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16. Breaking The Tronk



He is not a gregarious animal the Boer. Except for expeditions of murder or rapine, when expediency forces him to congregate, he prefers to wallow in his own sty.

He does not enjoy night-work, either. The night to him is thronged with "spooks" and other nameless horrors which he does not care to face. He can murder a Kaffir in the most atrocious fashion, and think nothing about it as long as the sun shines, but he dreads that Kaffir's "spook" after the sun sets. Even the uncertain light of the moon doesn't seem to comfort him greatly.

He has no humour in its sprightly and harmless sense. He can appreciate rough horse-play and clumsy practical jokes, particularly if there be a strong leaven of cruelty about them, and he is the joker. As a nation, the Boers have not wit enough to be sarcastic, although they can be bitter enough at times, and harsh always. But they are possessed, in its most childish, morbid, and undeveloped state, of imagination. During the day they are hard-headed, callous-hearted, keen-eyed men, ever on the outlook to best their neighbours and grab what advantage they can. Generations of previous warfare have made them quick and sure with their aim, perfect horsemen, and the finest skulkers in the world. By day they are impervious and vulture-eyed, and, according to their own uncivilised mode of conducting warfare, dogged and resolute, if not brave. We cannot call a man brave who slinks behind kopjes and circumvents his enemy only by treachery; yet, when driven into a hard corner, they will turn and fight with the viciousness of desperate rats.

But at night they are a most timorous and superstitious set of shrinkers. Every strange sound makes their flesh creep and their hair bristle. The kloofs, and veldt, and karri are packed with evil spirits, whose weird revels they no more dare disturb, than would a jackal a lion while he is feeding. Their God is the Lord of vengeance, their religion a hotchpotch of rank superstition.

Our heroes did not fear greatly that the cell would be disturbed while they were out of it. The prisoners were deputed to do the cleaning once a week, and Saturday was the day ordained for this duty. On Sundays they were allowed to rest, as according to the Transvaal laws, no trekking, or work of any kind, was permitted on that day.

It was Thursday now, therefore they were almost positive that after they were driven out, the door would be locked until their return at sunset.

How wearily the hours dragged on during that day which they fondly trusted was to be their last in this slavery!

It was dry weather, fortunately being the middle of the winter season, as Nylstroom in the summer was one of the most malarial districts. Yet the sun blazed fiercely down upon the exposed and shelterless place where they worked, and tried them all severely.

The mounted warders even became slothful with their whips as the morning advanced, and found smoking more to their minds than browbeating their charges.

Ned and his two chums toiled on even harder than they had ever done before. They were thrilling with suppressed excitement, and felt glad of the work that made the hours pass. They scarcely lifted their heads or rested until the call came for the midday meal.

Mealie-porridge for breakfast, dinner, and supper becomes monotonous; yet they were thankful enough even for this fare when it was served out to them. A mad longing for beef had been on them for some days past. The thought of it blended with their desire for liberty, so that they could think of little else.

"Oh for a grilled steak!" groaned Clarence and Fred, as they bolted their unsavoury mixture.

"We'll have it, if all goes well, for breakfast," whispered Ned, to keep up their courage.

It was a lovely dream, and they hugged it, and kept their tongues moist all the afternoon with the sweet anticipation.

It was astonishing to watch their companions the Kaffirs during that day of suspense. They wore their customary sullen and apathetic expressions, as if hope had no abiding-place in their bosoms. Not even by so much as a flash in their lurid eyes could any one have guessed that they were thinking of liberty. The only sign our heroes could note was their extra patience and endurance. When the cowhide ripped across their bare shoulders, they did not even give a quiver. It might have been a fly landing on the back of an elephant, for all they seemed to feel.

As afternoon drew on, Ned and his chums began to husband their strength. They dug the pickaxe and spades more lightly into the baked clay, and played themselves at working as much as possible.

At last the sun dropped to the horizon, and they were driven back to the tronk. As they approached, our heroes looked at the walls and building with keen speculation. The front was the portion occupied by the warders. A couple of men were supposed to watch the back from opposite corners, but, as Ned shrewdly surmised, they did not keep a very strict sentry, otherwise his friends could not have got over the wall as they had done the night before.

For the few moments that twilight remained in the cell, they examined the ground and gave their Kaffir friends directions. The poor fellows listened attentively to their chosen leader, Cocoeni, and showed that they were ready.

Then darkness came, and they began without delay. To prevent the sounds being heard, Ned and his chums began to sing; the others also made as much gabble as they could. In the other cells, which were divided by the iron sheeting, they could hear the prisoners quite distinctly. It was to prevent them hearing the pickaxe at work that they were making the row, but as for the Boers, they had no fear of them troubling to stop a wrangle or a ditty as long as it was not patriotic. Ned took care of this by starting and keeping up a few of Sankey's hymns which he knew. While they were singing they likewise prayed fervently for their deliverance.

Cocoeni took the pickaxe, as he was the strongest man there. With a few deft strokes he had broken the hardened surface of the floor; then, while he dug, the others scooped the earth out of the hole with their hands. He went down by the side of the wall until he had cleared the foundations; after this he began to tunnel.

It took them till long after midnight before they got to the outside of the wall; then they began to dig upwards. They worked very carefully at this portion, and carried the debris into the cell by relays.

At last they had reached the surface, and as some of the earth fell in upon them, they were able to see the stars. To their joy this side of the wall was buried in darkness, for the moon was on the other side.

Ned looked out carefully as soon as the passage was wide enough.

Halfway across the yard the shadow fell, leaving a patch of whiteness for some fifteen feet between that and the outer wall, which was about ten feet in height.

