“Hullo!” said Alston, as, on reaching the summit of the neck over which the waggon-road runs, they came in sight of the camp, “they are not entrenched. By Jove,” he added, after scanning the camp carefully, “they haven’t even got a waggon-laager!” and he whistled expressively.
“What do you mean?” asked Ernest.
Mr. Alston so rarely showed surprise that he knew there must be something very wrong.
“I mean, Ernest, that there is nothing to prevent this camp from being destroyed, and every soul in it, by a couple of Zulu regiments, if they choose to make a night attack. How are they to be kept out, I should like to know, in the dark, when you can’t see to shoot them, unless there is some barrier? These officers, fresh from home, don’t know what a Zulu charge is, that is very clear. I only hope they won’t have occasion to find out. Look there,” and he pointed to a waggon lumbering along before them, on the top of which, among a lot of other miscellaneous articles, lay a bundle of cricketing bats and wickets, “they think that they are going on a picnic. What is the use, too, I should like to know, of sending four feeble columns sprawling over Zululand, to run the risk of being crushed in detail by a foe that can move from point to point at the rate of fifty miles a day, and which can at any moment slip past them and turn Natal into a howling wilderness? There, it is no use grumbling; I only hope I may be wrong. Get back to your troop, Ernest, and let us come into camp smartly. Form fours—trot!”
On arrival in the camp, Mr. Alston learned, on reporting himself to the officer commanding, that two strong parties of mounted men under the command of Major Dartnell were out on a reconnaissance towards the Inhlazatye Mountain, in which direction the Zulus were supposed to be in force. The orders he received were to rest his horses, as he might be required to join the mounted force with Major Dartnell on the morrow.
That night, as Alston and Ernest stood together at the door of their tent, smoking a pipe before turning in, they had some conversation. It was a beautiful night, and the stars shone brightly. Ernest looked at them, and thought on how many of man’s wars those stars had looked.
“Star-gazing?” asked Mr. Alston.
“I was contemplating our future homes,” said Ernest, laughing.
“Ah, you believe that, do you? think you are immortal, and that sort of thing?”
“Yes; I believe that we shall live many lives, and that some of them will be there,” and he pointed to the stars. “Don’t you?”