“There are fifteen Irishmen in the corps, and they’re all raging about him. They say he ought to be hung for a traitor. He doesn’t deserve to be shot.”
“But there isn’t an Irishman in the corps would put it to the proof,” I said.
“Humph! Well,” said Denham, “I suppose not, for he is a prisoner after all. Officer and a gentleman—eh? One who must have left his country for his country’s good.”
Chapter Thirty One.
Denham’s bad luck.
The men of the corps were in high glee during the following days, the Boers making two or three attempts to cut off our grazing horses and oxen, but smarting terribly for being so venturesome. In each case they were sent to the right-about, while our cattle were driven back into safety without the loss of a man.
The enemy still surrounded us, occupying precisely the same lines; and, thoroughly dissatisfied with a style of fighting which meant taking them into the open to attack our stronghold, they laagered and strengthened their position, waiting for us to attack them. This could only be done at the risk of terrible loss and disaster, for the Boers were so numerous that any attempt to cut through them might only result in our small force being surrounded and overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers. Therefore our Colonel decided not to make an attack.
“The Colonel says they’re ten to one, Val; and as we’ve plenty of water and provisions, he will leave all ‘acting on the aggressive’ to the Doppies.”