Night Work.
By a sudden effort I threw off the dreamy sensation—the feeling that I was half-stunned by the pressure of the task I had undertaken, now that it had suddenly grown so much greater than I had anticipated—and I walked alongside the wagon-box, breathing hard, and planning that at the first sound of approaching enemies I would rush forward to where Joeboy was tramping beside the foreloper, assagai in hand, and make a dash with him for liberty. But the minutes glided by, as the line of wagons, all going on with the regularity of some great, elongated machine, rolled easily along over the soft earth, the rested bullocks pulling steadily under the guidance of their leaders and drivers.
In vain I listened for the furious rush of horses and the challenges and orders to stop; then, by degrees, I began to grasp the fact that, though hundreds of Boers must have heard the wagons start, not one gave heed to the crack of whip, the cries of the black drivers, or the creaking and rumbling of the wheels. The moving of wagons of stores was quite a matter of course; somebody had given orders for their position to be changed, and that was all. These sounds were nothing to the weary men, rolled up in their warm blankets, making the most of their night’s rest. Doubtless it awoke many; but they only listened for a moment, and then turned over to sleep again. Oxen, their drivers, and the wagons had nothing to do with the enemy. Had there been a trumpet-call, a single shot, or a loud order, to a man they would have sprung up to rush to their horses, saddled, and been ready to attack or defend; but the shifting of some wagons during the night—what was that? Nor was the Boer force a carefully drilled cavalry brigade, with its transport-corps under the strictest discipline, every man part of a machine which only moved by order, and whose stores and supplies were under the most severe regulation and guard; it was a loose, irregular horde, whose officers had to permit the men to fight very much as they pleased, so long as they fought well and advanced and retreated at the word.
It took time to reason all this out, and to get to believe that our bold ruse was succeeding to a far greater extent than I had ever dared to hope. There it was all plainly enough—all real; the wagons were going steadily along, the first guided by Joeboy, and the rest following with their black conductors quite as a matter of course.
As far as I could make out in the darkness, we were going along parallel with the lines of the sleeping Boers. Growing more excited now, I began to wonder how soon Joeboy would turn the heads of the leading bullocks and strike out for the fortress; then my thoughts drifted into a fresh rut, and I speculated as to how long it would be before we came upon some outpost and were turned back.
Hardly had this idea crossed my mind, sinking my spirits almost to despair, when a great figure loomed up before me. Joeboy was at my side.
“Got um all, Boss Val,” he said in a low tone. “Doppies come and stop us soon. Say, ‘Where you go?’”
“Yes; and we shall be turned back,” I replied quickly.
“Um? No. Joeboy say, ‘Big boss tell us to go right away other end.’ Joeboy hear and know how Doppie talk, and Joeboy say right words.”
“Are you sure?” I said in Boer Dutch, to test him.