He of the building. They were to be fired as simultaneously as possible with the means at his disposal, and had therefore been fitted with equal lengths of safety fuse to allow one minute. himself had laid one and had deputed the preparation of the others to four of his men. When all were ready he was to give the word, and each man would at once light up. To avoid accidents, so soon as his fuse was ignited each man was at once to sing out his name and leave the building. If the whistle sounded all were to bolt immediately. From his coign of vantage in the thickness of the doorway Holt could watch three of his men; but he could not see him who was working in the back room behind his own, and it was there that he had placed his sergeant. Time was getting on. He raised his voice to make sure of being heard above the noise and shouted "All ready?" "No, sir!" roared out the sapper in the front room facing Holt as he stood. He was nervous, and had fumbled. "All right, Bastow, take it easy," said Holt. He knew Bastow's disposition. Besides, it was ticklish work for a young soldier who was doing the real thing for the first time, especially as the bullets were every moment starring the wall not six feet from his head. The worst thing that could be done was to hustle, and yet there was need for haste. Holt consulted his wrist watch. Then, while he waited, he idly swept some of the mess on the floor to one side with his foot. The place was horrible to look at. Besides the rubbish and offal which lay all round the legacy of the burghers who had used the house as a convenient outpost-there was nothing. All the furniture had been removed or burnt, and the doorways were innocent of doors and the window-openings of frames. When he had given Bastow another half minute Holt again spoke. "All ready now?" This time there was no dissent. "Prepare to light." "Light." Holt gripped his whistle between his teeth and ran crouching back to his own corner. He knelt down, pulled a matchbox from his pocket, and listened. Before he fired his own charge, in order to give the men a start, he intended to wait until the first of them signalled that he had lighted up. After a very few seconds a shout rang through the house "Stewart; burning." This was the sergeant. Holt at once looked at his watch. The minute would count from now. He then struck a fusee, and seizing the end of the fuse in his left hand, held it firm while he deliberately pressed the glowing head against it. The thing spat out a small jet of sparks and a spurt of thin blue smoke, and Holt laid it down tenderly, then crawled back to the doorway to wait for the others. As he stood he could hear in the corner behind him a hissing like that of an angry snake. It was not a pleasant noise, for there was such a thing as faulty or perished fuse, and the slowly traveling fire might go out altogether or, what was more exciting, might flash straight down to the detonator. And it was with impatience that Holt watched the now jumpy Bastow, who could do nothing right. First he made several efforts to strike his fusee on the side of its head instead of on the bright red tip, as he had been trained. Then he rubbed it so savagely that it broke. There was a second cry, "Stephens; burning," and the sapper at the back of the central room crawled out. Time was slipping by, and Holt itched to dart across and take over the bung ler's job; but he could not, for there was still one other man left in the room behind him; and he dared not speak. The luckless Bastow had now actually succeeded in striking a "Vesuvian," but he had grown more and more flurried, and now was trying to dab it on to the fuse without holding the latter steady. Of course it dodged about and eluded his rather shaky hand. But, nervous as he was, he was full of grit, and if left alone would probably have gone on trying till he was killed by the detonation of the other charges. By now thirty seconds had passed, and Holt seriously feared that he would have to blow his whistle. The suspense was so great that he could not stand still, and was executing a noiseless step-dance in his corner. "Hayes; burning," echoed through the farm, and a third figure stole out. Holt lost no time. Still crouching, he pounced on to the sweating Bastow, seized him by the shoulder, and hissed "Clear out." "Crawl!" he roared, as the man stood up to his full height and began to run, oblivious of bullets. He then made one effort to fire the thing himself. He failed to do so, and saw that the end of the fuse had been rubbed in the dirt or squeezed. There was no time for re-cutting. He dropped the thing, squirmed from the room, past the smoking charge at the back of the central chamber, and slunk out of the house. And it was none too soon, for as he raced across the open towards the river-bank whither his detachment had preceded him the first charge went off. He felt the air quiver at the back of his neck, and sundry stones whizzed past him. "One," he muttered, staggering on. As he dived over the brow of the bank he almost fell on to the Major, "That's all right, then," said the commander, and proceeded to clamber up over the edge. "Hold on!" shrieked Holt, grasping him unceremoniously. "There are two more." At that moment there was a third report, and a heavy body snarled past overhead, smashing its way through the bushes, and fell into the water with a splash. "Three," he remarked solemnly, holding up his hand