'Have you any water in your bottle?' asked Hammersley.
'A little, sir.'
'Then give me a drop, for God's sake—mine is empty.'
Florian took the water-bottle from his waist-belt and drew out the plug; the sufferer drank thirstily, and on being placed in a sitting position, with a blanket about him, strove to obtain a little sleep, being weary and faint with the events of the past day.
'Whoever he is, that lad has good blood in his veins, and he has no fear of lavishing it,' was his last thought as he watched the receding figure of Florian leading away his favourite Tattoo by the bridle.
Our total casualties at Ginghilovo were only sixty-one; those of the Zulus above twelve hundred. The story of the encounter might have been different had another column of ten thousand men, which had been despatched from Ulundi by Cetewayo the day after the march of Somapo, effected a junction with the latter.
Etschowe, the point to be relieved, was now fifteen miles distant; but Colonel Pearson in his isolated fort must have heard of the victory, for Florian, when out with a few files on scouting duty, could see the signals of congratulation flashed therefrom.
After the fierce excitement of the past day, he felt—he knew not why—depressed and almost sorrowful; but perhaps the solitudes among which he rode impressed him when night came on.
Lighted up by hundreds and thousands of stars, the clear sky spread like a vast shining canopy overhead, and then the great round moon shed down a flood of silver sheen on the grassy downs where the black bodies of the naked dead, with fallen jaws and glistening teeth and eyes, lay thick as leaves in autumn, and Tattoo picked his steps gingerly among them.
And in such a solemn and silent time, more keenly than ever, came to Florian's mind the ever-recurring thoughts of Dulcie Carlyon and of what she was doing; where was she and with whom—in safety or in peril?