numbing sense of pain. Yet my head was quite clear, and I rode on, feeling a wild kind of exhilaration from the knowledge that with one quick thrust I had passed my sword through his shoulder. Now I was urging on poor bruised and frightened Sandho to keep up with the dozen or so of our men who were trying to overtake the main body. We were in no formation, only a galloping party; and, consequent upon my injury, I was last. As we tore on we passed one of the corps trying to drag himself from under his fallen horse, which was lying across his legs. I couldn’t let him lie like that; so I pulled up, leaped down, and, shouting to Sandho to stand, dashed at the fallen and wounded horse’s head, caught him by the bit, and dragged at him to make him rise. The poor beast made a desperate effort, and got upon three legs; but sank back again with a piteous groan, for it had stepped into some burrow and snapped its off hind-leg right in two. However, the horse’s effort had saved its rider, who struggled to his feet, his face blackened with powder and bleeding, and passed his hand across his eyes. To my astonishment I saw who it was, the long drooping moustache telling me in spite of his disfigured face.
“Well done!” he said hoarsely; “but I’m hurt, and you can’t help me. Mount and be off. I’m done.”
I glanced behind me, and saw that the Boers were getting together again as if to come in pursuit, while a long line was coming up from the left at a steady trot, and bullets were whizzing by. It was only a momentary glance to see what our chances were; and in answer to the Colonel’s words I shouted to Sandho to come round to my side.
“Poor wretch!” groaned the Colonel; “you’ve done your part. I can’t see you suffer like this;” and, to my horror, he took out his revolver, placed it to his charger’s forehead, and fired. The shot had a double effect that was nearly fatal to our chance, for at the clear-cutting report the Colonel’s charger laid his head slowly down, and a quiver ran through his frame; but Sandho reared up, made a bound, and was in the act of dashing off. Almost instinctively I gave out a shrill whistle, which brought him up, and he trotted back to my side.
“Now,” I cried, half-wild with excitement and the feeling of exaltation which had come over me, “mount and gallop after our men.”
“What! No, boy, I can’t do that,” he said, smiling, as he clapped me on the shoulder. “I’ve played my part, and if it means exit I’ll go off the stage like a man, for I suppose the brutes will shoot me for what I’ve done.”
“Nonsense!” I cried, wildly now. “Jump on, and gallop.”