to enjoin silence, as if the sound of the explosions might otherwise escape notice. There was now a longer interval; and the eyes of the two officers and those of the orderly close by were fixed in that steady, vague, unseeing stare which shows that hearing is the sense upon which attention is concentrated. As the suspense was prolonged Holt cocked his head on one side like a listening parrot, and his expression grew anxious. Another detonation rang out. "Four," he gasped in a tone of relief. "That's right now, sir. May have to pick a bit of wall down, but that won't take long." "Look here, Holt, I'm afraid there's another house to be demolished. Have you any stuff left?" "Not much-about eight slabs, I should say. I didn't know there was to be anything else, and I've been a bit lavish." "I know. It is not your fault in any way. Point is-can you do anything with your slabs?" "What sort of a house? Can I have a look at it?" "'Fraid not. No time. It's out of sight, on the other side. Digby's been over and found a small four-roomed house fifty yards from the river, sort of beiwohner's shanty. Well-what is it?" he added to a breathless orderly who had just climbed up towards him, leading his horse. "From Captain Wheeler, sir." "Wheeler says he can't stick it more than seven or eight minutes. They're getting round to our left a bit, across .the river. I'll give you eight minutes before we fall back. Just nip over with what stuff you have, and do your best with the shanty. We shall retire the same way we came. Remember that they're over on that side nowprobably some way off, though. Don't get scuppered." Sending one of his men to collect the unexpended material and take it down to the river to await his arrival, Holt led the others up to the pile of débris and cloud of dust which now represented the farm, and set them to work with pick and crowbar to level the one corner of the house which was still standing and the stone walls of a kraal. He then ran down to the river and found the sapper bailing water out of a very crazy boat. On the seat in the stern was the gun-cotton, detonator, and a short piece of fuse. As he tumbled into the boat and shoved off, Holt noticed the scanty length of the latter. "Good Lord, Stimson! That all the safety?" "All that's left, sir." Quite gravely the subaltern whistled the eight notes usually associated with that vulgar refrain, "Goin' to the ball this evenin'?" And inappropriate as this sentiment may appear to the ultra-refined, to the less cultured soldier present it expressed the situation to a nicety. Seizing the hauling-rope, he whistled the reply under his breath. As the water-logged boat nosed its sodden way across the river it became quite evident that the enemy had got to the left more than a bit, for several bullets hummed overhead, and one or two dived into the stream with a "phuit." But there was serious work toward; and, feet in six inches of bilge, Holt was kept fully employed connecting up his charge. When he jumped ashore he was carrying the gun-cotton ready primed and lashed together in one hand, and in the other a poisonous-looking red detonator with the length of fuse dangling from it, "You wait here till I come back," he said to Stimson. "If I don't appear by the time the thing poops off, give ine one minute and then get back to the detachment. See?" "Yes, sir." "Better get behind that hump-there are a good many stray bullets flying about now. Hold on. Just pat my pockets first. Feel a matchbox?" "No, sir." "Thought so. Must have left it in the farm. Got yours?" Stimson produced his own box of fusees. "How many in it?" "Six, sir." "Right. Don't finger them with your wet hands, man! Put 'em in my pocket." Holt then ran up the diagonal path, and Sapper Stimson, rifle by his side, curled down in a depression in the bank, and after wiping the slime off his hands proceeded to try and entice a splinter from his thumb with his teeth. He had not even got a grip on the intruder when he was interrupted by a whistle from the far bank, and an excited man in shirt and khaki breeches shouted out to him to bring the boat over. Now Stimson was not Bastow. He was a stolid man. He had got categorical orders and was not going to disobey them, and he said so distinctly and loudly. And he was not going to leave the boat to run up the bank and give Holt a message either. Even when his interlocutor explained with some emphasis that he was Lieutenant Digby of the -th Dragoons, though bound to accept the statement, he remained obdurate. he muttered to himself, "He was not going to leave his own officer in the soup, not for the whole blooming cavalry division." Without more ado the stranger stripped off the few garments he was wearing, and for the second time breasted the flood. As Somewhat surprised, and not quite knowing what was to happen, but feeling that he would be "on the mat" whatever he did, Sapper Stimson continued philosophically to chase the offending splinter. Succeeding in extracting it he spat viciously, muttered "Ikona! Not much," and awaited developments. Meanwhile, after some delay caused by the necessity for re-tying a guncotton slab which had slipped and fallen, Holt had reached the house. As reported, it was small, and about fifty yards from the river-bank. He approached it from the rear, which was the sheltered side, and found the back door open. This led on to a passage which ran straight through the house to the front