At each angle a sentry-box stood clearly revealed. As far as Ned could see, they were unoccupied. The sentinels had evidently left their post, and the passage was clear.

One by one they crept out, Cocoeni bringing the pickaxe with him.

As they stood by the wall, Cocoeni whispered softly to Ned--

"Wait, Baas. I creep round and see if no one about."

He crept off without a sound, while they watched and listened. In a moment more he was back.

"All safe that way, Baas. Now for the other side."

They saw his dark figure glide along the whitewashed wall till he reached the end, then he disappeared round the corner.

He was longer gone this time, and when he returned, he was carrying a heavy load. As he reached them, he laid his burden gently down and stretched himself up.

"One Boer done for, Baas. Just caught him in time and brought him along," he whispered. "You put on him clothes and take him gun, and it will be safe."

"Is he dead?" asked Ned, horror-struck.

"Yes, Baas. Me make no mistake with pickaxe. Other fellow court him gal on the other side. Quick put on him coat and hat, and go over to the box. You see other fellow from there. If he still wait, hold up hand."

Ned, repugnant as the task was, felt the wisdom of acting upon the suggestion of Cocoeni. Swiftly he drew off the coat and hat from the dead Boer and put them on; then, bracing on his bandolier and revolver-belt, he took up the rifle and boldly crossed the line of light to the sentry-box.

There were no windows to this end of the building, while from where he stood he could see the front gate, outside of which stood the figure of a stout-built woman pressing against the rails, while inside was the other sentry, with his face to her and his back to his duty. They were having their upsitting, or rather upstanding, in the moonlight, and seemingly totally oblivious to any one or anything else.

It was gruesome to think of that bleeding corpse within the shadow, and those ponderous lovers looking at each other with speechless and moonstruck admiration. Ned shuddered to think of it, and now he was wearing the blood-soaked hat at the same time.

However, there was no time to moralise. That Boer lover was likely to stand there until daybreak without budging, but some one else might come.

He put up his hand, and at the signal the seventeen figures left their shelter and glided across like spectres. Ned could watch them and the pair at the gate. He was also able to make out that ghastly figure which they had left behind.

Cocoeni bent his back and put his head against the wall, while one by one they clambered over him and dropped out of sight.

"Now, Baas, your turn," said the Kaffir, softly.

Ned laid down his rifle and walked over to Cocoeni.

"How are you going to get up?" he asked.

"Easy. You go first, I come after."

In a moment Ned was on the wall.

"Come on, Cocoeni."

"Wait a bit, Baas."

Cocoeni ran over to the sentry-box and snatched up the rifle, then he returned.

"Catch, Baas, and get down other side. I be with you presently."

Ned saw him run back a few yards and then take a flying leap. Next instant the Kaffir was beside him on the ground, and they were free.

So far all had gone well. Their danger now lay in the open country, which spread as clear under the moonlight as if it had been day. As they got away from the tronk wall they could easily be seen and potted by any of the authorities who might be posted about.

However, this had to be risked, and the only course they could pursue at present was beside the main track.

They therefore set off as fast as they could run, keeping to the grass, and making for the kopjes, which were some distance away. Ned had a notion that they would not have far to go before they met their friends, if their escape had not been already observed.

Cocoeni kept alongside of our heroes, and carried both the rifle and pickaxe, which he had taken a fancy for since the gory deed it had been the instrument of. The rest scattered and kept on abreast over the valley.

They ran past a couple of small houses, rousing the dogs, who started a chorus of loud yelps, but without disturbing the inmates, apparently.

They were clear of the township now, and with the open country before them, yet by no means out of rifle-range, when a most unlucky accident happened. Cocoeni, by some carelessness or want of knowledge, suddenly let off the loaded rifle with a bang loud enough to wake the dead.

Fortunately he had the rifle on his shoulder and pointing skyward, so that no one was hurt, but the effect meant disaster. It would rouse every Boer who heard it, and raise the tronk-keepers.

"You have done it this time, Cocoeni!" cried Ned. "Now it must be neck or nothing. Forward, boys, with all the wind you can put on."

There was no time to look behind and see what result that shot had produced. One and all spun over the ground like racers.

"Ping! ping! ping!" came the bullets after them. The burghers had got out of their beds, and were driving away at them from the windows of the two houses. One poor Kaffir flung up his hands and fell on his face. The death of the sentry had already been avenged.

Up the hillside they rushed; they were amongst the stones now, therefore better able to dodge the bullets.

For one instant Ned glanced back, and what he saw quickened his paces. From the tronk gates a body of horsemen were riding out, and spreading out upon the road.

"We're done for!" he gasped. "They'll be up to us in five minutes."

At this instant his ears caught a clattering of hoofs in front of him, and, looking forward, he saw half a dozen horsemen galloping along the road, with three empty saddled horses amongst them.

"Hurrah! we are saved!" he cried joyously.

"Not yet, my son; but jump up without delay, and we'll do our best," answered one of the riders, as they reined up beside the escaped prisoners.

"Halloa! you've got a tribe with you, I see," said the leader, as Ned and his chums sprang into the empty saddles.

"Yes; what about them?"

"They must run for it and take their chance; we have no more horses here."

"Never mind us, Baas. We know where to hide. You get along. The Boers will follow you."

"Good-bye, brothers," shouted Ned.

"Good-bye, Baas! I'll see you again by-and-by, never fear," cried Cocoeni in his full, deep tones.

Next instant the troop were riding at full speed, while the Kaffirs had disappeared as if the earth had swallowed them.