Charge! A Story of Briton and BoerFenn, George Manville
General
Charge! A Story of Briton and Boer
Fenn, George Manville
South African War, 1899-1902 -- Fiction
There was a faint speck of orange light high up in the sky just then,
and it seemed to be reflected somehow into my brain, making me see my
way at last to a better state of things. Hope was coming with the new
day, and the blackness of despair slowly dying out.
With the sun rapidly brightening the sky, I urged Sandho forward, but
only at a walk, for he was weary and sluggish, and the slightest
movement beyond that pace brought back the sickening pain so intensely
that I believe if he had broken into a trot I should have fainted and
fallen to the ground. By going gently, however, we gradually neared the
wild and rocky portion beyond which the huge masses of stone towered up
into a mighty heap, forming one of the rough hills with precipitous
sides known to the Dutch settlers as "kopjes" or "heads."
I now began to revive more and more in the fresh, invigorating morning
air, and carefully examined the open veldt away to the north and east in
search of the enemy; but not a living thing was visible. Then I turned
my attention towards the rough ground in front and the kopje beyond, as
I knew full well these were likely to be the home of other enemies,
which on an ordinary occasion would retreat before an armed and mounted
man; how they would behave towards one so completely helpless I
shuddered to think. Sandho, however, made no sign beyond raising his
muzzle again to sniff at the breeze we encountered; and when I called
upon him to halt, he lowered his head directly and began to crop the
rich grass growing amongst the stones.
My intention now was to dismount; but I sat still, hesitating, and
looking away over the open veldt, fearing to alight, being fully aware
how helpless I should be and unequal to the task of remounting.
However, it had to be done; so, pulling myself together, I drew my feet
from the stirrups, and called upon Sandho to stand fast. Then, lying
forward till my face touched my steed's neck, I made a desperate
effort--quickly, for I could not trust my strength--drew my injured left
leg right up on to the horse's back, and lay there perfectly still for a
few moments, suffering horribly from the pain of my overstrained
muscles, before making another effort, and then dropped down on my right
foot, dismounting on the wrong side of the horse, feeling, as I did so,
everything give way. I had completely collapsed, and all was blank. It
may have been an hour, or it may have been only a few minutes--possibly
only seconds--passed before I opened my eyes and gazed up, wondering
what was the meaning of the soft, warm puffs of moist air, and what it
was that kept on snuffing at my face.
"Sandho, old boy!" I said, gazing up in his great, soft eyes, and the
wondering horse whinnied and then turned away to begin grazing once
more; while I waited for the sick feeling from which I suffered to pass
off, before trying to get up and find some sharp-edged stone against
which I could rub the raw-hide thong which bound my wrists.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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