“Beastly old crone!” growled Tom as he raised the milk to his lips and took a long draught. “What on earth did she want to do that for?” he added, putting down the half-emptied vessel.
By this time Tom was suffering from the pangs of hunger as well as those of thirst, and so he set to work on the hitherto neglected mealies, and managed to dispose of half of them, untempting though they were.
Next day our captive hero was left entirely alone, receiving neither food nor drink; driven almost to despair he had serious thoughts of freeing himself from his bonds and rushing out upon his foes, regardless of consequences, but he found he was too weak to make the attempt. Then he became quite light-headed, and jabbered and sang to himself, until at last he fell into a regular stupor; and when he once more awoke to consciousness he found that there was another prisoner in the hut, and that prisoner was—Frank Jamieson!
Chapter Twenty.
An unexpected Meeting—A friendly Caffre.
“Can this possibly be you, Tom?” exclaimed Frank Jamieson in utter astonishment, when, in the squalid, half-clad figure lying huddled up against the wall of the hut, he recognised his friend and comrade Tom Flinders. “How came you here? It was officially reported in camp that you were killed when our corps attempted to retake the waggons on the 18th. I am most—”
“Would that the report were true!” interrupted Tom in dejected tones; for he felt so completely broken down that not even the unexpected sight of his friend could rouse him. “I should be out of my misery then. These black devils have beaten and kicked me about like a dog; they’ve insulted and starved me, and driven me half-mad by keeping me without drink. Now I suppose they’ll finish up by torturing us both to death.” And, unable to control himself any longer, for he was quite hysterical from exhaustion, pain, and thirst, the poor lad burst into tears.
In an instant Frank Jamieson was down on his knees beside his prostrate friend, and, taking a spirit-flask from the pocket of his blouse, he raised Tom’s head and made him swallow a small quantity of brandy; he then produced a handful of moss-biscuit from another pocket and pressed him to eat it. But Tom shook his head, saying: “No, thanks, Frank, I’ll not take it; you may want it yourself before long. Food is not plentiful in this miserable hole, I can assure you.”