“I’m sorry; but no more than I expected.—Here,” he said, turning to his servant, after making a brave show of eating the meagre tin of Indian corn porridge; “bring me a little cocoa.”
“Beg pardon, sir,” said the man, bending over him from behind; “very sorry, but last of the cocoa was finished yesterday.”
“Humph! Yes; I had forgotten,” said the colonel, and he took up his spoon and began to play with the porridge remaining in his tin.
The breakfast was soon ended, and the officers made a show of chatting cheerfully together, while the colonel sat tapping the edge of his tin softly with his canteen spoon, looking thoughtfully into the bottom of the cleaned-out vessel the while. Then every eye was turned to him as he straightened himself up, for they judged that he was going to make some communication. They were right, for he threw down his spoon on the clothless board and said suddenly:
“Well, gentlemen, the French proverb says, Il faut manger.”
“Yes,” said the doctor, with a grim smile; “but it is necessary to have something in the manger.”
“Quite so, doctor,” said the colonel, with a good-humoured nod; “so I may as well open a discussion on the position at once, and tell you that while Roby and his company have been searching the kopje the major and I have formed ourselves into a committee of ways and means, and gone round the stores.—Tell them, major.”
The gentleman addressed shrugged his shoulders.
“There is so little to tell,” he replied; “only that with about quarter-rations we can hold out for another week. That’s all.”
“Not all,” said the colonel. “We have the horses as a last resource; but they are life to us in another way, and must be left till the very end.”