Dickenson looked round to see if either of the men could hear him, and then he whispered softly, “Not once.”
Lennox took no notice, for he was resting his field-glass upon the rough top of the stone wall, looking outward over the veldt.
“Well, didn’t you hear what I said?”
“Yes. Don’t worry,” replied Lennox shortly. “Here, quick!” he cried excitedly. “Take your glass and look straight away yonder to the left of the laager we took.”
“Eh? Yes! All right. I see. Here, send word to the chief. They’re coming on fast now; three clouds of them. Reinforcements. Why don’t those fellows make the big gun begin to talk?”
“Because they can see what I can, Bob,” cried Lennox joyously. “Look again. Lance-tips glittering in the sun. Our men. Hurrah! Strong bodies of cavalry. Why, Bob, they’ll catch the enemy in the open now. The siege is up. Hush! Don’t shout.”
“Why, man? It will encourage the lads.”
“And warn the enemy that help is coming. Five minutes more ignorance will be worth anything to the relief force. I’ll go to the chief at once.”
There was no need. Almost at that moment the colonel had caught sight of the lance-tips through his glass; but quite ten minutes more—minutes crowded with excitement—elapsed before the attacking party were aware of the danger in their rear, and then came the terrible reverse. Boers began running back to where their ponies were being held out of rifle-shot, but running in vain, for the British cavalry were there first, spurring their steeds and stampeding the ponies, sending them in all directions prior to charging through and through the retreating parties, and keeping up the pursuit until recalled.
Others of the relief force had meanwhile been aiming at the three laagers, into which the infantry dashed, the first warning of this received at the kopje being through the cessation of the shelling, for the guns were either silenced or put out of action, the whole of the Boer force literally melting away.