Lyle laughed aloud.
The Boers, having expended their fire, retired before the infantry had time to return it with any kind of precision; five of the Dutch, however, lay stretched in their blood, and many came back wounded.
The scene now, with the exception of the dead and wounded scattered about, presented the same appearance as at first—the British troops forming for the advance, the ridges silent, and apparently unpeopled.
Madame Vander Roey, implicitly obedient to her husband’s orders, sat where he had placed her, and with eyes of stone watched the sharp angle at the base of the ridge. The Boers came back in masses. She saw not Vander Roey; he was the very last, and then he turned and fired a parting shot at one gallant soldier who had lingered in rear of his company, and who paid the penalty of his imprudence—the roer’s bullet laid him dead among the rocks.
Having thus crippled the infantry, a great point was gained, for foot soldiers were the only people who could work in such a position; and as for the artillery, the ground was equally against that, or cavalry, following up what it might begin. So thought the Dutch; “but,” thought Lyle and Gray and some twenty others, “they have never seen rocket practice!”
“How d—d passive that fellow Gray looks,” said Lyle to Brennard, as the latter, during the awful pause, held a parley with his colleague.
“I never could make him out,” replied Brennard, indifferently. “I think the fellow is half a fool.”
“He is no knave, certainly,” said Lyle, contemptuously.
The British force now began to move, in that determined way which proved it was in earnest, and having reached the points whence the artillery could work against the enemy, again halted.
Lyle saw that the humane Sir Adrian was still awaiting a signal for peace, and what was his horror, his rage, when he saw Gray rise from his kneeling position, and leap on the rough parapet before him. There stood the young deserter, unarmed, erect, motionless, undaunted.