I MEET DE WET

The little village of Frankfort was wrapped in slumbering darkness when I entered it.  Cold and hungry after the five hours’ journey, I did not scruple to knock up the Postmaster.  With an instinct of good-fellowship that did him credit, he at once made me welcome; breaking up a couple of empty boxes, we made a rattling fire, and soon big gulps of cocoa were chasing the last few shivers from my wearied frame.

My last thought as I wrapped my blanket round me and stretched myself out on the floor was of the despatch I had sent after the President.  Suppose my messenger lost the document or was captured!  But I would soon know, for if I found the line joined through at eight o’clock, according to my orders, it would be a proof that he had returned and found the coast clear.

The little office was crowded with busy clerks when I opened my eyes the next morning.  Casting a rapid glance at the clock, I saw it was almost eight.  There was no time to lose.  I grasped the useful little vibrator with one hand, flung the blanket into a corner with the other, and set off, calling to the native servant to follow with a ladder.  It was not advisable to operate under the eyes of the townspeople, so I marched across the bridge and into the veld, until a suitable spot was reached.  No sooner had I thrown my wire over the line than I again heard British and Dutch signals intermingled.  Good!  My message was safe.

The Kafir shinned up the pole and cut the wire, permitting the British signals only to come through.  I listened intently to the various more or less interesting messages being exchanged by the enemy.  Presently a new and stronger note broke in—­

“Hello!  Here, Sergeant-Major Devons.  Who are you?”

Devons?  Those are the fellows that we fought at Ladysmith.  But what—­how comes he here?  Listen——­

“Here, Heilbron.  We’re just waiting to leave.  Crowds of Boers on the hills.”

“Ah!  I say, I’ve pushed on, quite by myself, for fully twelve miles,” said the hoarse note of the non-com.’s vibrator.  “When I reached Roberts’ Horse the chief said I was d——­d lucky to get through!”

“Good on you!” replied his admiring hearer.  “This is a bit different from old Tyneside, ain’t it?”

“Cheer up; we shall soon be in Pretoria.”

“Confound you!” said I, dashing my fist on the key, “you’re not there yet!”

To prevent myself from interrupting them, advertently or otherwise, I had taken the precaution to disconnect the battery, so my little outbreak did no harm.

Then the sergeant-major sent a long message to his chief, Captain Faustnett, duly informing the latter of the distance he had come, all by himself, and of what the officer commanding Roberts’ Horse had said, after which the Heilbron man remarked—­

“Good-bye, we’re off.”  Silence followed.