Consequently, after the watch-setting, the orders were given, and party after party moved silently through the soft darkness, till by the brilliant starlight each battery was manned and the trenches which commanded the probable approaches to the kopje lined, while the same precautions were taken in the village, where wall and hut had been carefully loopholed; and then all was ready. The men lay down in their greatcoats and blankets to snatch such sleep as they could get, as it was anticipated that several hours would probably elapse before the attack—if any—was made.
“I was in hopes,” said Dickenson when all was ready, “that we should be up yonder, ready to cover the gunners. It would be a treat to play Boer and show them what firing from behind stones is like. Something new for them.”
“But we shall not stay here very long if they do come,” replied Lennox.
“No; we understand all that. Been drilled into us pretty well. But it strikes me that, according to the good old fashion of nothing occurring so likely as the unexpected, if they do come it will not be to where we are waiting, but from somewhere else.”
“Where else can they come from?” said Lennox sharply.
“Oh, don’t ask me,” said Dickenson, laughing. “I’m not a Boer: how can I tell? They’ll have hatched out some dodge. Got a balloon all the way from Komati Poort, perhaps, and about three o’clock they’ll have it right over the top of the kopje, and if we had been up there I dare say we should have found them sliding down ropes like spiders.”
“Highly probable,” said Lennox dryly.
“Ah, you may jest; but you see if they don’t come crawling right close up like so many slugs on a wet night. The first thing we shall know will be that they are there.”
“Ah, now you are talking sense.”
“But I don’t guarantee that it’s going to be like that,” said Dickenson quickly, “so don’t be disappointed.”