In the Trap.
If either Denham or I had felt the slightest disposition to run, it was checked by the brotherly feeling that one could not escape without the other; but even if we had made the attempt it would have been impossible, for the words uttered by the big Boer at my side acted like the application of a spark to a keg of gunpowder. In an instant there was an explosion. Men leaped to their feet, rifle in hand; there was a roar of voices; yells and shouts were mingled with bursts of talking which rose into a hurricane of gabble, out of which, mingled with oaths and curses delivered in the vilest Dutch, I made out, “Spies—shoot—hang them;” and it seemed that after thrusting ourselves into the hornets’ nest we were to be stung to death.
The noise was deafening, and as we were held men plucked and tore at us, while the roar of voices seemed to run to right and left all along the line, alarm spreading; with the result that those outside the narrow space where the facts were known took it to be a sudden attack from the rear, and began firing at random in the darkness. In spite of the despair that came over me, I even then could not help feeling a kind of exultation—satisfaction—call it what you will—at the surprise we had given the blundering Boers, and thinking that if the Colonel had been prepared with our men to charge into them at once, the whole line of the enemy for far enough to right and left would have turned and fled, after an ineffectual fire which must have done far more harm to their friends than to their foes, and then scattered before our fellows like dead leaves before a gale.
However, we were not to be torn to pieces just then by the infuriated Boers, for we were each held firmly by two burly fellows, while Moriarty, yelling at the excited crowd in his highly-pitched voice, opened and held the lantern on high, so as to get a good look at our disfigured faces. The light fell upon his own as well, and I saw him start and shrink, as if for the moment he fancied that we had returned from the dead. But his dismay was only momentary. Then a malevolent grin of exultation came over his countenance, his eyes scintillated in the lantern light, and he yelled orders to those around till he obtained comparative silence.
“Pass the word all along the line,” he shouted. “False alarm. Only spies, and we have got them. Cease firing.”
His words had but little effect for a few minutes; but by degrees the tumult was stilled and the firing ceased. The men about us readily obeyed the Irish captain’s orders.
“They’re old fr’inds of mine,” he said, with a peculiar grin—“dear fr’inds who have come after me to join our ranks; and I’m going to make them take the oaths properly.”
There was a groan of dissent at this, but Moriarty paid no heed; he only showed his teeth at us in a savage grin like that of some wild beast about to spring.
“Yes,” he continued, “they’re old fr’inds of mine—dear fr’inds. That one”—he pointed to me—“is a deserter from our forces, and the other miserable brute is an officer who has been fighting against us and helping his companion. Be cool and calm, dear boys, and as soon as it is light you shall have the pleasure of shooting the young scoundrels. For we’re all soldiers now, and we must behave like military min, unless you would like to set a Kaffir to hang them both from a tripod of dissel-booms at the two ends of a rein.”
“Shoot them! Shoot them!” came in a burst of voices.