door, which was shut. On each side of the passage were two doors. On the right, between the pair of doors on that side, stood a harmonium, and on top of it was a bookcase. Rushing in, Holt laid down his charge on top of the harmonium and peeped into the two back rooms. LIVING AGE VOL. LX. 3148 They were empty and almost bare, and he shut the doors. The central passage was evidently the placethe musical instrument might have been put there especially to suit his fell design-and he wasted no more time in searching. Drawing the harmonium about eight inches away from the wall, he placed his gun-cotton in the intervening space and pushed the harmonium back tight up against it. He then packed the charge on top and behind with some books-in his hurry unconsciously using the heavy leatherbound family Bible,-slipped the detonator into the primer, lit the fuse, and, carefully shutting the back door behind him, ran as hard as he could. Half way down the slope he collided with a dripping wet, naked man who was limping and stumbling upwards. "Hullo, Digby! What the?" "Lul-lighted the charge?" gasped the new comer. "Yes, fizzin' now. Come on back. No time to lose." "But where's the old buster?" "What old buster?" "Why, the old Dud-Dutchmanand the kid in the house?" "Good God! In that house?" "Yes, yes!" screamed Digby, and began to run on. "Stop!" said Holt. "I'll go." "No; I'll” "You won't. You fool! I know where the charge is placed and how much time there is." With that, Holt, who was far the heavier, gave the dragoon a hand-off, which sent him sprawling, and turned to run. Digby rolled for a few feet, his wet body picking up sand as he went, and was then caught in a thorn bush. Sapper Stimson watching from below chuckled, for though the naked man had not exactly popped over to have a chat, he had spoken a few kind words to the sapper as he hobbled over the sharp stones at the foot of the bank. By this time Holt was disappearing back over the edge; and the defeated one did his best to help. "Right front room!" he yelled. Holt put up his hand. As he ran on he at first wondered why the Major had not told him about this. He then blessed the bad knot which had caused a slab to fall and so delayed his last journey from the river. But these points did not long claim his attention. His thoughts turned to the miserable little piece of shiny black cord he had last seen spitting fire on to the varnished surface of a walnutwood harmonium-case. And he could not help making a lightning but futile calculation, based on the distance between the house and the spot where he had turned back, and the time in which he had once won the "Under Fifteen" hundred yards. The infernal thing was burning all right: he could see the thread of smoke trickling up the door-frame. Throwing open the back door, he rushed straight down the passage to the front door, opened that, and burst into the room on the right. In the centre of the room was a table upon which stood some crockery and the remains of a meal, and on the far side of the table, facing the stove, was an arm-chair. Above the back of the chair trembled and nodded a grey slouch hat with a rusty crape-band round the crown. A small boy of about six was sitting on the floor, close to the door. He was playing with a regulation mess-tin, and on his head was a British soldier's helmet. "Jij moet nie bang wees nie," shouted Holt, as he seized the surprised child, who, startled at being whisked off the ground by some unseen force, and not at all reassured by its efforts to speak the Taal, at once let out a yell of terror. Heaving the table into the corner of the room with his 1 You must not be afraid. thigh, Holt darted across to the chair and dumped the child on the top of an old man seated in it. Then, with the caution "Hou vas!" he steadied the two occupants with one arm, tipped the chair slightly back, and dragged the yelling, creaking mass across the floor, out of the room, over the lintel of the front door and down on to the ground outside. The child shrieked all the more at sight of his captor, and severely belabored the old man, who was too astonished or winded to do more than gurgle. The breathless Holt continued his retrograde movement across the apology for a garden. About thirty yards from the house the remains of a wire-fence lying on the ground acted as a trip, and, rather luckily for the three, suddenly cut short their wild career. Holt tumbled backwards, the chair over his legs, the old man on his chest and the child across his face. At that instant there was a concussion which jarred the interior economy of the three lying so close. Unfortunately for science the sapper subaltern was prevented by circumstances from studying the effect of his work from a nearer point of view than any he had ever occupied before. First the flat roof of the house rose gently a couple of feet into the air; then the walls quivered and dissolved into their components; lastly, the roof sat down squarely upon the ruins with a flop, propelling outwards in every direction a mighty puff of dust, as does a lexicon dropped on to an unswept floor. Its fall revealed a secret, for there arose an appalling cackle, and amidst the débris which rained down from the cloud of white dust and grey smoke descended a shower of fowls. Some sailed down, wings flapping, and ran hither and thither with hideous clamor; others fell with a heavy thud, inert and limp. 2 Hold tight! |