“Not such a very long time, sir. You see, the men have nothing but water to drink; tobacco’s getting scarce; there’s no bread, no coffee, no vegetables; and the men have very little to do but rub down their horses to keep ’em clear of ticks: the consequence is that they try to make up for it all by keeping on eating beef, and then sleeping as hard as ever they can.”
“I don’t know what we can do unless we cut our way through the enemy,” said Denham sadly. “I go on thinking the matter over and over, and always come back to the same idea.”
“No wonder,” said the Sergeant. “That is the only way; so the sooner you two get fit to mount the better, for I don’t see that anything can be done till then.”
“Are there any more—cripples?” said Denham bitterly.
“Oh, there’s a few who’d be off duty if things were right,” said the Sergeant cheerfully; “but they make shift. The Colonel limps a bit, and uses his sword like a walking-stick; six have got arms in slings, and four or five bullet-scratches and doctor’s patches about ’em; but there isn’t a man who doesn’t show on parade and isn’t ready to ride in a charge.”
“But riding,” I said, with the eagerness of one who is helpless—“what about the horses?”
“All in fine condition, gentlemen,” said the Sergeant emphatically, “but a bit too fine, and they look thin. The Colonel’s having ’em kept down so that they shan’t get too larky from having no work to do.”
“But they’re not sent out to graze now?” I said.
“Oh yes, regularly.”
“Then why don’t the Boers shoot them, so as to make them helpless?”